still in the celophane

I think I mentioned that I died when I was eight. My parents ended an alcoholic, abusive marriage when I was seven. My father took my brother and I on weekends for almost a year. Fishing. Model airplanes. Then one Saturday morning I went outside to wait for him only to find a box on the porch. Everything we had left at his apartment. No note, no phone call, just a box of our stuff. I had saved up and bought him a model airplane for Christmas. He left it on the porch with everything else. Still in the celophane. I think I was confused and wounded by the marriage and divorce, but still struggling on - still alive - until that day. That was the day I knew for sure that no one wanted me. I never saw him again.