There was never any dad around and that was just the way it was. Other kids had a dad but somehow mine was missing. Maybe he was magical. Maybe he was a spy. An international spy who traveled the world and foiled bad guys. I would picture him chasing the villain through Red Square, or Paris, or Prague. In my imagination, he was always dashingly handsome. A sweep of jet-black hair and enormous dark eyes. A movie star.

And my mom, I didn’t have to imagine, because she was right there with me. When I was little, little. I remember her long wheat-colored hair and her gray eyes, looking down at me, while she sang little songs. She was the lead star. The main attraction. When she was there my life was a movie and she was the beginning, the middle, and the end.

There is not an actress on this earth who could compare to her.

In my memory.

But then, one day, a strange thing happened. It was a gray March day, and when she was picking me up from my grandmother’s house, she slipped on the ice. No big deal. Happens all the time. It’s Nebraska.

But it was painful, her back somehow twisted in the fall. I remember her reaching her arm back and trying to squeeze the pain away. Standing there in the kitchen, on the linoleum floor, white and black checks.

Then she went to the doctor and, for a while after that, she was fine. Happy as a clam. Cheery even.

There were little plastic amber bottles with prescriptions all around the house. With strange names. Long, unpronounceable names.

And the doctor kept her from trying to squeeze the pain out of her back. The pills did that. The pills made everything better.

And then there were more and more pills and more and more plastic amber bottles. And sometimes she’d leave me at Grandma’s so she could go to the doctor. And, at first, she’d just leave me for hours. But then she’d leave me the whole day. Then overnight. Then, for days.

And when she’d bring me home it was a strange home, a messy home, like a truck drove through it . . . clothes on the ground and nothing picked up and the bathroom smelling like piss and nothing clean. Nothing ever clean, nothing ever organized. But the pills. She always knew where the make-everything-better pills were. That part was organized.

And the pills made her happy! Happy happy smiles! Happy happy pills! And mom was back! My lead actress with the blond, blond hair was back! And I had her! And she loved me again! And we could be happy! We could be happy here, just mommy and me, together!

It was a Halloween party.

She was supposed to take me to.

I was the little mermaid.

Ariel.

Grandma had bought my outfit and even sewn on extra sequins for my sparkly green tail. And I had a long red wig that Grandma said made me look beautiful, and I couldn’t wait for Mommy to see it. When she picked me up, she would see it. Couldn’t she get here? Why wasn’t she here already?