I saw pictures, a trailer, my mother smiling in a 'sunken' living room. "It was so beautiful!" my mother said. She still cries when she thinks back to what used to be. My father in the fun stages of his drinking. Easily it could be dismissed because of his age, his ambition, the brand new cars which he traded in every year. Although he hated everyone outside the family our Siberian Husky "Pal" had nothing to do with it. We did not live in a trailer park just a plot of land off of route nine. Dad told me they missed it once coming home from a Christening. "I told your mother to look out but we both were so drunk..." "That was the only time I ever missed work the next day!" he said with conviction.

The only time it ever got in the way."I mean your mom and Aunt Karen found out you had a dislocated hip as you dragged one leg across the kitchen floor. I did not believe them at first Because they had drunk a case of beer by the time I got home But... They were right the doctor said." "You would have been disfigured if it wasn't for your mother! And then that cast... on both legs and hips. You slept on a box but you were such a good sport. So young you did not remember a thing. And "Pal" would never let anyone hurt you! Too bad he attacked the kids riding by and we had to get rid of him. Damn I loved that dog! Boy did he love you. They used to throw stones at him chained up as they rode by on their bicycles. No wonder... Well, you don't remember him either.

You know grandma's house was a mobile home, with three bedrooms and a double sink in the bathroom! I know she said it was yours but we needed the money. She never needed a garage because you could drive right up on the side lawn from the road. The tools and the lawn mower were kept in the shed. The back wooden lot was all hers, one and a half acres and we meant to clear it but I was gone by then, married your mother because she thought she was pregnant. Later she said she wasn't, but I married her anyway. She had great legs!"

"We were not trailer trash!" my mom always says, sitting on a bar stool in the American Legion. Her shift at Steve's Place had ended. Hand cut, bandaged, from slicing tomatoes to make the sandwiches. "It's alright," she says, brushing my gaze away. She lights a Winston, waiting for the first vodka and tonic. She has come a long way from teaching fifth grade, drinking longnecks in the "sunken" living room. "You never smell vodka." she says with a whisper. "Your father made me quit my job when you kids were born! I went back to substituting, it's just too hard down here in Florida! It's all his fault! I hope he is happy with the bitch! Besides, we live right on the beach in a two bedroom condo. Charlie just bought a new car. A corvette convertible this time. I don't know how he pays for it! He drops me off to work in the morning and I walk back here. I won't drive it so everything is fine. "Honey I still love you!" Your brother never calls me anymore. I know he hates me for what happened.

"How come he doesn't hate his father?" And he is so smart why doesn't he go back to school? I should never have let him stay home. He is smarter than you you know. He could have done anything... and you have a Master's Degree. Mommy is so proud of you! But when are you going to get a career? "Here's some quarters, put a little music on the jukebox."

A certain twang has developed in her voice. She's forgotten all of her other langages. Draws a blank when I try to practice Spanish or French. and I don't know Latin Dad says English is enough and if they don't like it they can get the fuck out of the country! His wife says Sign Language should be mandatory in school. Not the Romance languages, they aren't practical! "Why should I waste my time on this stuff?" "Who do I think I am anyway? Some kind of Queen?"

I am no better than they are-

He has stocks and a white four door Oldsmobile. She has a furnished condo and a corvette in St. Augustine. "Your brother has a brand new motorcycle and a wide screen TV." "He'll get out soon. I'll rip those posters right off the walls!" Dad says. They've been there since he was thirteen.

"What do you want to so with those paintings?" "I spent all of that money on... You call that art? What the hell is it?"

The paints were in a box.

"Well, the stuff was in the garage. So we threw it out during the garage sale! You have grandma's three thousand dollars from selling the mobile home. Pay for more paints yourself... I am not made of money...