My childhood with you was like a cup of hot chocolate
You see, when my mom was in the hospital ,my sister wanted a cup of hot chocolate from the downstairs cafeteria. You figured it would be a short trip, so you took her hand and listened to terrible elevator music that drowned out my mom’s screams of pain. As the hot chocolate was being brewed, my mom gave birth to a baby girl. You strode in a few minutes later, with that long awaited cup of hot chocolate in your hands, and saw me breathing peacefully in my mother’s arms. From that day on, that cup of hot chocolate became my worst memory.
We lived in a small studio next door to your personally owned tire shop. You sold tires...tires...and more tires. People would bustle in and out on a daily basis and i would stare out the window waiting for you to get some free time and play. I would pass you the baseball on the driveway but you would scold me and tell me to put it away. Still, when we moved to a bigger house, i would run to the kitchen and ask my mom when u were coming home. She would say in a few days, and when u did, oblivious me, would jump around like a monkey and say “”Daddy look at me!!!!!””
It was when i got older i started to notice that the hot chocolate was getting cold. I would hide under my blanket to drown out the ugly screams that boomed through the house. I would cover my ears at 1am when you would come home and stumble to your room. I liked hearing your grizzly bear snores, but hated when they stopped. I liked when you went to work, but feared the car engine pulling up to the driveway.
The hot chocolate became bitter. It turned into 3 pocket sized vodka bottles from the liquor store tab down the street. 2 high gravity cans right after work. You told me you wouldn’t drink on my birthdays, but I found 1 can lying on the cement right next to my gifts every year. If only you could have kept this hot chocolate warm,the cup wouldn’t have broke. All traces of liquid gone, i never see you anymore. Although i miss your grizzly bear snores, i do not miss your bear sized roars. I miss the way you would make corny jokes, but not when u would tell me i couldn’t laugh so loudly in my own home.
The house is silent nowadays, no screams, no snores, no car engine revving in my driveway. I never find a single can lying on the cement, or a pocket sized vodka bottle.
Just like that single cup of hot chocolate the day i was born, the high gravity prevents you from seeing me. Maybe it was my fault for believing that it could stay warm forever. That cup of hot chocolate is still my worst enemy.