“Do you think UFOs exist?” I asked. My best friend and I were sprawled out on the hood of my father’s car, gazing up at the night’s stars twinkling down on us.

“Probably,” She sighed. We were both 10 years old at the time so we could only dream as opposed to philosophize. She checked her cheap, neon green, plastic watch.

“I have to go home at 11.” Ally muttered. Her grandma’s mobile home was right next door to my father’s so she had an extended curfew. Nobody maintained a vigilant eye on us; we could wander the mobile home park and never be missed as long as we were both back on time. I grabbed her arm and looked at her watch. It was 10:53.

“I should go home,” She muttered. I agreed and told her I’d see her tomorrow as we hopped off the car. The night dew on the grass blades sent a chill up my bare little feet. Ally gave me a tired high-five then trudged off to her mobile home. We spent as much time together on our weekend visitations to avoid going “home”. On the weekends, Ally visited her grandma and I visited my father. I never wanted to see him though. He polluted my innocent mind with evil thoughts and images. Knowing I had to eventually, I went inside. There was some violent movie playing on the computer. There was my father on the couch that could’ve been pulled out of a Dumpster, beer in hand, asleep. His Satan-spawned cat guarded him. That cat only liked him and would attack everyone else. I wasn’t sure what to do considering he was passed out on my bed. I refused to sleep in his bed with him so I slept on the couch.

“Hey,” I said. I nudged his foot with mine. He scowled and grumbled a little, not opening his eyes.

“Hey,” I repeated, louder. “Can you get up? I want to go bed.” This time he woke up, almost spilling his beer. My father was overweight, had shaggy grey hair, drank a lot, and was bottom-line gross. He paused the movie while someone was being stabbed, and checked the time.

“Aw, come on, honey, it’s not that late.” He smiled sweetly. I wasn’t about to play his games that night. Not again. Not anymore.

“I’m tired!” I raised my voice enough to unsettle my sister sleeping in the next room over. I knew that if I set my foot down, he wouldn’t push me. He sighed and stood up. After placing his beer can, half full, on the sticky coffee table parallel to my “bed”, he hugged me… too close… too tight. I wriggled and he took the hint.

“Stop,” I hissed. He immediately looked hurt, like a puppy that I had just kicked. He insisted on tucking me in and taking too long to do so. He gave me three or so kisses then shuffled off to his bedroom. He forgot his beer on the table and I remember the bitter, pungent smell. I didn’t want to move it into the kitchen because of the fruit flies that accumulated there from all the alcohol. At 10 years old, I shouldn’t have had to think about what would be happening if I was sleeping in his bed instead of the dingy couch. With a sofa-induced pain in my back and neck, I drifted to sleep, dreaming of the day I wouldn’t have to return to this hellhole.

*** My father was arrested for two counts of sexual conduct against a child in the first degree and reckless endangerment of a child in the first degree with a bail of half a million dollars. It will be over two decades when he is released from prison. If you know of any teens or children who may be in danger of being molested or abused, please step up and speak out. Don’t let it happen again. No more secrets, no more pain.