People had run their mouths about my family for years, but when my mother had shot herself. The gossiping stopped for a few months when my father started drinking a year later out of madness of claiming my mother was everywhere. The gossiping found a new topic my older brother and me.



My older brother, Paul cared for me when my father didn’t, even though he was seventeen and I fifteen we matured in the past two years, you wouldn’t believe that we were still kids even though we just turned nineteen and seventeen.



My father came home one night three sheets to the wind, It was at least ten. Paul was on his way home from work and I was up in my room finishing homework. The old Chevrolet came to a rattling halt in front of the house, making the headlights illuminate around the living room and my bedroom. Illuminating old family photos, the truck went silent and I heard the door open with a loud creek then slam shut by a calloused hand. He stomped up the old wooden steps making each step sounding louder than before. I had already closed my chemistry book concealing my pencil and worksheet inside. Got up and placed it on my desk, then just stood there waiting what fitful rage he was in tonight. I heard him run into the hall table sending the porcelain lamp shattering to the wooden floor. Then shouting no repeated curse words, he opens my door



“Youdoyourhomework?” He slurred then collapses on my faded baby blue rug; I rush over put two fingers on his neck searching for a pulse. It was distant; I let out a sigh then bent down put his left arm over my neck letting him lean against me. I half carried half dragged him to his room and dropped him on the bed. While I was closing the door I whispered.



“Don’t drink your life away.”