Living Life With An Alcoholic
--This story is open for another 7 entries
--This story is open
May 14, 2011 05:35 PM
On January 6, 1981, I was born in Dallas TX. My parents had named me Alicia Rae. From what my parents keep telling me, I was a happy child. I ate everything and anything, I loved playing with my dolls. That was a time I could remember. When I was thirteen years old, my dad had a heart attack. I remember stories from my cousin. She use to tell me the stories of what it was like being around my mom when she was drunk all the time. After my dad had his heart attack, my mom started drinking again. My grandparents came over to help take care of my brother and I. One night I remember my mom and my grandfather talking. I do not know what it was about. My brother and I, were getting ready to go swimming with his friend at his house. Before we left, my grandfather and my mom were yelling and arguing. I know that my grandparents had suggested that my brother and I come and stay with them for a while. My mom would not have that. Her and my grandfather had a very complicated history and it was not a good history.
Jul 25, 2011 12:03 AM
As the door shut behind us with one last, final click, I knew somehow that things were about to change. I could feel it in my bones, the angry words my mother and grandfather were spitting. They etched themselves across my mind like an unwanted tattoo.
"Will they ever give it a rest?" my brother asked, twitching some hair out of his eyes as we walked down the driveway.
Too wary by my sudden precognition to speak, I simply shook my head, staring up into twilight. It was a gorgeous Texan night, the air thick and warm. After a few more minutes of walking in silence, we finally reached my brothers friend's house at the end of our street, the sun just leaking into the horizon as we climbed the front steps.
As we stood, waiting at the front door, I stared earnestly at my reflection in the shuttered window, praying desperately that I looked at least somewhat decent. I'm not sure exactly when my feelings for my brothers friend changed, but suddenly, all I could think about was him.
His messy blonde hair that cowlicked crazily whenever him and my brother came downstairs in the morning for ma's special blueberry pancakes. The way his blue, blue eyes smiled at me when I said something funny. The way his touch left a tingling sensation across my body when our hands brushed during walks home from school.
Jul 13, 2012 04:15 AM
The door opened and he walked out. His name was Max.
''Hey guys. Come on in, the pool's out back.'' He said. My brother, Sam, walked in before me and for a second Max and I were alone on the porch. His eyes lingered on my new bikini and I felt a warm sensation. At last he looked at my face.
''My ma said your grandad.... is taking you back with him to New York?'' He asked.
''He wants to. I don't think my ma'll let him.'' I said quietly.
''Good. I'd miss you if you left.'' Max said before walking back inside.
What did he mean by that? My mind raced with words. Does that mean he likes me? Like, like likes me? Why was he looking at my Bikini like that? Does that mean he likes me? What does this stuff mean? Does he think I'm cute? Does he know I like him?
Once I was at the pool my thoughts got even loader. How did his Ma know about my Ma? Does she know she drinks? What if Max found out? What would he think? Would he stop liking me? Does he like me now?
I shook my head and jumped in the pool. My mind was going to me the death of me. I put my thoughts on the back burner and tried to have fun. And I did. We joked and splashed and had so much fun. It was like a movie. I loved every second of it. But that love and fun and peace didn't last.
"Alica! Samuel! What 'cha doin' at this cur's home?''
It was my mother. She was there. And she was drunk.
Mar 19, 2013 07:55 PM
Why was she there? What did she want? Suddenly, nothing made sense. I saw my grandfather trying to hold her back from climbing in to the backyard of Max's house.
The next few months after that incident were all a blur. Nothing made sense anymore. My grandparents left. My mothers drinking got to the point where my brother and I had to become self-sufficient. She spent her days passed out in bed, her afternoons out with her friends getting more alcohol and her nights were filled by a never ending line of random guys coming in and out of the house. One night, my brother got in a fight with one of the men our mother had brought home. It all started with some comment my mothers companion said, about how good and full our mother was. My brother, outraged, started cursing him off. It was a contest to see who could scream the loudest. A contest that ended when the man punched my brother in the face. In response to that my brother punched him back and I ran to our room and hid under the covers. The next day, the student counselor ran into him in the halls and called him into her office. I didn't know what went down in her office until the fourth period bell rang and I got taked out of class and into the principal's office. As I approached the open wooden door, I saw two luggage cases on the floor, my brother sitting in a seat with my grandmother's arms around him, her head on her shoulder sobbing, and my grandfather speaking to the principal who was sitting next to the guidance counselor.
"Alicia! -my grandmother said as she ran to me and threw her arms around my head- Oh I'm so sorry dear"