crucified her.
"You know, not everything about me is dependent on you," I said, more for myself than her.
The hours of the next school day seemed to double as I waited to go home and put the finishing touches on my room. When I got there, a few of my belongings had been relegated to a corner, obscured in the shadow of an antique mahogany display case that seemed to swallow up half the room.
The first thing I noticed was that it was busted. The back panel was cracked, split right down the middle. It looked like all the curbside furniture Mom rescued: broken, discolored by dust, and with feet carved to look like a lion’s paw holding a ball. A shriveled spider dangled from the corner, ensconced in a thick brown cobweb Mom didn’t bother to wipe away.
"Isn't it fabulous?" she said, sneaking up behind me in the doorway.
Judging by its size, it had no other place to go and I had to think that Mom knew that. This was no gift. It was a Trojan horse of cyclical dysfunction. It's easier for her to sell me on this enormous cockroach nursery than to just keep driving.
"Why?" I barked, suddenly feeling too self-righteous for diplomacy.
"It's a housewarming gift."
"It's a house-filling gift. For yourself."