6. Chapter 6
six
“ S it.”
Mom’s hands released Annie’s shoulders once she flopped down on the couch. The world spun before Annie mustered the energy to right herself. Why did her body feel so heavy? Like she was a sack of sand?
“Luke!” Mom’s voice reminded Annie of a Powerpuff Girl’s sonic scream. “Come here– it’s Annie!”
Dad appeared from the hallway, his footsteps heavy as he entered the living room. His hooded eyes turned to the cathode ray tube TV for several seconds before landing on Annie. He sipped on a green-tinted drink, chunky ice clattering in the tall glass.
“What’s up?”
“I found Annie wandering in the backyard, stumbling around like a zombie.”
Dad frowned. “She okay?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Mom sighed heavily, turned to Annie, before putting her hands on her hips and facing her husband once more. “She’s acting… drunk.”
Dad narrowed his eyes and looked down his nose, studying Annie. “Hmm.”
“Luke. Why’s your daughter drunk?”
“I don’t know. Is she?”
Feeling lightheaded, Annie puckered her face. She raised a cool hand to her flushed cheeks as she sank deeper into the couch pillows. “Drunk?” Her mouth felt like she’d gotten a shot at the dentist. “Drunk,” she repeated more firmly.
An amused smile crossed Dad’s lips.
“Am I drunk? Like Daddy gets?”
Like a crack of lightning, the smile fell from his face.
“Well, Luke?”
Dad took another sip of his drink and pointed to the glass. “Did ya drink from the yellow pitcher in the fridge, Ninnie? Did it smell funny?”
Mom’s eyes bulged and her cheeks went beet red. “Luke!”
“That green stuff? The lem-nade?” It had been hot on the swing, and Annie had gone inside from the yard to cool off.
The green lemonade in the fridge had tasted like sour liquid candy– weird candy– and she’d slopped it down in less than a minute.
So delicious that it had been worth breaking Mom’s “only one glass of juice a day” rule.
She poured a second and sipped on it while swinging, which at first had felt like the best swing of her life, up until her stomach had gone sour, and the rest of the candy drink had sloshed over the edge of her glass, which then had slipped from her hand.
For a heartbeat, Annie feared it might break on a rock.
And then she’d barely gotten off the swing, her legs rubbery, before throwing up nuclear green all over the grass.
“That’s all ya got to say?” Mom pressed Dad.
Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t think she’d like the smell enough to chug it down.”
“Of course she was going to drink it! She’s seven! That’s not enough of a deterrent! You know kids eat batteries and drink bleach without a second thought. Why wasn’t your shit locked up like it normally is? ”
What was a “deterrent?” Was that the same as detergent? Guilt and terror bolted through Annie. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Did I drink poison? Is that why I got sick?”
“Now she’s scared shitless, you fucking jackass.” Mom turned to face Annie, standing a little closer now. “Ninnie, it’s not poison… Not really. You’ll be okay. But we have to make you throw up.”
“I threw up already!”
“Dear, you don’t need to cry. Dear, just stop. You’re being dramatic.”
Annie hugged her legs to her chest and wiped away her globby tears with the back of her wrist. “I-I don’t wanna th-throw up a-again-a.”
“You have to. Let’s go to the bathroom.” Mom extended her hand and helped Annie stand up. When the girl swayed, Mom’s arm went around Annie’s back to support her as they walked. “C’mon.”
Dad sat down in his recliner and tossed back the rest of his candy drink. “Now we know in the future to stay away from Daddy’s lemonade, huh?”
Mom stopped for a second to glare at Dad. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”
“I’ll put a sticky note on it then. With a cute skull and crossbones. How ‘bout that?”
For the better part of an hour, Mom stuck her fingers down Annie’s throat to get all the “fucking” candy drink out of her. It wasn’t until only a thin, green substance was coming out of her that Mom called it all good before she handed Annie the toothpaste to brush her teeth.
“You can’t talk about this at school,” Mom said, handing Annie a fresh cup to drink sink water with. Which didn’t taste as good as the fridge water. “Okay? This is one of those things that’s just for family.” She paused. “Just between you, your dad, and me. ”
Even after brushing, Annie’s mouth tasted horrible. She wiped her mouth. “May I have some pretzels?”
