“What’d he do now?” I asked.

  Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes. “I hate him! He’s drunk again. Mrs. Dearny heard him yelling and called 911,” Maggie said, pointing across the street, “She’s so damn nosy.”

  “Forget about her. Did he hurt Mom?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. I was in my room when I heard him yelling at her,” she replied.

  We walked into the house together.

  Maggie went left and sat next to Mom on the new leather sofa Dad purchased as a get out of the doghouse bribe for his DUI. Mom was rubbing her shoulder and looked scared.

  To my right, Dad sat at the dining room table and looked—drunk.

  Deputy Donaldson stood near the dining table across from Dad and Grandpa leaned against the wall, between the living room and dining room.

  I went to the dining room and stood near the table to listen.

  Deputy Donaldson nodded at me.

  Dad looked at me and squinted his eyes. “You stink like garlic!” he spat. “Get the hell…”

  From the sofa, Mom said in a loud voice, “Bill. You’re going to upset Dad.” She gave him a stern look. Both Dad and Bobby’s Dad looked at Mom.

  Grandpa and I exchanged looks. He just shrugged.

  “Screw him. He shouldn’t even be…”

  “BILL!” she interrupted, in an angry tone.

  “Bill, I don’t want to take you to jail for domestic violence,” Deputy Donaldson said.

  Dad’s attention shifted back to Deputy Donaldson. “I didn’t hurt her,” he slurred his words and nodded in Mom’s direction. “She’s a klutz, tripped and fell against the wall.”

  Deputy Donaldson and I both looked at Mom. She nodded in agreement and then looked down at her lap.

  Grandpa, shifting his stance, made a motion to me with his hands showing he wanted to strangle Dad. I nodded in agreement.

  Maggie stomped down the hall to her bedroom, drawing Dad’s attention to her. She slammed the door and cranked the volume up on her radio. Music blared down the hall.

  “Bill,” Deputy Donaldson tried to keep Dad focused.

  Dad turned to face Bobby’s Dad.

  “If Mary tells me you pushed her or you hit her, you’re going to jail.”

  Dad’s expression darkened, as he swiveled to look at Mom again.

  She shook her head. A tear ran slowly down her cheek.

  “If you promise me you’ll go to bed and sleep it off, I’ll accept your word and be on my way,” he said.

  Dad crossed his heart with his fingers and attempted to sign the Boy Scout pledge.

  Deputy Donaldson waited and watched Dad bounce off the walls as he went down the hallway. He stopped at Maggie’s bedroom and pounded on the door. “Shut that shit off,” he yelled into the door jamb.

  The music cut out in mid-chorus.

  After Dad had shut his bedroom door, Bobby’s Dad went to Mom and knelt in front of her.

  Grandpa followed and sat on the recliner, facing her.

  “Did he strike you or push you? Be honest, Mary,” Bobby’s Dad implored her.

  “No, I tripped, trying to get away from him. He was yelling at me. He didn’t hit me.” She shook her head the entire time she spoke.

  Grandpa and I made eye-contact. I could tell he didn’t believe her any more than I did.

  Deputy Donaldson patted Mom’s knee. “You’d tell me if he hurt you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

  She nodded but said nothing. She also didn’t make eye contact with him, which I felt told a different story.

  Deputy Donaldson asked me to keep an eye on Dad.

  He asked Mom to call him directly if Dad ever hurt her in any way.

  She agreed, and he left.

  “Dad pushed you, didn’t he?” I asked her after Deputy Donaldson drove away.

  She swallowed hard and remained silent.

  “Is that why you’re rubbing your shoulder?”

  She dropped her hand to her lap.

  “His drinking is out of control, Mom. He needs help, before he harms himself or worse, someone else.”

  In a voice which sounded much like a sad child, she answered, “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe the pastor at your church could speak with him,” I offered.

  Grandpa leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and spoke up, “Divorce the drunk.”

  We looked at Grandpa. He just shrugged, as if his suggestion made perfect sense.

