3:37 am. That is the time my father stumbles into the house drunk. He's louder than a train at full speed. Curses and grunts slip under my door as he stumbles around in the living room. Prying the mound of blankets off, I tiptoe to my door; where it has grown quiet, the only noise is Abel' s light snoring in the room next to mine. My father lays passed out on the couch; still in his work clothes. He didn't even change before he went to the bar to get smashed. Easing the door open, I peer into Abel's room; he always keeps his door open a crack because of the heat. Abel lays flopped on the mattress with no care. His long arms and legs flung over the bed; hair disheveled. I briefly wonder to myself how he manages to look so collected and unperturbed, even in his sleep. Not wanting to disturb him I make my way outside; where I sit on the porch, alone. It's chilly tonight; Wisconsin's fall months always are. Hidden behind a few loose bricks I find my pack of smokes, half empty. Flicking my lighter to life, I bring a cig to my mouth and inhale. Burning fills my chest, and with a sense of relief, I exhale; blowing a wispy grey cloud of smoke into the air above me. The frigid air freezers my breath and smoke; making a tiny grey cloud. Comically I picture that cloud following me around, waiting to pour cats and dogs; just like the cartoons. Hot pain stabs my finger. I look down to see my cigarette burned to the butt, greeting my finger painfully. Tossing it into the grass, I stand up slowly, and creep back into the dark house; hopeful for a few hours of sleep.
At eight o'clock, I'm in the barn; Abel left for work at seven and my dad is dead to the world. I got up early, in hopes of getting chores done by noon. After letting the cows out of the barn, I hear pot's and pans clattering in the house through the screen door. Curious, I peek through the window. My father is hung over, looking for something in the kitchen (probably aspirin.) Slamming the screen door open, I go to the bathroom. Rattling out two white pills, I walk back to the kitchen and hand them to my slouched and slightly swaying father; who has started to fiddle with the sink.
"Why ain't you in school?" He half slurs, half spits; turning to me.
"I took a three day vacation to fly to the moon; the weather there is supposed to be great this time of year."
"Don't get smart with me you little shit. You get suspended again?" He says while stumbling forward.
"Yup, caught cheating. Jokes on them, the only thing I learned is to not cheat off of Elizabeth. AKA snitch the bitch."
Turning back to mess with the faucet, my dad mumbles under his breath.
"No wonder you're mother left" I feel anger burn in my chest. For a few minutes I don't know what to do; I stand, blinded by rage like a ticking time bomb. With the next sentence he sends me over the edge.
"Why can't you be more like Abel?" Pure rage burns its way up to my mouth; where I shoot off without thinking.
"Why can't you be more like a father?" With that my dad wheels around, and lands his meaty hand on my cheek. I feel the sting immediately; and will myself not to cry. I will not give him the gratitude of seeing me vulnerable. Standing poised, ready and alert; I wait for the next blow. There's never just one. Pain explodes over my eye; sending me to the ground; my father's balled up fist seems to be the culpret. With a swift kick to my abdomen, he leaves; right out the front door. Laying balled up on the ground, holding my stomach; the pain slowly fades. Thinking to myself, I bitterly laugh; three's always the magic number.
"What the hell happened here?" Is the next thing I hear, followed by our door colliding with the wall. Abel must be home for lunch.
"Oh, same old same old; dad's pissed cause I gave him aspirin, you know the drill." Dropping his work bag on the floor, Abel crosses the kitchen in two strides, and kneels in front of me.
"You mean your smart mouth got you into this. Are you ever gonna learn to just leave him alone?" Grabbing my chin he tilts my head back and forth to look at the damage.
"You'll have a nice shiner, good luck explaining that one." He says while pulling me up by my arm. Still holding my abdomen, I plop into the dining room chair.
"He get you in the stomach?" Abel says while lifting my shirt; revealing a nasty bruise. I push his hands away and pull my shirt down in annoyance.
"I'm fine, Abel, how was work?"
"Like you said, same old, same old." He mutters while inspecting the contents of the fridge.
"What do you want for lunch?" he says shutting the fridge and turning to me.
"Not spaghetti," I say making a face. Childish, I know, but if I have to eat another plate of noodles this week, I'm going to barf.
"Good, where all out of noodles. How about burgers?" He says while taking out a pan.
"Perfect."
"Hey, Cole?" Abel says just above a whisper.
"Yeah?" I reply while getting ingredients out of the fridge.
"Can you please just try?"
"Yeah, Abel, I'll try."
Point Abel.
YOU ARE READING
Finding You
Teen FictionTime. Time is contradictory; it can be as slow as molasses, or fly by in an instant. It can feel never ending, or forever fleeting. Something we feel so deeply about, yet change our opinion on daily. Currently I'd like nothing more, than to take a k...
