Carroll - Down city: a daughters story of love, memory, and murder

O ne of my first memories: Im eating a TV dinner. Each part of the meal is in its own little tinfoil compartment. I love the bright-green peas, the square of crusty, salted mashed potatoes, and the rectangle of Salisbury steak. I eat in front of the TV, my legs folded under a tray.

Im talking to my dad but I call him Kevin, which is his name.

Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, Daddys name is Kevin.

Suddenly, my dad is out of his chair. He grabs me under the shoulders, knocking over the tray. Salisbury steak splatters on the wooden floor, peas roll in all directions. Dad pushes my bedroom door open with his foot, lets go of my armpits with a push, and Im sailing through the air. I land on my bed, too stunned at first to cry. I bob up and down on my waterbed, dumbstruck. Finally, I let out a long wail. My leg hurts from where it hit the wooden bed frame and I cry, curling into a ball in the middle of the big undulating bed. Later, Mom comes into the room and pulls me onto her lap. She wipes at my grimy face with her hands.

Leah, Leah, she says, stroking my head, what are we going to do with you?

Youre not going to call the police, are you?

She looks at me for a few seconds and then runs her fingers through my hair. No, sweetie, she says. We would never call the police.

M OM AND D AD teach me all the words to Rock N Roll High School by the Ramones, and Mom and I make up a dance to Michael Jacksons Beat It. I use the coffee table as my stage and Mom and Dad blast the music on the record player and I know all the words and we dance around the living room, the dogs jumping and barking and going crazy around our feet.

At night I wake up and Dad is screaming at Mom. I walk into the living room where Mom sits on the couch and Dad stands by the window. Moms yellow mutt, Brandy, is curled at her feet, and his tail thumps against the ground when I come in. Dads boxer, Ali, sits next to him, ears alert.

Dad says, Were fighting because I want your mom to quit smoking.

He crosses his arms over his PAWTUCKET PIRATES softball T-shirt, the one with the skull.

I sit on the couch next to Mom and Brandy puts his head between us. Sometimes when he goes to the bathroom his poop is orange, and Mom says its because he has cancer. I love him so much that sometimes I squeeze him extra hard, trying to hurt him just a little bit, and he lets me. Hes a ragged-looking dog, missing patches of yellow hair. Dads dog, Ali, wins prizes at dog shows and follows Dad around adoringly. When my mom takes photos they pose with the same proud expression and upturned face. But Ali is too strong for me and once he chewed my kitchen play set to bits.