I asked why my dad had left me.

“I caught him sleeping with a prostitute and I left him.” She said it matter of fact, like she was saying, “Let’s watch some TV.” or “I think it’s time I got a haircut.”

ZEPPELIN ON MELROSE BY FRANCISCA STEWART 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 06

I asked what had been on my mind for awhile. It was the only smudge in my small world. I asked why my dad had left me. Why he had left her. She looked at me, a skinny little girl in her unicorn dress and her big curious eyes set in a face with remnants of baby fat. A sigh came heavily out of her.

She coughed, took a gulp from her wine glass, took one more drag from her cigarette, and said, “I caught him sleeping with a prostitute and I left him,” as she stubbed out the cigarette in the old, scarred ashtray. She said it matter of fact, like she was saying, “Let’s watch some TV.” or “I think it’s time I got a haircut.”

“Oh.” Any other time, the next question would have quickly slipped out of my mouth. “What’s a prostitute?” Why’s it bad to sleep with on…