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I was born beneath a rainbow on summer's first day. The beginning of a new decade. Age of Aquarius won a Grammy that year, Let the Sunshine In became the soundtrack for the first years of my life. Dubbed the "Disco Decade," society turned away from the activism and rebellion of the sixties and began to embrace self gratification as a more fulfilling way of life. Societal conformity was not something my parents chose. We lived in a cabin far out in the woods along the bank of a river.

I remember the cabin, the woods and the river. Alaska, The Land of the Midnight Sun was our home. I remember cold winter nights and long summer days. I've many scattered memories, some are pleasant enough and some I wish I could rid myself of. I remember standing on a chair, watching through a dusty window as a bear threw himself time and time again against the cache which held our winter's food. I remember when my mother would no longer allow me to play by the river because a bear had stolen my clothing from the line and she feared he was going to come for me.

I can remember my grandfather coming for my birthday, my fourth I think. I have few pictures from those days; one of them is of my grandfather kneeling on the dirt floor of the place we called home, watching me open my present. I look happy in the picture. It wasn't long after that day we left the cabin in the woods. I was going to be a big sister and we moved into town.

When my sister was born I told my mother she looked just like a melody and she named her Melody. I don't recall the next few years in great detail. My father left. My mother cried. She never spoke ill of him. He just went away. My mother remarried and soon became the victim of unspeakable abuse. He lived for the decadence the world offered and she lived with faith in God and love for her children. I would take my little sister to the basement and play records and sing so she wouldn't hear. When the noises stopped I would sneak up the stairs and tend to my mother's wounds.

During this time books became my friends, my best friends. They were my escape from everything ugly in the world. I kept my favorites hidden behind the couch. When the bad things began and we couldn't retreat to the safety of the basement, I would hide there, reading my books in the softest of whispers to my sister. They were my guardians and my confidants. My love of reading soon became a love of writing and I found even greater escape from a world I loathed.

I left my books behind when

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