Knowing my dad, once he saw the red tuft of hair on the top of my head, he pulled the shotgun out of the closet and went hunting for the two ginger men in the whole state of Louisiana. Jealous type he was, maybe it didn't excused his behavior, but maybe it did. My ma enjoyed going out, dancing at parties, drinking a few beers, and my dad didn't liked that. She wore tight dresses, the type that ended way above your knee, and my dad would slap her if he thought it was too short. It usually was. My ma, of course, would get pissed at him and instead of changing she would leave the house, only to return in the morning. His belt awaited her. I'm supposed to fear my daddy, hate him for being an abuser and what not, but I don't. He never laid a hand on me.

 I was around seven years old when she decided to leave. I guess he gave her one black eye too many, so she told him to take care of me and exited the house, never to return. I never saw her again, and frankly never had the interest to do so. I don't even remember her name. I do remember her face though, she was pretty, prettier than I ever was.

 It was me and pa, alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tall grass and bathed by a river up north. Never had much money my dad, being a truck driver and all. He disappeared most of the nights to deliver cargo from one warehouse to another, leaving me with a TV, a lot of pans, and some cheap rice and beef. That's probably why I became such a good cook. Believe it or not, but it was good. It was peaceful, and I had no one to bother me but the stars and the moon above. It was quite nice, laying in the grass, looking up to the night sky, not a worry in the world. No one to bother you, no one to hurt you. The worst nights were actually when Miss Franklin came to visit me and keep me company. Her shivereled voice ruined any sense of peace whatsoever. Everytime she arrived I would begin counting the seconds to her departure so I could go back to the protection of my stars.