Daddy owned the gas station located on the outskirts of town. It was situated by Sal's Hardware Store and Greenstone's Deli. No car really travelled by, so maybe it wasn't Daddy's best business move. But, he did make enough money to keep me out of my sister's hand-me-downs. Mommy was a housewife, who cooked and cleaned diligently and still had time to spend with her children. She read us bedtime stories and turned the bedside lamp off when the clock struck 9:30 every night.
My parents were in love. It was obvious. They kissed each other every morning, no matter how disgusting my sister and I thought it was. They whispered their 'I love yous' at the breakfast table. They held hands when they took us to the park. They danced at parties, gracefully and smoothly. I could hear their muffled long night talks from the wall in my bedroom. My mother fit perfectly into my father's arms, her head perfectly settled by the nape of his neck, and there eyes sparkled when they looked at each other. I secretly hoped and wished that I could have love like this. All I had was Nick, my next door neighbor, who ate bugs and spray can cheese.
Then I remembered that Tuesday when I came home from school and my parents were screaming. My dad called my mother names I didn't even know the meaning of. She said some words back, her eyes were blurred with tears. My dad was a shade of crimson, and he was tugging at his hair. I didn't understand what was going on. My sister was already home. She snuck out of her bedroom and called me inside.
"They've been fighting even before I got back from school," she whispered as she shut the door. "Do you know why?" I asked, innocently. "Yeah I think so, but you won't understand," she replied. I was in fifth grade at the time, so I shrugged it off.
And later I learned it was because Mommy slept with Mr. Jackson, my dad's best friend. Now, tell me, why should I believe in love if it does not exist?