Mia grabbed the rest of her clothes in a hurry. She had spent the last three hours trying to erase herself from her family picture. One too many days of her mom sitting on the couch smoking crack, smelling like death. Maybe her mom hadn't always been like this, but Mia had a hard time imagining her being any other way. She questioned how she turned out half sane at all with her mom being completely checked out for as long as she could remember. She always wanted to call her mom a bitch and to tell her how she screwed her up by not being there to give her a hug when she needed one. Or even better, some punishment, if her mom would have been there to yell at her when she was chewing with her mouth open, or to even care when she left the house in a skirt that was too inappropriate for sixth grade, but she didn't and that was just the way it was.

Mia shook slightly as she looked at the picture of her mom sitting on the sofa end table. It taunted her—a picture of her mother young, supple, beautiful...normal. She looked almost studious in her bubblegum pink cashmere sweater, gray slacks and dark brown eyeglasses. That was her mom when she started college, when she was going to be a preeminent art historian—Dina the academic. Mia laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Mia never knew that person, and wondered if the picture wasn't just a sham, it probably was. For years she felt sorry for her mom. She had heard the story a million times since she was born, and depending on her mom's level of self pity that day, at many different levels of anguish. Dina sometimes seemed excited when she recalled her love affair with her professor. It was hot, intense, and intellectually stimulating, if that's what you call a hand up your skirt in the classroom. But whatever, he loved her and left her. It was the age old story, retold over and over by each generation of the heartbroken. Except, Mia screamed inside, most people are not as selfish as you mom. Most people get over it and realize that their kid, or kids, are more important than the fact that you dropped out of college out of embarrassment. You didn't have to quit, you chose to. You chose to. Now I'm making a choice.

Mia was finished. She returned home six months ago because her baby brother Doug, who is now 18, needed her help to get to college. She came home just long enough to get him out. It was weird being 7 years older than him and raising him, but she didn't regret it. Whenever she felt sad, she imagined scratching his head when he was three, he would make funny noises until he fell asleep. His hair was never fine, it was thick and poufy, like an afro of microfiber, but she loved it. Doug always insisted in keeping his hair cut short after he was old enough to deal with it. Inside, this broke Mia's heart, but it was important that he learn to make his own decisions, so she never told him. His life was going to be hard enough; she had to teach him to be self sufficient, to raise himself. She wouldn't be around forever.

As much as Mia thought she wanted Dina to just go away, she realized that she was worried about her. She sat in the dark at the end of the hallway to where she could just see her mother's silhouette on the couch and traced circles of the burn holes in the carpet. Dina was on the phone begging someone to bring her drugs. She didn't have the money for it, so she was promising favors. Mia thought about the twenty dollars she had in her pocket. Should I give it to her, she thought. She quickly realized it wouldn't change anything and decided to mail it to Doug later.

“I'll do whatever you want,” Dina begged. “No, no one's here. I mean Mimi is, but so what, she doesn't care.”

Mia cringed and thought I care alright, soon everyone will know just how much I care. The pain in her chest started at that point. She couldn't breathe and her head started to swoon. She wondered if this was a result of her mom smoking crack while she was pregnant with her. Although, Dina said she never did, Mia couldn't trust a word out of her mouth. When the pain started, Mia was 10, she would pretend that she had a pet kitten that was sitting on her chest. That was until she finally got a pet cat for her thirteenth birthday. Her mom had spent all the money on drugs and the kitten started to starve to death. Mia would save her milk from school to bring home to the kitten, but he wouldn't put on any weight. When Mia got home from school one day her mom told her she gave the cat to a friend's daughter, but weeks later a stench came from under the porch that told Mia the truth. She crawled under to exhume the remains of the kitten so that he could have a proper burial. His eyes were missing and the fur had completely come off his tail revealing a bone whip.

She had made up her mind this time. She was going to make her hell worth it. She was going to end the pain for her mother and her family. Although her mom would probably never know that she had been avenged. This wasn't for her mom, this was for her. As far as she was concerned, she had a father somewhere and she was going to find him. She crept back down the hallway and double-checked her bags: Clothes, identity documents, and a shiny new pistol. She felt like someone out of a spy movie and was shocked by how much she loved it.

Darion from the neighborhood sold her the gun but he also asked her not to use it. Mia assured him it was just for protection, but Darion knew better. He hoped she wouldn't get in to trouble, but business was business and she was a client. He took extra care to show her how to clean it, and Mia spent the last week cleaning it daily. She almost worshiped the small back savior.

“Mom, I'm leaving. I want you stop doing drugs. I'm not kidding this time. I'm going to call the police and then you won't see me for a long time,” Mia instructed.

“Sure honey,” her mom cooed. “Call me if you're going to be home late.”

As she left, Mia called 911, “Hello, there is a woman overdosing at 2211 Main St., please come fast.”