  “I might try talking with the pastor about him, but I don’t want everyone in the church to find out,” Mom said.

  “I’m pretty sure everyone on our street already knows anyway.” As soon as the words left my lips, I wanted to take them back.

  Mom began to weep, quiet, gentle sobs. “You’re right.”

  “If I find out, Dad pushed you, or hit you, Dad, and I will have words. I’m not going to sit back and allow him to abuse you physically. When you’re ready to take a stand against him, Grandpa, Maggie, and I are here to help you.”

  I added, “Why do you think he’s an alcoholic Mom? He’s unhappy about something. Or he’s angry about something, that I’m certain of.”

  “Life isn’t going the way he expected it would, and he’s stressed about something going on at work. I think he just can’t help it.”

  “Mom, don’t be ridiculous. If he wanted to be sober, he would be sober,” I assured her, with a little too much agitation in my voice.

  She slumped her shoulders a little.

  “I don’t think he can stop on his own,” she whispered.

  Grandpa offered, “I’ll give him some help, with my old baseball bat.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. Outside, the crickets and frogs chattered loudly. It was close to midnight, and I was certain the neighbors had all given up on any potential scandal and long since gone to bed.

  “Will he sleep through the night and leave you alone?” I inquired Mom.

  “Yes. I’m sure he’s already out.”

  “Will he go to work tomorrow?”

  “Oh heavens yes. He’d never miss work because he was hung-over. He always wakes refreshed and ready to do it all over again.”

  Chapter 4

  After the drama of last night, I had left for school early to avoid seeing Dad. I also wanted to watch the swim team practice and hang out with the guys. It was their last practice before finals.

  It sucks I’m not on the team this year. When I wanted to buy the Chevelle, Dad had given me an ultimatum. It was sports or the car. The only logic he provided for his position was sports were expensive and so was a car.

  One had nothing to do with the other because I worked and I could cover the expenses. He held firm, and I needed parental consent to play sports.

  The way I saw things, it was just him being an asshole. And it was a tough decision for me, but I needed transportation, so I gave up both competitive wrestling and swimming. I’d been on the swim team for years, and he knew I loved to swim, plus I was good at it. But, Dad got off on wielding his power and showing me he was the boss.

  Eventual freedom from Dad was a bright, shining light, at the end of a dark tunnel. Graduation was exactly two weeks away, and I planned to move out from my parents’ house soon after.

  On my way home from school, it didn’t go unnoticed Dad’s car was parked at EC’s. What was curious was why he was there so early when he should have been at the office.

  I parked in my usual spot at the curb in front of the house, under the old shade tree.

  Maggie was still at nursing school. She was taking a course to become a registered nurse.

  Mom looked out the window when she heard me slam the car door. We made eye contact, and her face lit up with joy. I felt the same way.

  Over the years, I often thought Mom got a raw deal. She was a good person and deserved a better man than Dad. They first met in high school. According to Mom, she was shy, and he was popular. I had my doubts.

  Neither of Mom’s parents had gone to college, so they didn’t instill, into her, the expectation of going on to college. Grandma had never worked, and Mom followed in her mother’s footsteps. After Grandpa had served in the army and played some farm-league baseball, he became a carpenter – a proud union man.

  The front door was open; just the screen door was closed. Except for Mom making dinner preparation noises, in the kitchen, the house was quiet. The whole house smelled like chocolate cake.

  I tiptoed from behind her and gave her a squeezing hug. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Watch it; I have raw hamburger on my hands. I don’t want it all over the place. How was school?”

  I helped myself to some homemade chocolate-chip cookies, from the cookie jar on the counter. “It was fine. Not much going on. Everything is winding down.”

  “You’re going to ruin your appetite,” she said, with a smile, which turned to fear when she heard Dad’s car pull up into the driveway, “If you left your stuff in the living room, go pick it up and put it in your room and be quick.”

