by Bruce, Lexi;
I let myself in,
and head to the living
room to watch TV
and distract myself.
I turn the light on
and see Mom lying
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across the couch,
out cold. There’s a bottle of
whiskey on the table next to her.
Some fight they must’ve had.
I tap her on the shoulder.
Mom, wake up.
She justs moves a little
and then starts snoring.
I pause a moment,
take the bottle from the table,
and go upstairs.
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THE BOTTLE
I sit on my bed, shaking.
I tilt the bottle back
and take a big gulp.
It burns my throat.
I almost spit it onto
my comforter.
But I force it down.
I’ve never had booze before.
I wait a moment,
then take another
big sip.
This time I
know what to expect.
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It’s not long
before the world
starts to slow
and I start to breathe
again.
With Mom asleep,
and Dad out of the house,
the anger seems to
slowly
disappear.
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TRY TO REMEMBER
I try to remember
when we were
a happy family.
Actually happy, not just hiding
sadness and anger.
It wasn’t that long ago.
Couldn’t be more than a year. .
Why can’t I think of anything?
Maybe if I saw
some pictures.
I go up to the attic
where we keep
important things.
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I bring two shoeboxes of photos
and the bottle down
to the living room.
I sit on the chair
opposite my drunk mother.
I almost hope
she’ll wake up,
and see me with the bottle
of whiskey.
I almost hope
it gets me in trouble.
Maybe she’l wonder
why I’m drinking.
Maybe she’l realize
how much I’m hurting.
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OLD PHOTOS
They must’ve loved each other
at some point, I tell myself.
I look through
old photos.
Me as a toddler
with two laughing parents
and our old dog, Bo,
under a Christmas tree.
The two of them
snuggled up on a couch at some
holiday party
before I was born.
The wedding photos—
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Mom stuffing cake into
Dad’s mouth.
Dad reaching out his hand
for the first dance.
They must’ve been happy.
I look up on the mantel,
to the photo of our last
family vacation.
Some beach in Maine.
Tan faces, tight smiles,
no light in their eyes.
I wonder when
they stopped.
I wonder why
they stopped.
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I wonder why they
stay together
if all they do is fight.
I wonder if there’s any point
at all to love
if this is where it ends up.
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THE LETTERS
I assume the second shoebox
is full of more photos.
But instead I find
a stack of letters
from 20 years ago.
Mom’s name in
Dad’s handwriting
across the front.
I glance over at Mom,
snoring on the couch.
And then I pull the first
letter out of its envelope.
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My Love,
it begins.
I can’t wait to
see you again.
I read all the letters,
covering the year
between when they met
at a coffee shop
and when she moved
to be with him.
When they met,
he was in town
for a conference.
She was sitting in a coffee shop,
reading the newspaper
when he walked up.
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They hit it off
as well as Dave and I had
at coffee the other day.
She lived here, in Buffalo,
and he lived in Atlanta.
He couldn’t stop thinking
about her, but couldn’t
drop everything and move
at that moment,
because he was still in school.
So they wrote
letters back and forth.
And visited each other
every time they could
get a long weekend.
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He missed her.
She loved him.
Now they can’t stand
each other.
It’s like a math problem
I can’t solve.
Suddenly I’m very tired.
I lean back in the chair
and close my eyes.
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MORNING
I wake up feeling
like my brain is trying
to break out of my skul .
The photos are scattered around
the floor in front of me.
Mom is gone from
the couch.
The whiskey bottle
and letters are gone, too.
I get up,
gather the photos,
put them away.
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I peek my head
into my parents’ bedroom.
Mom is sound asleep.
The letters are around
her on the bed.
The bottle is empty
on the bedside table.
Dad is still gone.
The house is still quiet.
And I’m almost relieved.
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IGNORE ALL
I plug my phone
in and wait for it
to power up.
After a minute, five messages
ding in all at once.
Three from Jess.
Where are you?
Are you OK?!?!?
PLEASE TEXT ME!!!!
Another two texts
from Dave.
Are you OK?
Do you want to
grab coffee tomorrow?
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No.
I don’t want to grab coffee.
I don’t want to talk.
I want to be the person
who can hang out and not worry.
I want to be the person
who can chat happily about
travel and music.
If they find out
what a mess I am,
I’m worried they’ll both
shrink away.
No one wants to be
around a miserable woman.
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At least that’s what
my dad says.
I ignore their texts
and turn off my phone.
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DAD RETURNS
I’m scrol ing through depressing news on my phone and Mom’s stil
asleep upstairs
when Dad gets hom
e
sometime after noon.
He has his briefcase and tel s me
he’s been at work.
He might have to go back in later.
I want to call him a liar,
tell him to stop
using work as an excuse.
I want to scream at him.
But I can’t bring myself to yel .
So I ignore him.
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A PARTY
I’m moping around
when Dave texts me
to see if I want to
go to a party tonight.
A party is perfect—
no one really talks
at a party. Harmless.
I text back to say I’ll go,
just let me know when.
Luckily, Dad’s left
for work again,
and Mom’s upstairs, passed out again.
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They can’t tell me what to do or who to be
or how to feel
if I’m not around.
In the dining room,
I open the cupboard
and pull out a bottle
of vodka to bring
to the party.
I know they’l notice
it’s gone.
Right now, I don’t care.
I close the door quietly
and grab my bike
from the back.
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When I come down the driveway,
Jess and Sam and Dave are out front
on their bikes, ready to go.
It’s not far to the party.
