August 1998
As the years progressed my dad's alcoholism grew like a cancerous tumor and I grew older and more tolerable to his drunken ways. My dad completely stopped working, said he'd rather live off the government and drink the day away than to be a puppet in the economy. I prepared our dinner in the kitchen as he sat on the couch in his boxers passed out. Beer cans littered the floor and our property, but I often collected them and took them to the recycling center for some cash. It was a long walk to the recycling center, but it allowed me to think in silence.
Not once did I ever think that I'd work as much as a housewife as a fourteen year old. I cooked, I cleaned, I did it all. I even had to go fishing and hunting on my own once the food started running low, but now I rarely have to since I've started turning his cans in for cash. I taught myself everything I needed to know about hunting, though when I brought home my first kill my dad acted less than excited.
I remembered the day I had to start doing things on my own. I was nine. The food ran low not long after they were donated. I wanted to go and get more groceries, but my dad spent only a little bit on food, the rest went towards his beer. My dad never said a word to me when I did the housework, he just ate when there was food, drank non-stop, and once in awhile he'd get up to take a piss or shit.
"Today's gonna be different." I said to myself as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Today was my birthday. When my mom was alive birthdays used to be a big deal for everyone, but since she died my dad hasn't seemed to notice. I refused to let him forget my birthday this year, I was determined to get my dad off his ass and try to have some fun for my birthday.
I ran down the stairs hoping and praying that I would be greeted by my dad or that he would at least acknowledge my birthday, but as I entered the living room I saw my dad slumped over on the couch eating some leftover fish, drinking beer, and watching an episode of Beverly Hills 90210.
"Good mornin' dad." I smiled at him, but like my prayers, my words fell on deaf ears. "Do ya know what day it is?" Again he ignored me and continued to eat. "Dad?" I stood in front of the TV to get his attention. My dad sighed in agitation.
"What?" I looked at me with his glazed eyes as if looking through me.
"It's my birthday today." I smiled, but he didn't find anything amusing.
"Well, con-fuck-ulations. What, do you want a fuckin' medal for knowin' how to read a calendar?"
"It's just-" He interrupted me with anger.
"What? Were you expecting a fuckin' present? Some sort of surprize? Look around, Michaela! Do ya honestly think I can afford a fuckin' present?"
"It's just, birthdays were always a big deal when mom was alive." Saying that was the biggest mistake I've ever made.
"What did ya just say to me?" He slammed his can of beer to the floor and stood up. "Are ya tryin' to say this is my fuckin' fault? It's my fault that she's dead?"
"No, I-" He swung the back of his hand at me, striking my face. My cheek burned as I lost my balance and fell to the floor. I rubbed my throbbing cheek for a moment debating on whether or not I should get up. I knew he would never change, he would alway be a drunk for the rest of his life, but this? This was a whole new low, even for my dad. My dad has never hit me a day in his life. He'd gone too far.
"Ya know what?" I staggered to my feet.
"Don't get fuckin' smar-" He began, but I refused to let him finish.
"No, you listen to me. All I've done for the past five years is everythin' ya should've been doin'! I went shoppin' for food, I bought myself clothes when I outgrew 'em, I recycled your beer cans for money to get us by, I cooked, I cleaned, and for what? For a selfish drunk such as yourself?"
My dad stood in silence as I exploded with rage. "Ever since mom died you've been nothin' but an arrogant, lazy ass drunk and I'm sick and fuckin' tired of it!" I paused for a moment. I was shocked that I actually cursed in front of him, but he didn't seem to care one bit. "I go to school to better myself and pray that you'd better yourself as well, but every time I come home I see nothin' more than an empty shell of a man. You're worthless, nothin' but a waste of oxygen! For now on, I'm just gonna take care of myself, like I've been doin' since I was nine. You try takin' care of yourself for once, maybe then you'll realize what a selfish asshole you've been."
I grabbed my backpack from the living room floor and stormed out the door. My dad said nothing. It felt good telling him how I felt, but I also couldn't help to feel like a total bitch. He was my dad after all, but for the past five years he's been nothing more than a lazy, unemployed roommate. The bus showed up just before I had the chance to wallow in self-pity.
School went on as usual. No one noticed me except for this one asian kid. He never talked to anyone, nor did he ever pay attention to anyone, but today he noticed me. I assumed it was because of the bruise that was beginning to form on my face. I sat at the back of the classroom doing my work remaining silent. People assumed I was dumb because I never answered the teacher's questions, but truth be told, I was at the top of my class. I didn't mind playing the dumb student role, it kept people from bothering me. By the time school was over I couldn't wait to get home.
