‘When We Were Still A Family’

Anita Dime is a noir lover, author of Five Mibs and a Martini, and artist, with recent work in Red Flag Poetry, Hum Magazine, and *82 Review. Follow on Facebook (@AnitaDime) or Instagram (@AnitaDime1982).

When We Were Still A Family

We weren’t always like this.

I remember a time when we were better.

This family has not always been broken.

I was six when my dad came home late from work, playing Despacito on his iPhone 5.

We had a dance party in our tiny living room, neighbors on every side of us in an apartment we
were barely able to afford.

We danced until I could wave goodbye to the moon and say hello to the sun.

My father held my mother in his arms and whispered sweet nothings while they twirled through
the night.

They were young and carefree.

I was six and loved.

This family was happy.

I was nine when we took a spring break trip back home to Virginia. On the drive back, my
mother told me what it would be like when I became a teenager.

She said I would be mean to her.

She said I wouldn’t listen anymore.

She said I wouldn’t come when she called.

I told her I would never stop coming when she called.

I was nine with strong beliefs.

This family was growing.

I was twelve the first time I thought about leaving this family.

All of us sitting silently in the new house we could afford but no longer felt like home. My sister
at the island barstool. My father by the bar cabinet. My mother by the kitchen door. Me at the
family table, alone.

I was twelve, fighting an impossible battle.

This family was divided.

I’m fifteen now, and the house gets emptier by the day.

Sports practices steal all of my time, and I let them walk away with it in broad daylight.

My father is in Texas — or maybe it’s Boston. He hasn’t been home long enough for me to ask
where he’s going next.

My mother has friends and activities, almost as if she stopped believing in her dream of a little
yellow house and white picket fence when I stopped believing in her.

My sister spends most of her time here, in this house of broken dreams and promises.

I can’t bring myself to regret leaving her or else this place would have swallowed me whole too.

I’m fifteen and tired.

This family is broken.

One day I’ll be saying goodbye to my twenties and hello to my thirties.

I’ll hold the daughter I brought into this world, and my mom will call me.

I will hesitate to come.

Or maybe I won’t come at all.

This family will become a memory

Naomi Dennis is a 15‑year‑old African American high school student beginning their writing career as a poet. Their work mostly pertains to emotionally driven concepts like familial trauma, the dark side of growing up, and the complexities of being a young woman in today’s world. They hope to attend Howard University in the future to earn a bachelor’s degree in English Literature.