We drop our bikes in the backyard
and walk into the house.
As I guessed,
the music’s too loud,
and I can’t hear anything
anyone says to me.
Jess and I walk into
the kitchen to find some soda
to mix with the vodka.
I pour a lot of booze
into my cup before
I add the soda.
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And then we head
into the party
to find our dates
and mingle a bit.
I let Dave put his arm
around my waist.
I lean my head
into his shoulder
as we chat
with some of his friends
from the baseball team.
I don’t know how many
drinks I’ve had before
I start feeling nauseous and tired.
Dave hasn’t been drinking as much
and he notices
I’m not feeling good.
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He leads me into the kitchen
and finds some food
and a glass of water.
You wanna head home?
I nod. I’m not sure
how good I’ll be on the bike,
but I just want my bed.
I get on my bike
and steady myself.
Then I wobble
and almost fall over.
Dave catches me.
OK, he says.
Let me just walk you home.
I think that’ll be safer.
We grab our bikes
and push them up the street.
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TROUBLE
Halfway home I stop
to throw up
by the side of the street.
Dave stands behind me,
rubbing my back.
And then there are
flashing lights behind us.
Cops asking us questions
and saying how we reek of alcohol.
And they look at our learner’s permits and get our addresses.
And I’m too drunk to really know
what’s going on
except that it’s not good.
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And suddenly I’m in the back
of one of the cop cars,
on a hard plastic seat.
And my jeans are covered in vomit.
And I’m cold.
I look out the window
and see Dave being pushed
into another cop car.
It doesn’t take long
for them to drive me
to my house.
They go up to the door
and ring the bel .
Mom answers the door.
She looks startled,
and then angry.
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After a few minutes,
they col ect me from the car
and hand me over
to my mom.
She starts yel ing as soon
as we’re in the house
and the door is closed.
What were you thinking?
she yel s.
This isn’t like you. You don’t pull this kind of stuff. And you know
what? They’re fining you fifty dollars.
Are you listening to me?
I’m not really listening.
I’m feeling worse
by the second.
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The room is spinning,
and I think I’m gonna be sick
again.
And I just hope that Dave is OK.
He must hate me now.
I fall asleep on the couch,
thinking about how I’ve already
screwed everything up
between us.
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I WAKE UP
on the couch.
Mom and Dad sit across
from me in separate chairs.
I’m in for the lecture
of my life.
For the first time
in almost a year,
they’re a united front.
Did that Dave kid pressure you
to drink?
Dad asks.
I shake my head no.
Then I feel dizzy.
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I miss a lot of what
they say,
but I tune back in
for the end.
Dad says,
No more going out
until after vacation.
You can study at Jess’s,
as long as her parents are there.
But no more Dave. You two are done.
That last bit hurts the most.
Later,
I text Dave to make sure
he’s OK.
Yeah, but I’m grounded,
he says.
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Me too,
I
say.
And I’m sorry.
Don’t be sorry.
It’s as much my fault
as yours. See you at school?
Wel , at least he doesn’t hate me.
Yet.
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STUDY PLANS
I make plans to study
with Jess. It’s the only way
my parents will let me
out of the house.
Finals start in a couple of weeks.
But we have papers due
this week that need work.
I’ve been so worried about
my parents and about
my friends finding out
about my parents
that I’ve been putting off
my schoolwork.
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Instead of studying, I’ve been overthinking
and listening to music
and watching reality TV
shows about hoarders
and celebrity housewives.
My grades have slipped
lower than they’ve ever been.
Finals are my last chance
to pull my grades
back up and prove
to my Dad that I’m smart.
To prove to myself
that someday I might get out
of this place.
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APPAR
ENTLY
By the time I get up,
Mom and Dad
are back to yel ing.
Apparently he left a bunch
of dirty dishes in the sink.
And apparently
Mom has been
drinking all day.
Apparently
he cal ed her a drunk
and blamed my behavior
on her.
And apparently
she cal ed him a slob.
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And apparently
they’ve been yel ing
insults back
and forth
since midmorning.
Apparently
they don’t care
that I’m hearing
all of this.
Apparently
their anger blinds them
to everything outside
of what they’re feeling.
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HEADPHONES IN
The only way
to not hear the shouting
is to put my headphones in
and turn the music
all the way up.
I’ve got a playlist
of all my angry music.
A mix of old-school Green Day and Nirvana and then some Drake and Kanye.
It’s the only thing
that drowns
out the sounds
coming from downstairs.
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DISTRACTION
I write my final history paper
just to distract myself from my parents.
And from wanting to text Dave.
He keeps asking me for coffee
or a bike ride once we’re not grounded.
I ignore him. What’s the point anyway?
It’s not like he likes me so much
he’d put up with my whole mess.
He’s just being nice.
I’m halfway through my paper
on King Henry the Eighth
and all his wives.
And wondering if that family
has my family beat.
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STRESS LESS
I spend every night
that week studying at Jess’s.
Even though I’m
stressing about finals,
I feel myself
relax the longer I’m
away from home.
No one is shouting.
I can pay close attention
to what I’m studying.
Maybe this is how I’ll feel
when I go away to col ege.
When I travel the world as a journalist.
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Free from my parents and their anger.
I feel bad for thinking that way,
but the thing is,
I’m sure my parents don’t even
notice I’m gone.
It’s no secret things are
getting worse.
Now Dad really only
comes home to sleep.
And Mom pretends she’s
not drinking Jack Daniels
out of a coffee mug.
Jess asks if we can study