Every Friday my elderly neighbor Ms. Langford would meet me at my bus stop and invite me over for Chamomile tea and Snickerdoodles. I didn't care much for the tea, but the cookies were to die for. She made the attempt to invite my dad over once, but it didn't go too well. The bus ride seemed to take forever, but as we drove up the hill towards my house the small figure of Ms. Langford came into view.
She was an older woman who had fluffy white hair, wire rimmed glasses that always slid down the bridge of her nose, and wore a pink moo moo with matching slippers. She was a nice old lady, never bothered anyone. All she did was tend to her overly grown garden because she said her flowers were all that she had since her daughter never visited. She and I got along great because of the one thing we had in common, we both were lonely.
"Hi Ms. Langford." I smiled as the bus drove away.
"Hello Michaela, I wondered when you'd be home. Care for some tea and cookies today? You look famished." She smiled as she pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. She took my hand and walked with me to her house. It was a small one story building that was almost hidden in her jungle of flowers, but on the inside it was completely spotless. The smell of Chamomile tea and Snickerdoodles penetrated my nostrils as I walked in the front door. "Have a seat honey, and I'll get ya some tea and cookies."
I sat down and waited patiently. Her house wa cluttered and her walls were lined with photographs. Some of her and her daughter when she was little, some of just her and her flowers, and then one photo stood out the most to me. It was a black and white photo of a man wearing a WWII uniform. He didn't smile, just had a serious look on his face, almost as if it were a mug shot. I felt the man in the photograph watching me as I waited for Ms. Langford to return.
"Here we are," Ms. Langford smiled as she placed a large tray of cookies on the coffee table. "Nice warm cookies," She proceeded to place a teacup on a matching cup plate next to the tray. "And hot tea."
"Thank you Ms. Langford." I said taking a bite of the cookie. My mouth exploded with cinnamon flavor with every bite I took. It was the best cookie I have ever had.
"You're very welcome Michaela. Oh my goodness." Ms. Langford gasped. "What happened to your face?"
"I got hit with a dodgeball in P.E. class." I lied. "It don't hurt, though."
"That's good. So, how was school?" She asked as she sipped on her tea.
"It was good. I got an 'A' on my math test."
"That's wonderful! I'm so proud of ya." She always loved hearing about my day, anything was better than the silence at home.
"You're proud of me?" I asked as I choked on my cookie. She was the first person to ever tell me they were proud of me.
"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" She looked puzzled.
"Well," I paused for a moment. "It's just, no one has ever told me that."
"Not even your dad?" I shook my head. I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes. "Well, he's missin' out then. You're a smart, wonderful little girl and if he isn't proud of ya then he doesn't deserve ya as a daughter." I looked up at her and smiled and ate another cookie and sipped more on my tea.
"I hate to get off subject Ms. Langford, but I couldn't help but notice that picture on the wall." I pointed to the picture of the man watching over the entire room. "Who is he?"
"He's my husband. He died a few years ago, he would have loved you. God rest his soul." She smiled up at her husband's picture and looked back at me. "What about your family Michaela?" She sipped on her tea and pushed her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. "You've told me so much about your dad, but you never told me about your mom." I looked into my tea cup and sighed.
"She died." I paused to collect myself. "My dad and I were campin' in the mountains one weekend and came back home to find the house was on fire, she didn't make it out. The firefighters said they found her layin' on what they assumed to be the couch. I think she fell asleep while readin'. "
"Oh my goodness, Michaela I am so sorry. I can't imagine what ya must be going through." She felt bad for asking, but it didn't matter to me. She was dead, and that's that. There was no bringing her back.
"It's okay." I smiled up at her. The room fell quiet for a moment until her grandfather clock echoed from her bedroom. "I should be goin' Ms. Langford, my dad's probably wonderin' where I'm at."
"So soon? Are ya sure ya don't want me to bake some more cookies?" She asked readjusting her glasses once more.
"Sorry," I answered as I slung my backpack straps onto my shoulders. "Maybe tomorrow?" We both smiled at eachother and I walked out the door. I felt better than I did that morning, but I still was dreading going home. The sun was beginning to set over the hill. The gentle breeze played with my hair as I made the short walk up the gravel road to my house. Birds sang off in the distance, and the sound of the rocks crunching beneath my feet was the only noise to break the silence. My dad was still home, but I wouldn't doubt he'd already be drunk by the time I got there.
My dad's truck remained where it had been for the past few days and beer cans filled the yard, all crushed from my dad gripping them in his drunken rage. It wasn't a surprise though, he usually had the whole yard and house littered with cans by the end of the day. A faint whisper could be heard from the other side of the door as I approached. "Dad?" I knocked on the door, but no answer. "Dad, I'm home."
I heard a couple of clicking sounds as I gripped the doorknob, everything fell silent. I slowly opened the door and saw my dad a few feet away on his knees facing away from the door. "Dad?" POP!