Punks-The Tuesday After Saturday

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
Minnie never slept anymore, so Minnie was high a lot.
It was 6:30 in the morning and she could hear her father awake, moving in the upstairs, from room to room. She could hear the drag of her mother's feet following him. And she could hear her mother crying, whimpering.
But everybody knew it was going to happen this time.
This time, her father had not changed his mind. This time he had not given in.
Minnie could feel the hate wrench in her stomach, could feel that same hate in her eyes and across her mouth, as she took the last toke off the joint. She did not care anything for her father.
Minnie tried to care for her mother.
She heard the sudden thump and patter of Teddy and his seven year old feet upstairs. Minnie tossed the roach into her ashtray, lit, and got up off her bed; quickly, to cross her basement bedroom floor. She climbed the stairs, into the kitchen, where her parents now were.
"...fucking mess. Everything. You. You are a fucking mess," her father's voice full of disgust.
And when Minnie entered the kitchen, she saw her mother's face, so ugly. So at the end of its world.
And Teddy appeared in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes, in his red Power Rangers pajamas. "Mommy? Mommy? Minnie?" his voice soggy; he was not awake. He could not remember that today was the day.
"Teddy, go back to your room. Go back to your room, Teddy," Minnie said, to him.
Minnie’s father turned to look at her, then over to his son sitting in the kitchen doorway.
"No, no, Teddy, stay right here" he urged. "Take a good look at what women are and draw your own conclusions."
"Shut the fuck up, Daddy," Minnie said, to his back, and he turned towards her, again.
And Minnie watch her mother slide to the floor, in front of the refrigerator. Minnie watched her mother cover her ears and her face, and hide herself in lap.
"No, no, no," the woman cried, into herself. Within herself. For herself.
Minnie’s had his shoes already on and he was looked at his daughter.
"Remember when you were only just a whore?" he said, to her.
And when he laughed, Minnie spit it his face. The spit was thick, the pasties starting to come on, inside Minnie's mouth. It landed and hung from his eye and then plopped on to his cheek, a slow ooze, sliding.
And Minnie smiled her best smile at her father.
And when he slapped her across the face, all she did was laugh back at him. Minnie had kept her footing.
"Daddy’s little girl...Daddy's little girl...Daddy's little girl," she chanted into his eyes. She chanted until he turned. She chanted until he walked out the back door of the house, picking up the two suitcases that had been sitting there, waiting, since the last night. He did not care enough to slam the door. Instead Minnie’s father left it hanging, left it to figure itself out.
And when the door finally found its place, Minnie's mother let out the sound.
Of nothing.