womanbox

 

23 May 2013

Joy greeted we with a grimace. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I hiccupped, it hurt my ribs, apart from that I’m in a good mood. I’m still drunk from yesterday. I was so wasted at noon, I had to go home. I passed out for a few hours then watched the DVD, McClintock, for about the hundredth time. Got drunk again and woke up this morning.

“Guess what? I know where Big Jake is. He’s not staying at Rodent’s place he’s at the Salvation Army. Chester and Jacques saw him there. He’s in a wheelchair. He was wearing my old, number sixty-four, Jay’s sweatshirt. I want to go by there and just watch to see how he gets around. He’s got the long arms, but I bet he can’t do wheelies like I can. I’d like to sneak up behind him and take him for a ride. He might try to stop with his feet, but I don’t think it would help. I’d like to take him for a long ride on a short pier.

“Anyway, I just watch these people go by. Humans — go figure. I wonder what I look like to them. Then I see some crack head, twitching, scratching and I wonder if I used to look like that. I was on a twenty-one day high one time. I tell people that and they say it’s not possible, but I did it. I didn’t eat, just smoked and drank; then I had a meltdown. I saw my ex sitting in a tree, from a twelfth floor apartment window. He was just sitting there, outside the window. ‘Hi Edmund.’

“Then I went to my mom’s place and begged her to take me in. She pretty well locked me in the basement for about three weeks. That’s how long it took for me to dry out, but I did it. Then I went out-of-town for a while. I used to weigh two hundred and sixty-five pounds. I was always fat. Even in my baby pictures you can see a belly hanging out. I dropped that weight because of crack. When I came to visit my mother I was still skinny, so she thought I was using. She wouldn’t let me see my kids. I went through every kind of test, because that stuff stays in your system for at least a month. I had hair follicle tests, piss tests, blood tests. I’d bring the results to her. She wouldn’t believe me.

‘Now, she’s dead.  My oldest son and I write letters back and forth, but I don’t hear from the others. I saw my father when I was in Montreal. I said, ‘Hi John.’ He said, “Don’t call me, John. I’m your father.’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘you’re just a sperm donor. You were never a father to me.’

“I think I’ve drunk myself sober.”

 

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Comments
  1. chris jensen says:

    Yeah, some father are like that, one could say the same about me..

    Like

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