She was a little thing, Ellen said. Tiny. You could blow on her, and she’d disappear like a dandelion in the wind. They grow up quickly,  mom poured another shot of vodka into her coffee cup. And then they’re gone. Taking off somewhere. Leaving all they knew behind, she tapped her fingers on the metal kitchen table and laughed. They leave us behind. That’s what children do. She left me behind.

Her phone rang several times. It would stop and start ringing again. And again. Ellen made it a point to never answer the phone at supper time. She poured another drink and opened the freezer door. The old woman clawed her way through frozen mixed vegetables, out of date pizzas, and freezer burned pieces of fried chicken in a Banquet box. She shook her head. They just leave you.

Meg hung up the phone for the last time. The need to tell her mother she was OK had vanished. She stared down the long hallway and realized where she was.

Am I crazy? She asked a nurse, walking by. Have I lost it? She laughed. 

You’re here to get some help. That’s all. Just to get you back on track. Is there something you want to talk about?

No. Not really. I just needed reassurance.

The nurse placed her hand on Meg’s shoulder. You’ll be alright. You’ll see. Group is getting ready to start.

Coloring more pictures from memories, Meg said. I’d rather forget.