Had enough yet?

Kerry.had taken care of her Mother through a long lingering death from colon cancer. Two months later she watched me lose my left foot and lower leg to diabetes. Then she supported me through five years of drunkenness. Last year she caught her piece of shit husband in bed with the neighbor. Somehow she found a way to smile and set a perfect example to a classroom of Kindergartners. She was a singe Mom to a bitter seventeen year old and a drunkard Father.

No wonder she did not smile much outside of work.

I could not move the electric chair without batteries. I pushed the table away and tried to stand. She brought my crutches and told me to go take a shower. I reached into the toilet tank. It was empty. I heard her through the door as the porcelain lid slammed down. "I took it" she said.

She did not know about the pint under the sink, behind the toilet paper. I turned on the faucet to get the water hot to shave. I unscrewed the cap on the pint. The sweet smell of whiskey rose to my nose.  I breathed it in. Woody and medicine-y and scented with the with the promise of brain numbing goodness. I took a sip and swirled it around my taste buds. I shivered. The fire hit my throat and I could feel the burn all the way to my belly. I again fought the urge to puke. A bigger swig followed. I leaned on the sink, balanced on my one good leg and breathed again the fragrance of the liquor. I shivered in almost orgasmic relief.

I knew Kerry was going to make me go to the cemetery today, then out to dinner. I wanted to get drunk and watch a Cubs game. Kerry thought she was being nice.  Mostly, she was ripping my heart out. I took one more drink and pulled my disposable razor and Barbasol from the drawer.

I knew we would have a fight over the leg. Kerry did not even smile when I told her if we took it, I might just use it to beat some asshole. I pouted and bitched like a two year-old until I got my way. We took the crutches. When she was not looking I slipped what was left of the pint into my jacket.

She took the pint from my pocket and told me I did not need a jacket. Herding Kindergartners gives her eyes in the back of her head. She did not even bother giving a disapproving "Tsk" over the bottle. Suddenly, I am afraid she has given up on me. That thought depresses me even more than the prospect of going to the graveyard. She tossed the jacket over the back of the recliner. I noticed she slipped the booze into her purse.

With a sigh I headed out to her car.