The Encounter
So I politely asked the crowd in the kitchen whos car was the one in the driveway. Becky claimed it was hers. So Becky and Alice drunkenly search for Becky’s keys, but with impared senses, they fail. I try looking myself, but I figured I wasn’t going to find anything. I decided it would be much easier to park in the front of the house across the street than to try to make a drunk person find their keys and park their car elsewhere. It’s not safe to drive under the influence.
As Becky and unknown man look in his truck for her keys, and other chick concedes to the restroom, I am left alone with Alice while she is intoxicated, never a good moment, because feelings become warped like a bad plank of maple after years of torrential rains. She asks
“So, did your Dad ask about what I was doing, about what your drunk step mom is doing. That what he sees me as you know.”
I spuriously shake my head in obliging denile.
“That what your Dad thinks, right?”
“I don’t know what my Dad thinks,” I say.
A brief amount of time passes as I stand numb at the intersection of my house. Alice turns back and swings her mood.
“Come here Robby. I love you. I don’t agree with what you do. I don’t agree with anything that you do, but I love you.”
She then blesses with with a chilling, drunken kiss of mock affection. I almost wanted to cry. This whole situation makes me want to cry. My dad stubbornly puts his efforts into this so called ‘relationship’ in order to ration what little is left of a false marriage. You can patch a hole in a wall to try to mend the wall, cover it up with paint to try to hide any evidence of such a problem, and focus your attention on other objects instead of the area of distress, but ultimately the hole is still there, and always will be. Things can never be the same again. So I egress in search of Becky and her keys, but her and unknown guy return with no such luck. So I decided to move the truck blocking Becky’s car from the road which also blocks me from entering the garage. I shiver with unease, and of the dark, cold night which further endorses my feelings. I roll down the black ashphalt, and almost wanted to sleep in the one place near me where I truely felt at home, Grandma’s. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t wake her up at such a time at night, nor did I want to stir up any more animosity than was already in place. So I made a U and parked in front of the neighbor’s house across the street. I hope they don’t tow the truck.
I returned to the house and rushed towards my room so as not to be seen, nor to be forced to see them. I always do this whenever Alice is in the house. Dad got after me once but I think now a days he understands why. I have to. But she catches me, and then apoligizes.
“I’m sorry Robby. It’s my sister. I’m sorry Robby. Me and your Dad, we don’t get along. He hates me. We don’t like eachother. I’m sorry.”
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