Page 1 of Old-Fashioned

Prologue

Birdie

At school, I heard about daddies reading princess books to their daughters.

The prince slipped the glass slipper on his princess’s foot, then carted her off and lived happily ever after.

The prince climbs the tower, defeats the dragon, and rescues his princess.

The ungrateful beast, bewitched, found his soul mate, and learned that true love sees past all, and it endures.

I heard about how mommies sighed when they were kissed softly and then moaned when they were kissed hungrily.

Mommies baked cookies for parent-teacher meetings.

They used the best detergent for their clothes and washed their princess dresses every night just to see their daughters smile.

How they got up early to cook them breakfast, pack their lunch, and leave a sweet note in their lunch boxes.

I was jealous of that.

I didn’t have that.

My family was different.

I didn’t have a daddy to read to me at night, tuck me in, or scare away the monsters that lived in my closet.

He didn’t pick me up, kiss my boo-boos, and promise to make everything better.

I didn’t have any sisters, but I did have a brother… who once promised me, he would protect me from everything. And he lied.

He told me he couldn’t do this anymore.

That he couldn’t take any of our mother’s crap anymore.

One summer morning, once he turned eighteen, he left.

Never to be heard from again.

I stopped crying a day later once my mother found out that I was crying over him and had beaten me until I was black and blue.

And she didn’t stop. Not until I stopped crying, and furthermore, didn’t shed a single tear. I was six.

My mom didn’t cook.

She didn’t wash my clothes.

She didn’t care that I came home with bruises from being bullied.

No, all she cared about was shooting needles up her veins and then passing out on our dilapidated couch that I refused to sit on.

If I didn’t eat the free food at lunch, then I didn’t eat that day, that was until the day I turned eight.

You see I had a guardian angel; one I didn’t even know about.

Apparently, my neighbor hadn’t liked it one day when I walked home in the pouring rain in shorts and a t-shirt holding my ripped backpack to my chest.

She had gestured me in with a kind smile, and then placed me in front of her fireplace, brought me a towel, cookies, and milk.

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