Mary Davis, 18, is neglected by her family. All of her life, she has had to take care of herself while her mother drinks and her father is a compulsive gambler. Her two escapes from reality are: An Inscape built from her mind and a college acceptanc...
My mother yells as I am in the garage, drawing. I hate being in the room with her as she drinks herself away. I put my headphones down and head to the living room. Mom is halfway out of the first bottle of wine. Mom tries to stagger up from the couch and into the kitchen, but she loses her balance. I catch her before she falls to the ground. She looks at me and smiles a crooked smile—her breath, foul of drink, and cigarettes.
"My darling girl. You're so good to me. You're so good to me." My mother whispers as I help her to her bedroom.
She stumbles onto the bed and starts snoring immediately. I place the blankets over her body and fluff her pillow. She adjusts her body on the mattress and sighs contentedly. I walk away from the bedroom and look at my watch. It's 4:45. Dad is supposed to be home soon. I get started on dinner. I decide to cook Dad's favorite: Juicy Lucy burgers. As I finish placing the patties on the buns, I hear the car pulling up. I can also hear Dad slam the car door. Usually, that means that Dad had a bad day. I brace myself to listen to him, yelling at Mom or me. Dad walks in, throws his backpack on the couch, and walks up to the kitchen counter.
"I'm thirsty." Dad orders. I grab him some ice and a Coke, but he looks at it with disgust.
"You know what I want. Don't play, little girl." Dad sneers. My breath becomes shaky. I go to the fridge, grab a beer, and open it for him. Dad takes the beer with delight. He chugs a few gulps down his throat and asks me,
"Mom passed out? Is that why you're making dinner?"
I clear my throat and say, "Yes, Dad. I made your favorite: Juicy Lucy Burgers. With extra crispy pickles and Dorito chips. I'm going to eat mine in my room, and I'll place Mom's in the microwave so she can heat it later when she wakes up." Dad walks up to me. His eyes narrow with suspicion and doubt. He grabs my chin with his hand and lifts my face.
"If you weren't so damn good-hearted, you could leave and be something instead of taking care of us. I blame myself and your mother. When you're done eating, come back and clean this mess up. I'm going out for most of the night." Dad lets go of my face and takes his food. He went to the dining room while I went to my bedroom.
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I play some music and eat my food. I feel like I haven't introduced myself. My name is Mary Davis. I'm 18 years old, and I am a senior at Sugarcomb High School. I live in Sugarcomb, Massachusetts, with my mother and father, Amy and Taylor Davis. They have been married since 1999, and the marriage is already beginning to take its toll. Dad is a carpenter and works as a mechanic on the side. Mom was a nurse for the local hospital until she was injured in an accident that resulted in the amputation of her left leg. That was ten years ago, which was when she started her severe alcoholism. Dad, on the other hand, is a compulsive liar and gambler. He once gambled his paycheck, which almost resulted in us being evicted. I have no friends because I prefer it that way. I am always made fun of because I like reading Freud, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, John Fowles, and even Alexandre Dumas while the other students go party and lose brain cells. I have dreams of leaving my sleepy town and becoming big. I hope to make a name for myself, get married to the right man, and have children. I finish my dinner and go to the kitchen to clean up since Dad won't clean. I washed the plates, threw the beer bottles from the living room, and checked on the doors and windows. Dad wasn't going to come back until late, and he has a key. I turn the lights off from the dining room and head back to my room. It's times like this that I want a dog, but I know that either Mom or Dad will mistreat him or her. I enter my room and do my nightly routine to wash my face, brush my teeth, and put my pajamas on. I check my bay windows and make sure they are locked and draw the curtains. As I slip into bed, my lights begin to flicker. A static sound was coming from a small radio I had. I turn the radio off and go to sleep. My eyes are starting to feel heavy, and as I am about to rest, I can distinctly hear "Oh Holy Night" playing softly in my head. What does this mean?
