One of Those Stories: 1
There is nothing in the fridge but my daddy’s beer.
Nothing. Bare and empty, nothing but yellowing plastic and the strong burning stench of mildew or mold. But, wait, what is that there in the back? Oh, just another half empty container of butter, half mushy from the way it melted after the electricity was turned off, then back on again. There is another item, however. One that I cannot touch.
Daddy’s beer.
I cannot touch it unless daddy asks me to bring him one. It hurts me inside to do it. I hate having to do it, but I do it because I know it makes him happy. The only thing is, I don’t like how it makes Daddy. He does things that he doesn’t when he doesn’t have his beer. He pulls his hand up really high and loves me on the face. My teacher asks about it, but I lie to her. Daddy tells me make believe is better than life, anyway, so it’s okay. Right?
So many things. Stocked nice and full for the big party on Friday. Daddy taught me right. Stocked full with browns and yellows and greens. the aroma of Daddy’s juice comes out. Eighteen and it’s my time to shine. He sure did tell me right.
Party’s going great. People showed up and they’re drinking Daddy’s beer. She came too, the one who makes me smile, but also makes me frown. Tonight, I loved her on the face. Her daddy called mine and he came home from work, and I didn’t let him touch me. Now, he has to lie at work, but that’s okay, Daddy says make believe is better than real life anyways.
Broken. No longer working right, shuts off and comes back on. I hate this place. I’m not happy unless I have one of my beers. My beer stocks this grungy fridge. I drink and drink and lose myself. I hate everything. This apartment on the thirty-second floor, my deadbeat job, and the girl who left me for the guy who I thought was my only true friend. I hate it all.
I trudge over to the window, open it all the way up, and drop my beer at chest level. I begin to step out to the ledge, tears don’t stream down a face that doesn’t know how to cry. I put my foot out in front of the ledge and shit my weight from the left on the ledge to the right, floating on the light smog of the city.
Falling. Falling and just now I realize what Daddy never taught me well enough. Unfortunately, it isn’t until I hit the pavement and my life runs like a movie through my mind, that Daddy taught me a lesson I never understood...
Don’t touch Daddy’s beer.
