sweet sixteen

Jan 30, 2007 22:32

Sweet Sixteen

It was 3AM. Way past my curfew in the olden days. That's what I called them now: the olden days. Just in my head, though.
I turned the knob of the garage door and let it give, slowly, easing through each familiar creak with care. Monsters might be lurking, and it was always important to enter with caution and finesse. I heard the television blaring an inaudible dialogue in the living room and decided to assess the situation.
On tiptoe, I crept to the door and peered in. The room was a flash of white and blue lights. There he lay on the couch, wineglass still in hand, eyes shut to the world. He resembled roadkill. Possibly an opossum, struck and lifeless, lying mangled and illuminated by the headlights of a passerby.
His stomach was getting big. He had passed his second trimester, so to speak. How big was too big? When should I worry? Mom will know. Mom would have known.
I picked a blanket up from the armchair, spread it over him, lit a cigarette, and plodded down to the basement to tuck myself in.
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