David
When I wake up the next morning, the house is full of greasy old aunts and uncles and the blue haze that comes with them. It can’t be later than ten and they’re already buzzin’. I hear my mom crying again and put the pillow over my head. You’re the lucky one, David. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with their shit without you. I lay in bed until evening, ignoring the occasional knock at my door. At seven, I get up and drive everyone home. Uncle Tom throws up in my car but it doesn’t even matter.
Nothing matters without you, buddy.
I hide the booze and put Dad to bed. He didn’t need much help, he was already dozing at the table. I go to my room and turn up the stereo. The music pumps me up and I ride the waves of emotion as the voices rip into me. I close my eyes and try to drift away with it but your face is just below the surface and I feel like if the wrong song comes on next, I’ll start to cry and never stop.
. . .
Monday morning comes early. I roll over and I’m relieved that the house is silent. They’ll all be back for round two soon enough, smoky haze, clinking bottles and tear-stained faces.
Dad is still sleeping and I instantly regret nudging him awake. His eyes open and I can see the moment when he remembers. I had my own jarring return to reality only a few moments ago.
“Dad?”
He rolls away with a moan. His pain is unbearable.
“I’m going to school, Dad.”
“Not today.”
“I have exams”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call them”
“Dad, I can’t stay here.”
His eyes cleared a bit. “OK.”
Dad’s car is totaled but we don’t talk about that when he drives me to the school in mine. We don’t talk at all. The silence can’t be filled. It’s too big. Too heavy. We share a cigarette. I don’t think he even knew I smoked, but he passes it over. We need an action to fill the silence. Something. Anything to fill the place where David goes.
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