Written in the Stars of Heaven

Melani- Age 6

Pulling in front of a small, dirt splattered trailer I turned to Kendyll and crinkled my nose. What was this place? The whole neighborhood was like that; small, messy, uncared for. Daddy said that we were moving, but I hadn’t anticipated somewhere like this. Our old house was big, filled with nice things. Clean. The polar opposite of the trailer park the car was parked in the middle of.

“Daddy, why are we here?” I asked.

“Melani, enough. I don’t have time for this,” he snapped, climbing out of our old Towncar; the Lexus had been repossessed.

I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get used to that. My dad was such a sweet man before the accident that had claimed Mommy’s life. Never once had he used such an angry tone. Not before everything changed. But since then, it seemed that he didn’t have a kind word for us.

“Don’t worry about him,” Kendyll reassured me, noticing the forlorn expression on my face. “He doesn’t mean it.”

I didn’t understand why my father treated me so poorly. At only six, my mind couldn’t process the fact that he blamed me for the loss of Mommy. It wouldn’t be for years until I came to that realization. Years that I lost trying to earn his love back.

Together, Kendyll and I unbuckled ourselves and joined our dad in front of the small, white trailer that would apparently be our new home.

“Why are we living here, Daddy? It’s so… gross,” I stated, in my signature attitude. One that I would develop perfectly one day.

I reeled back in to my brother at the malicious glare Daddy unleashed upon me. It seemed as if his brilliant blue eyes were scorching holes into my skull. “Melani Rose Phoenix, I will not ask you again: stop this complaining. We live here because we can’t afford anywhere else. Now shut your mouth and go get a box.”

I looked back at Kendyll’s face, tears clouding the clarity of his image. Why was my dad being so mean? It didn’t make sense. He was supposed to treat me like a princess, like Mommy did. Why did that change? I just couldn’t comprehend it as an innocent child.

Kendyll just shrugged, taking my hand in a strangely comforting manner and lead me back to the car to grab one of the boxes we were to help unload.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

The vision skipped forward a couple weeks to our first night actually sleeping in our new “home”. In that time, I had learned to never ask a question that didn’t need an answer. It took some training for me to decided which those were, but I could only take so many hateful looks. Kendyll would often get the same treatment, but never to the hurtful extent that Daddy turned on me.

“Where are we supposed to sleep?” I whispered to my twin, taking in the expanse of the small living room. I knew from moving in that the trailer was only one bedroom, one bathroom. Of course, that bedroom would go to our dad. So were would Kendyll and I stay?

“Out here, I guess. We can trade who gets the couch,” he informed me, pointing to the ripped up, orange cushion that we’d gotten. The one that barely even passed as a couch.

In the process of moving, Daddy had sold most of our possessions to have enough money for the bills and beer. Kendyll and I had three toys apiece, six outfits, and a pair of shoes. Everything else, including our beds, had gone to the shops that would pay the best price. We were able to keep the special gifts that Mommy had planned to give to us on Christmas though.

Kendyll’s was a silver pocket knife, complete with varying sets of screws and a blade, the sharp side covered with a protective plastic covering that he was told he could take off when he turned nine. He loved that knife, taking it everywhere he went. Even in the present, he carried it around like it was a life necessity. I was the same with my gift, of course.

Mom, knowing my early fascination with every type of jewelry, had gotten my a beloved necklace. The silver chain was a little long for me at six, but I’d grown into it beautifully. The pendant was a circle band, with wavy rays coming out of it, covered in small diamonds. A stunning sun. It had been my grandmother’s until she passed it to my mom, and mine that Christmas. It was strange, almost as if Mom had known that it would be her last opportunity to give it to me. Usually, the passing was done when the girl turned eighteen, but Mommy had broken the chain. Like she knew within her heart that I needed to receive it at six. I cherished that necklace more than my very life from the day I opened the gift.