“Did you hear what I just said, Annie?”
“Yes.” Annie looked in the mirror. Her face was pale and her sandy brown bangs were plastered to her sweaty forehead. With the way she felt, a cold would be better than this. Her eyes met Mom’s in the mirror.
Frowning, Mom leaned a shoulder against the door jamb.
“Yes… what? Yes you won’t talk about Dad’s drink and throwing up?”
“Yeah, I won’t talk about it.” Whatever ‘it’ had been. “Am I in trouble? Am I okay?”
“I can’t believe he made a whole damn pitcher. No, you’re not in trouble. I don’t think you drank it on purpose. Just ask me what’s in any pitcher before you drink any from now on.”
“Okay.” Usually they had Kool-aid or orange juice. She’d gladly check in with Mom. She never wanted to be forced to throw up again. “I hate throwing up.”
“Well, I hate being married to your dad,” Mom muttered.
“Can I have pretzels?”
“No, you’ll ruin your dinner. Go lie down and shut the door, Ninnie. I gotta talk to him.”
“Him” came out like a bad bite of food.
But it was nothing compared to the nasty curses that flew for hours.
Annie desperately tried drowning out the screaming match with headphones. Her blaring music barely took the edge off. Unignorable, the hollowness in Annie’s stomach and heart curled up beside her in her bed, blankets wrapped tightly about her face and ears. She still felt queasy.
The hazy silliness of the alcohol eventually left her. Her mind came back to a sharpness she’d never felt before, and with it came a deep, miserable sadness. Confusion followed– if feeling this awful came from getting drunk, Annie couldn’t see any reason why Dad would keep drinking the stuff.
Overwhelming tears forced her to rip the suffocating blankets off her head. She bawled silently. It would only make her parents even more angry if they heard her. They didn’t like it much when she cried.
Tangerine dusk light painted her bedroom walls by the time they stopped screaming. Annie lay on her bed, numb and exhausted. The house was eerily quiet except for the clatter of dishes in the kitchen as Mom cooked dinner. Annie suspected Dad was hiding in the garage.
Thoughts urging her to get up and start her Sunday night homework were interrupted by a knock on her door.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom said softly. Her eyes were puffy, and her normally feminine features were stiff.
Drawing in her lower lip, Annie nodded.
Mom came and sat down on the corner of the bed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish your dad would stop drinking.” She looked down at her lap and fiddled with one of her rings. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt.”
Annie sat up, crawled to her mom, and hugged her. Annie wanted to say something to make it all better, but she couldn’t find the words. She sniffled.
“I… He wasn’t always like this, though. When we first got married– that’s when it started. I didn’t think much of his drinking. At first. I loved him so much, but eventually it got worse. I couldn’t keep my head in the sand. Don’t stay for a man like your dad…”
Annie watched her Mom in stunned silence.
“And… Just promise me… A man like your dad will only pull you down with him, so promise you won’t stay with him, because you’ll o nly keep getting hurt. Things don’t work themselves out. You can’t save them from themselves. And sometimes you have to let go and run.”
“What does that mean?” Annie frowned. “Am I going somewhere? Mom?” Her hands began to shake.
“N-no. It’s a promise for when you’re older.” Mom gave her trembling hand a quick squeeze. “When you get married one day.” Mom sighed. “You’ll remember this, and I promise it’ll make sense one day. Just promise you’ll run if a man ever treats you like your dad treats me.”
“Okay.” Annie hated the “when you’re older,” line.
It was the adult way of dodging a question.
But arguing about it would only upset Mom more.
Annie’s thoughts raced, trying to grasp the gravity of what felt like a warning.
She supposed she wouldn’t want to stay with a boy who was mean to her. Mom’s words echoed in her young mind.
Like your dad…
Annie knew Dad wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t like other dads. But to hear Mom actually say he was… bad…? She hugged Mom tighter.
“I promise.”
“And remember.” Mom’s voice was gentle yet firm. “Be strong. And don’t look back.”