Tell Me About It Pt.2

My dad loved our new place. I could hear him downstairs already unpacking boxes while listening to music that bounced off every wall in the house. Most of me was happy for him, but there was still a small part of me that wished he wasn't so happy and wanted to move back to our old house. It wasn't much at all, just a small blue house that turned grey over time from who knows what. It had small windows and a small porch, but when I was younger they both seemed so big. I used to take my pink scooter outside and ride back and forth on the porch while my mama cheered me on to go faster. Now that I think about it everything seemed bigger back then. I remember how I used to stand on my toes just to see out the window and mama would come and pick me up so that I could get a better view. I always thought that my mama would always be there to give me a better view. Until one day when I was six years old I asked her if she could come out on the porch to watch me ride my scooter and she told me that she didn't have the time. Do you know that feeling of when you go down the first hill on a roller coaster and your stomach takes a plunge into that dark unknown place in your body? Well, that is exactly how it felt when my mama rejected me for the first time. I didn't know what to do, I was so confused about why she didn't want to watch me and when I looked at her it looked almost as if she were sleep walking with her eyes open. It's funny how the smallest things can hurt you so bad, like a paper cut. I don't know about you but I think those things are one of the most painful injuries in the world. And just like painful emotions they'll pop up at the most random moments. You won't even know that it's there until something triggers it, like hand sanitizer or an old memory. I get emotional paper cuts often, unlike my dad who I believe barely feels at all. I once saw him stub his toe on the table and keep walking like nothing ever happened. I know he loves me though, he doesn't say it but he shows it some times.