Mom and I are two different souls, living in the same home. We have different rules, aspirations, and qualities that are right for each of us, but not for each other. The consecutive late nights lead to the realization that we weren’t the best for each other. The house grew cold, jackets could not fend off the sword of the heavy chill. And as the winter grew through the house, I love you’s were no longer said, and paired meals were just a recollection of how things were before it all went wrong.

Stacy, my mom, reminds me of a Honey Badger, fearless and thick-skinned. When she was six years old her mother passed away in a car accident. Her mom, 26, had slid under a UPS freight truck on the expressway, October 22nd, 1983. The impact of the collision caused immediate death. On the first day of mom’s kindergarten, clusters of children piled through the hallway, all with mothers and fathers waving them off; she waved to her babysitter, stumbling into the classroom. Mom’s inner saboteur made her act out, it had control over her. I’ve become a prisoner of her pure rage, assigned to eat in my room alone.

I open up the fluorescent blue shades, the sun beams into my eyes. The morning’s best friends, the cheerful chickadees stare into my room, alongside the other strange birds. From my seated position, I tilted my head towards mom’s door. Thank God it’s closed.

The light from my room’s window illuminates my vibrant yellow desk. Pieces of loose strands and popsicle stick debris are scattered across it. While I swipe them aside, I grab the painting I’m working on from my backpack. It’s a painting of Lucy and me hand in hand, with a maple tree in the distant background.

I was six years old, brave, not so slick, oblivious. My chubby legs guided me around the park, while I snatched the toys from other kids. Through the pile of action figures and McDonald’s happy meal tokens, a girl had caught my eye, soon to be my close friend, Lucy. She was joyously roaring with a Pterodactyl and Triceratops. Dinosaurs had always been my favorite rep- tile, from their strange shapes to their color it was easy to craft stories. I had expected myself to steal her dinosaurs, but her eyes had stopped me in my tracks. In a cluster of confusion, I had stood there, in the middle of the park, motionless.

“Do you want to play?” she said so sweetly, handing her Pterodactyl towards me. I was dumbfounded. She giggled first at my startled face, patting me on my leg. She motioned for me to sit with her.

“Ok,” I said, falling along with the ten other toys in my hand. At impact, the rubber panels had created a fart-like noise. I giggled loudly. While trying to replicate the sound, I succeeded on my fifth attempt. I was laughing so loudly I barely heard her question.

“What is your name?” she asked. “What is your name?”

“Gracon.”

“What is your name,” I asked her. “Lucy.”

I was no longer laughing alone – Lucy and I were laughing together.