:: Monica ::
I pulled the truck into the driveway and doused the lights, letting the ignition idle into silence. Night had long since fallen and my childhood home rose like a soulless specter, deftly limned in the moonlight. I sat quietly, watching the shapes of clouds move over the landscape and wondered if they were portents of what was to come. It had been nearly five years since I'd left this house, since I'd run screaming and crying down the flagstone path and escaped my father's heavy hand.
I had been six days from turning eighteen and I was determined to be with Jorge Arias, my 28-year old boyfriend. Of course, my parents didn't agree; I was much too young, they said. I didn't understand what 'love' was all about and I needed to slow down and take my time. I didn't want to take any time. I wanted Jorge and I wanted him now. After returning home later from a date, my clothing mussed, my father issued an edict. There were to be no more dates with Jorge.
The next ten minutes of my life were a blur. I don't remember what I said. I just remember the bright heat of anger searing my brain and tears that clogged my throat as I argued with him. And then, I made that momentous decision: I left. I burst out of the screen door and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I had never returned home. Until now. Foolishly, I had married Jorge and had been living with him in Mexico, thinking that I had a charmed life. My father was right. I knew nothing.
