your father has left

The woman of the house ,she knew from the cliche lipstick staind collar of his workshirt he so decievingly tried to hide in an allready loaded washing machine, she just had to check and make sure hed left nothing in the pockets of the garmint he tried to slip in, as if she didnt, wouldnt notice, it was dinnertime and my sister just a year or so older and my baby brother just a year or so younger and myself were seated for dinner, it all seamed like any other dinner.My father, in his usual fashion going into his ranting and demand for his dinner to be ready and served, our mother with a thought all her own, came up with the novel idea of serving dad his dinner in the manner hed described quick and ready plate and all sticking to the the spot mere inches above his head, a few degrees difference would have put that dinner smack dab in the middle of his face, spaghetti falling about his head onto his shoulders the plate hitting the floor. in a low but decidedly dark and angry voice we were told not to look up, clean your plates and excuse yourselves to your bedrooms for the rest of the night. in fear we did as directed and after a few moments of eaves dropping we heard only the muffeld tones of our parents voices in what was the last arguement our parents ever made us aware of, around the time the sun came up our father longsince left for work, or so wed thought. our mother informed us to grab our shorts and whatever else wed need because we were going to the beach, it was the longest trip to the beach wed ever made, my siblings and i getting antsy to head home my mother knowing the time had come to tell us what shed known shed have to tell us all along, she said when we get home youll notice somethings missing, while you kids were swiming and playing your father was at home loading up what was his, your father wont be returning she said, she then asked how we felt simultaneously the three of us cheered, i for the freedom i knew would come and my brother and sister for no longer having to live in fear, your father wont be returning she mutterd once more as we gatherd up our belongings ,and got back into my mothers beloved chartruese green chevy carryall .Heading inland to our place in the sun , a community in the heart of our city, affectionatly called "Scandalmont".