Cookies with no milk

I can still remember the prison gray walls of our bedroom. Laying on my double matress bed, i would stare at the white ceiling fan go around and around. Watching it until my motion sickness kicks in or unless someone calls me down stairs. I remember you sitting on your regular box spring and matress bad trying ot draw me the shape of my feet, the curves in my hands the scars on my legs from soccer pratice. After so long my legs would start to twitch so she would yell at me thinking i was doing it on purpose.

At this point in my life our father had lost his mind and our parents were getting a divorce which was fine by my sister brother but i on the hand was too little to really understand what was going on. A night at the Rodican House normally meant yelling and broken dishes and bloodshed. But not tonight.

Tonight was gorvery shopping night and Dad wasn't home so there was no reason to fight. In a few moments mom will be home and the Chips Ahoy! will be ours.

Matt would open the gallon of milk and i would get the cups while bridget, (the artist in training) would open the Chips Ahoy. We would all sit around the beat up kitchen table and dunk the our cookies. Then eat the other cookies that's been soaking in the milk, by the time your done eating that one teh other would be ready to eat. We had it down to a science it would leave the cookies soaking just long enough so tehy wouldn't fall apart when you picked it up but would still be soaked through.

Yummy!

We would sit at the table until the hours of early morning slurred our speach. Laughing and having fun enjoying the moments of family normalcy i longed for.

Then the divorce was finalized and our dad was gone. Bridget left shortly after, not telling anyone where she was going, no mention of leaving, just left without a word. Our dog died, then my brother moved away. A few weeks after that my mother decided we were moving to a place completely opposite of here.

So now here i am ina new house, in a new town in teh middle of no where sitting at the same old beat up kitchen table trying ot comprehend how frastically my life has changed, eating cookies with no milk.