  I was in my room by the time Dad blasted into the house. He had a routine to check the mailbox before he came inside, this gave me a few extra minutes. When I heard him go into their bedroom, I slipped in to visit with Grandpa. For a minute, I sat next to his bed and watched him. He must have sensed someone was there, as his eyes opened halfway and he peeked out. When he saw it was me, he opened his eyes fully and smiled.

  “Cole. How’s my favorite grandson?”

  “I’m your only grandson,” I jokingly replied.

  He laughed. “How was school today? Have you decided what you’re going to do after you graduate?”

  “Eh,” I shrugged, “I’m going to stay at the pizza job for a while.”

  “Consider joining the army, son. You’ll see places and things you’d never see otherwise.”

  “Like, combat and killing people?”

  “No.” He fell silent for a moment, trying to remember something. “Well, I suppose it’s possible, but there are many bases around the world. Where you’re stationed would depend on the career field you choose.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, to change the subject. Although. I thought to myself, the last thing I wanted to do after high school, was join the army.

  He stifled a laugh. “How’s Billy-boy today?”

  I shrugged. “Did Mom say anything to you about the drama last night?” I quizzed.

  “I don’t think we talked about it,” he said. His expression suggested he was searching his brain to try and remember.

  “Dad was drunk and obnoxious,” I said, “I think he may have hit or pushed Mom.”

  “Oh, yes! Get me my baseball bat! I’ll show him how it feels to… to… ” his mind failed him, and he looked at me, searching his mental database again.

  “Can I get you anything, Grandpa? Water?” I offered.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

  “It’s dinner time.”

  “Oh yes,” he said, as he tapped his forehead, “So, what’s for dinner?”

  “Lasagna, for my birthday dinner,” I replied.

  “Mmmm, my favorite,” he smiled, wiggling his eyebrows and licking his lips as a child would.

  “Are you going to eat dinner with us tonight?”

  “Absolutely, I am, and there’s chocolate cake, right?” he said.

  “You remembered,” I chuckled, “I’ll be back to get you when dinner’s ready. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he murmured. I knew he might not recall it was my birthday dinner when I returned. It was okay; he’d feel happy all over again.

  Before I opened Grandpa’s door to leave, I listened. The TV was on in the living room. It felt safe enough to venture out.

  Dad sat in his recliner, reading the newspaper. Every now and then he poked his head up to watch what was on the TV. He liked it on, even when he wasn’t watching it. He didn’t seem to notice, as I walked from the hall into the kitchen.

  Mom puttered about in the kitchen. The table was set with six place settings for dinner.

  “Mom, did Dad say anything about getting off early today?” I whispered in her ear.

  She shook her head. I turned and walked to the living room, plopping onto the sofa. Dad didn’t acknowledge my presence. He still had not acknowledged my birthday, three days ago.

  “Why did you get off work early today?” I ventured.

  He turned and looked at me. “What’re you talking about?” Condescension laced his words.

  “I saw your car parked at EC’s when I was on my way home from school, around noon,” I responded, “It was a bit early to be drinking, and you should have been at work.”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He glared at me.

  “If you’re going to sneak around town, you might want to remove, the old ‘Los Angeles Raiders’ bumper sticker on your car,” I quickly shot back at him.

  “You don’t know what the hell you saw.” His anger was increasing with each word.

  “What didn’t you see?” Mom asked. She’d come into the room at some point.

  “Dad got off early and…”

  His eyes almost bulged out of his head. “I said, I didn’t get off early!” he bellowed.

  “Both of you, shush. You’re going to wake Dad,” Mom scolded.

  “Why are you lying?” I asked him, with surprising calmness.

  Mom looked at Dad, and he looked at her. I waited for an answer, or for him to implode. His face was red, his eyes narrowed. “I was FIRED!” he screamed at me, his face contorted in rage.

  Mom’s hand covered her mouth, and she made a gasping sound.

  “Are you happy now?” Dad threw the newspaper on the floor and stomped past Mom without saying another word. He slammed the bedroom door so hard the plate glass window shook in the living room.

