Watching the clock, the day is almost over. Lunch filled her belly with warm turkey turn overs smothered in gravy.

Tick...
Tock...
Tick...
BEEEEP...

"Mrs. Melancamp, could you please send Nicolena to the office, she will be leaving for the day."

Blink.

Her teacher motions for her to go, and Nicolena gathers her things to leave. Bewildered and she feels the stares of the other students on her back as she leaves the room. She keeps her head bowed and her bag on her shoulders. She doesn't look back when she opens the door and enters the hallway.

Bang.
Thump.
Bang.
Thump.

Her heart beats something terrible. She keeps her head down. Once she reaches the office, she sees her father standing there. A big barrel of a man, standing ackwardly at the front desk waiting for her. Nicolena is more confused than ever now, when he holds out his hand for her to take it and they walk out to his beat up Chevy truck.

The paint is chipped, worn off. Rush stains and eats at the frame of the truck. There is only one windshield wiper and its always in the upright position. Her father opens the passenger side door for her, puts her bag in the floorboard and helps her hoist into the beast of a truck.

Barreling to the other side, her father gets in, "We are going for ice cream, is that alright with you?" Of course, any nine year old would like ice cream, so of course, she nods her head and watrches her father turn the dial on the radio, turning the station to his favorite country music. He rolls down the window, and the air is chilly on her arms, but she wears a jacket, so the breeze doesn't bother her too much, other than brushing her hair out of her face.

They pull up to the local Dairy Queen and make an order, "We are going to the park, What do you think of that Nicolena?" He asks. She nods her head while she licks her vanilla, chocolate swirl ice cream cone, of course, what nine year old would mind going to the park?

More driving...
More music...
More ice cream...
Stop.

The park at the end of the sand pit at on eof the local playgrounds, looms in front of them from the parking lot, and her father turns the truck off. He watches her eat her ice cream a moment, and then turns off the radio. "I need to talk to you about something, Nicolena, and I think you are old enough to understand it."

Cocking her head to the side, she gives her father the most perplexed look but nods her head, "Okay, what's wrong, daddy?"

"Nothing is wrong. Daddy will not be living with you and mommy anymore. We are getting a divorce. This means that mommy and daddy do not want to be married anymore."

Shock.

Numb to the explaination. Coated with sugary ice cream and lulled by the twang of echoing country music in her head, that isn't even on the radio anymore. She nearly drops what is left of her ice cream in her lap. Its as if her mouth is too sticky to talk.

"Now, honey, I will visit you and your mommy says you can come visit me too."

"Where will you live, Daddy. You can't live in your truck?"

"No, I have a lady friend who will be letting me sleep at her house, adn then I will go to work, and come visit you on the weekends when you are not at school."

Still not quite sure what is going on, Nicolena crawls over to wrap her arms around her daddy. He just looks so sad. Even though she didn't know why, she knew this wasn't a good thing.

****************************************

The sounds are different in the house. There is more silence, though shattered by the moans and wails of heartbreak. The phone rings. Nicolena answers the phone in the middle of doing the dishes. Soapy hands, shaped like prunes, pick up the receiver, "Hello?"

"Hello darling, its your daddy. Please put your mommy on the phone."

Nicolena nods to the receiver, to the voice on the other end of the phone. For some reason she believes he can see her nod her head. She puts the receiver on the table and runs into her mother's room, the wafting bitter smell of smoke assaulting her senses. The stench of week old beer stains on the carpet mingle with the sense of bittersweet aroma in the air. Her mother goes to answer the phone. Nicolena goes back to the dishes.

Thud.
Stop.

Fingers still in the soap suds, something drops to the floor. Nicolena waits. Her small hands let the plate she is washing, sing to the bottom of the sink. Biting her bottom lip in apprehension, she reaches over to dry her hands with a torn rag of cloth. She sets it on the stove and goes to see what is going on.

Rolling.
Wailing.

Her mother on the floor. The phone in her hand. Her knuckles so white, the bone is seen. Nicolena stands in the door for a bit, wondering what exactly to do. Her mother is crying, hysterical on the floor. Begging. Heartbroken. That much is apparent.

Even to a nine year old.

Nicolena gets down on her knees, sinking to sit on the floor. Reaching her hand out, she places it on her mother's shoulders. Her back is to her daughter, but the girl can feel the uncontrollable shaking and the increased heartbeat. Moving her hand softly, she is not noticed, this small girl of nine, but she does it anyway. Trying to soothe her mother's pain.
No.
Luck.

(To Be Continued...)

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