Sounds of the argument leaked through the closed door. The little girl went on playing with her old, torn doll by the flickering shadows of the fire. Suddenly, the door slammed. The stench of alcohol wafted through. Her mother was standing in the doorway, and she had an unreadable expression on her face. The little girl looked up in time to see her mother collapse. Nonplussed, the girl crawled over to the unmoving body. She reached over to touch her mother's face. It was drawn and the cheekbones were jutting out. The little girl saw a stream of spittle along her mommy's chin. The smell was awful.

The mother twitched. Abruptly, she opened her eyes and stared at her daughter calmly.

"Come here, honey."

The girl obediently got up and sat next to her mother.

"Mommy? Where's Daddy?"

"Shh," the mother whispered. She cradled the girl in her arms and lifted her up. Slowly, she rocked her child in her arms. Faster and faster she went.

"Mommy!"

"Shh..." And the woman just dropped the bundle from her arms.

A thunk resounded the living room as the little girl's head hit the floor. A wail came emerged from her lips.

"Don't be a bad girl, sweetie. Now Mommy's all mad. Mommy's mad and Daddy's mad. God's looking at you and he's very mad at my bad little girl."

The girl could only whimper and clutch her doll. Her mother lunged for the Raggedy Ann. Its patchwork limbs were sewed on separately and the hair was a wild tangle of yarn. As both of them played tug-o-war over the thing, the head and an arm ripped off.

"Mommy doesn't like that." The girl watched as her mother threw it into the fire.

"Now Mommy's tired. Go to sleep now. Mommy wants to go to sleep too." With that, the woman turned around and left.

A lump was stuck in the little girl's throat. She reached over and stroked the arm and head of her doll. The fire sent up sparks as it consumed the rest.

"Daddy?" she whispered, a suspicion scratching the back of her skull.

She pushed open the door. The odor of alcohol met her nose. Shattered bottles were everywhere. Daddy was leaning on the kitchen counter. Why was his head so far back? Red glittered on his throat. She rushed over.

A bubble of laughter came out of the little girl. Her daddy told her not to play with glass, but he was doing it himself! She remembered the time she stepped on a shard of glass and it had torn through the sole of her foot. All Mommy did for her was give her a Band-Aid. But it was her first pink one, so she was content.

Maybe she should give Daddy a pink Band-Aid. The boo-boo was big, though. So big. His head looked all dangly. She peeked at the recent bandages on her elbow, and pulled them off.

"Daddy! I'm gonna help you, Daddy." She stuck the bandages on the hurt part, but they slid off the opening and onto the floor. Why was it so slippery? Her foot hadn't had that much red on it. She had liked the red actually. It was so shiny and glittery and RED. She always liked red.

"Wake up! I helped you Daddy!" she screamed into his ear. Shaking him, she sighed. For the first time she glanced around the room. Too many shards. Mommy wasn't here to get more pink Band-Aids if she stepped on another one.

Next to Daddy was more red, but not shiny red. Wait, it was the thing Mommy used for dress-up. Mommy had put it on her lips before. She felt so grown-up then. The glittery gold tube still lay next to it.

The little girl had just learned her alphabet and she was proud of it. The red stuff had her favorite letter: 'R'.

'R-E'-wait. What was it again? The teacher had given her a cookie for reciting the letter to the class, but now she forgot. 'D'! That was it!

"R-E-D. R-U-M."

She recognized what 'red' meant. It WAS her favorite color after all. But 'Red Rum'? What was rum? The girl puzzled over it as she lay down to sleep, watching over her daddy and hoping he would wake up to thank her for helping with his boo-boo.