Like Father Like Son
Four-hundred Ninety-eight
“You’ve got to stop this, Michael. Right now.” She reaches over to me and it seems as though she’s moving in slow motion. I would probably find it funny if it weren’t for the fact that when she reached over she took the bottle out of my hand.
“Imperfectlyfine, Jamie,” I shoot back, making a grab for my drink. I overshoot, though, and end up falling out of my chair, almost hitting my head on the coffee table.
“Bullshit you’re fine. You can’t even talk straight, much less move without falling over. You’re turning into a Goddamn drunk, just like your father.” Now that hurt. I think a little clearer for the moment, and the only thing registering is how pissed of Jamie is making me. I stand up, more steady on my feet than I have been in three months.
“You don’t know anything about my father, Jamie. Anything. Now get the fuck out of my house.” She stares at me, her face a mixture of pity, anger, and defeat. It’s like she can’t decide if she wants to yell at me or cry.
“I have been here for you through everything, so don’t give me that shit. You have to stop and realize what the hell you’re doing. Look around you. When’s the last time you ate anything besides junk food? When’s the last time you cleaned the house? When’s the last time you actually went to work?”
I stare at her blankly for a little bit, refusing to answer. There’s no way to answer all of her questions. I don’t think she really wanted them answered anyways. What she really wants is impossible. I’m not what she wants.
“That’s it!” Jamie yells, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m fucking done. I’m not coming to fill out your bills. I’m not picking up your groceries, and I’m sure as hell not getting you any more alcohol. Don’t call me at 3am and expect me to show up. Don’t expect me to ever show up again, okay Michael? I’m done.”
She walks out and I grab the bottle she had set down on the table so I can take swig. In another life I would be with Jamie. I was always meant to be. She was my childhood friend, my first love, and we should still be together.
That alternate world doesn’t exist though. I live in the real world where I’m afraid of turning into my father. The father who spent my whole childhood drunk off his ass, spending more time than not screaming at my mother and I, which sometimes escalated to hitting us. The father that finally drove my mom to suicide before drinking himself into the grave not long after, just over three months ago.
Jamie deserves so much more than this twisted shell of a man that could potentially turn into a monster. I take another drink and sigh, fighting back tears. I can’t have her.
Like father like son.
“Imperfectlyfine, Jamie,” I shoot back, making a grab for my drink. I overshoot, though, and end up falling out of my chair, almost hitting my head on the coffee table.
“Bullshit you’re fine. You can’t even talk straight, much less move without falling over. You’re turning into a Goddamn drunk, just like your father.” Now that hurt. I think a little clearer for the moment, and the only thing registering is how pissed of Jamie is making me. I stand up, more steady on my feet than I have been in three months.
“You don’t know anything about my father, Jamie. Anything. Now get the fuck out of my house.” She stares at me, her face a mixture of pity, anger, and defeat. It’s like she can’t decide if she wants to yell at me or cry.
“I have been here for you through everything, so don’t give me that shit. You have to stop and realize what the hell you’re doing. Look around you. When’s the last time you ate anything besides junk food? When’s the last time you cleaned the house? When’s the last time you actually went to work?”
I stare at her blankly for a little bit, refusing to answer. There’s no way to answer all of her questions. I don’t think she really wanted them answered anyways. What she really wants is impossible. I’m not what she wants.
“That’s it!” Jamie yells, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m fucking done. I’m not coming to fill out your bills. I’m not picking up your groceries, and I’m sure as hell not getting you any more alcohol. Don’t call me at 3am and expect me to show up. Don’t expect me to ever show up again, okay Michael? I’m done.”
She walks out and I grab the bottle she had set down on the table so I can take swig. In another life I would be with Jamie. I was always meant to be. She was my childhood friend, my first love, and we should still be together.
That alternate world doesn’t exist though. I live in the real world where I’m afraid of turning into my father. The father who spent my whole childhood drunk off his ass, spending more time than not screaming at my mother and I, which sometimes escalated to hitting us. The father that finally drove my mom to suicide before drinking himself into the grave not long after, just over three months ago.
Jamie deserves so much more than this twisted shell of a man that could potentially turn into a monster. I take another drink and sigh, fighting back tears. I can’t have her.
Like father like son.