Twisted Smiles

IX

It took me back to several years ago.

After my mom died, she took everything with her. My childhood, my perseverance, my faith... and most importantly; my father's dignity.

He'd become unrecognizable afterwards.

We moved from the house we lived in, somewhere very far and even smaller than the one we used to live. After that, we moved again several other times since my dad acquired a bit of a temper, getting into arguments with each and every neighbor he'd stumbled across.

For a long time alcohol had been my worst enemy, aside from the son of a bitch whom killed my mom, and that was my father's fault. I'd promised myself I'd kill him if he ever crossed my path. No questions asked. As I grew older, I came to grips that alcohol was an excuse; a relief from reality. And that it soon becomes a necessity to endure life as it is.

He used to be a constructor worker, so he would drag himself to work whenever he seemed to feel like it. I could never tell which was worse, when he was home complaining about life and not having alcohol to drink, or when he was actually working, putting himself in danger and bringing home bottle after bottle. Either way, he'd always manage to stay drunk. It used to be torture.

I'd never seen my dad drunk while my mom was around, it'd always be a bottle or two. Heck, she'd customarily drink along with him, laugh of his idiotic jokes, and then they'd both head to bed and do whatever they used to do.

After she passed away, our life went from wine back to water. Alcohol became my father's only concern, leaving me to fend for myself. He'd arrive home completely wasted, go straight to the refrigerator to grab another bottle to only collapse on the closest comfortable place he could find; being either the couch, the carpet or the cold marbled floor.

In the beginning, he would randomly come home with money, and consequently more alcohol, meaning he'd gone to work. At some point, he wouldn't do anything but drown himself in his own sorrows and forget the world around him. Forgetting me in particular. I was left more alone than ever, being able to do whatever I wanted whenever I pleased.

Until one day it all came after him.

He was working in a four-story building and fell off, condemning him to his current situation. Fortunately, he fell off the second floor and not the building's roof. The fall led to a tear on his spinal cord, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down, making everything worse than it already was. Luckily, if you can call that luck, I had already taken matters into my own hands without his awareness.

Bills had already been piling up while my dad was hardly working; imagine when he couldn't work at all. Things had gotten really tough by then. Clearly, he wasn't able to bring nourishment to our home anymore, meaning I had no choice but to step forward and provide it myself.

Presumably, all that mess eventually caused consequences on a teenager.

At first, I started doing what every unconscious kid normally does; I began stealing. Little things here and there. At the market, shops, movie theaters, malls... anywhere I could get away with it, really. The more chaos, the better.

At some point, I realized drunken people were the most oblivious. They actually make it easier, like stealing candy from little kids. I could slip my skinny arm in and out of purses and pockets without receiving even a doubtful glance. Even if I did, I would just smile sweetly and no one would suspect a thing. There would even be nights where I didn't have to do anything but stand in the women's restroom all night, checking stalls every time a drunken girl used the toilet. I'd get loaded with only what they'd drop and not even notice.