by Kandice Day

Created on: December 20, 2008

It was a dark and still night: earthquake weather. But then, I didn't know what earthquake weather was. If I had known what the stillness prophesized, I wouldn't have rolled out of bed that morning.

I could see the stars on this night, cascading across the sky, winking at me through the orange streetlight haze. I couldn't feel them pulling on my arms anymore. I had found a piece within the stars, within my own darkness, which drowned out the arguing. I couldn't hear mom crying, or dad yelling. I didn't feel the sting of being torn in two directions, or the twist of my small hands in theirs.

My father's was scratchier than mom's. His hand gripped with anger, mom's gripped with fear. Although, he didn't have nails.

I don't know how they got to this point, using me as a pawn in their brutal divorce games. Dad had me every other weekend, and a few holidays. He'd take me camping and fishing, to the toy store and Disneyland. Mom had me the rest of the time, taking care of my every need. It would seem like a suitable arrangement on the surface, but Dad was never a happy man.

On this night, the very ground that I stood on shook with a force that changed my young life, and took my innocence. I don't remember why dad came over, but he was angry. I don't remember what set off the argument, but he came for me.

"Kandice, come on, we're leaving," he said. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Mom sat in her rocking chair, tears streaming down her face. Sitting next to her on the floor, I didn't move a muscle.

He headed toward me, hand outstretched, reaching for the last of my innocence.

"No dad. I don't want to go," I cried. I stood with intent as he advanced. So did mom.

"She wants to stay here. Let's just talk about this," mom replied. What I didn't know is that she had already called my step-father, who was on his way home from work. Miraculously, he walked through the door, a knight in shining armor.

"Why don't we just talk about his outside," he said. For some reason, dad agreed. His glare cut me like a knife as he stepped out the door.

I knew I was betraying my dad, disrespecting him and embarrassing him, but I didn't care. I knew he was hurting and angry, but he wasn't my priority. Mom sat there in the rocking chair that she spent countless hours with me, night after night when I was deathly ill. She was the one who took the time to make me smile, reassure my fears, inspire my dreams.

I ran into the bathroom to grab a handful of Kleenex. It was all that I could think to

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