  With tears in her eyes, Mom went to the telephone and called a friend who worked at the same accounting firm as Dad.

  I stayed where I was, to learn what had happened.

  While Mom was on the telephone, with Dad pouting in his bedroom and Grandpa in the safety of his room, Maggie arrived home from school. She looked like a nurse, in the bright, white uniform, she wore. She even had a stethoscope hanging around her neck.

  She looked at me, and I shrugged. She looked at Mom who turned around to face the wall.

  “What’s going on?” Maggie asked, “Something weird has happened. I can feel it.”

  “Dad was fired,” I said in a quiet voice.

  “Oh my God,” she uttered, “Why?”

  “I don’t know yet. Mom’s talking to Hal Johnson.”

  “Where’s Dad?” she asked.

  “In their bedroom,” I replied.

  Maggie went to her room, but I stayed, to listen to Mom’s end of the conversation, although she wasn’t saying much.

  She hung up the telephone and looked at me. “It’s true. The boss fired him. He messed up some accounts. When the boss tried to talk to him about it, he smelled alcohol. He confronted him about being drunk, and your dad flew into a rage.”

  “Can he draw unemployment benefits?” I asked.

  “I don’t…” she stopped in mid-sentence when she heard their bedroom door open and crashed against the wall.

  Dad walked straight toward me. He stopped just short of stepping on my toes. And looked down at me, with his hands on his hips, his nostrils flared, and he clenched his jaw. “I hope you’re happy young man. I wanted to tell your mother when the time was right.” His voice was eerily, steady and controlled.

  “There’s no right time to tell your wife you were fired. You shouldn’t have stopped at the bar. You should have come straight home to tell Mom.” I straightened my back, ready for a fight.

  Maggie walked back into the living room. She’d changed from her uniform into shorts and a tank top. She leaned against the wall, between the living room and dining room.

  Dad stared at me, his face turning a deep red. “You think you’re such a smart guy, you little shit. You don’t know anything about being an adult. You’re lucky I don’t throw your ass right out on the street.”

  Mom and Maggie both gasped.

  Chapter 5

  After Dad almost blew a gasket earlier and accused me of ruining his timing to tell Mom he’d been fired, he retreated to his bedroom, and I hadn’t seen him since. Mom had stayed busy in the kitchen preparing my birthday dinner.

  Dad has ruined many birthdays, so it was no surprise he was on track to ruin this one as well.

  Bobby, Maggie, and I sat on the front porch and talked. Maggie hesitated and then said to Bobby, “He’s out of control. He told Cole he was lucky he didn’t kick him out.”

  Bobby stroked her leg. “He wouldn’t kick your brother out. It was just the booze talking, or fear, from having just been fired.”

  She blinked several times before adding, “What’re we going to do?”

  “He’ll get another job,” I said, to try and comfort her. Although, I wasn’t so sure he could get another job. His drinking was controlling him.

  Mom peeked out the screen door and cleared her throat, “Dinner’s ready. Cole, will you please go and get Grandpa.”

  I helped Grandpa change into his ‘street clothes.’ He didn’t want to eat dinner in his pajamas.

  Dad’s place at the head of the table sat vacant because he had stayed in his bedroom. Bobby tried to keep the conversation going, but, although I couldn’t speak for Mom or Maggie, I felt tired of all the drama from Dad. This destruction derby had been going on for too many years, and I couldn’t wait to move out.

  Bobby rambled on about the new donkey his Dad had brought home. When he said his Dad named the donkey, Rhubarb, the ridiculousness of the name made us all laugh. Then it was Grandpa’s turn to tell us about the animals he’d grown up with on his parent’s farm. The way he described his childhood, which sounded similar to Bobby’s, except two generations ago, made me feel envious.

  Although it was my birthday dinner, birthdays were never special in our house. Maggie and I were afraid to invite anyone over, except for a few close friends we knew wouldn’t judge us, because of our drunk father. We didn’t have parties. Mom did her best to make our birthdays special, but Dad usually ruined it in some way, by being drunk.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10