Beth
I wait until Noah pulls away then jogged off the steps and down the street toward my house. I haven’t been too far off with the address I gave him. It belonged to a little old lady who was recently put into a home. I used to stop by and drop off her medications. Another odd job I’92d done to earn extra money on the side. I missed Ellie sometimes.
It’s really amazing how three streets over can go from being in the nice part of town to being in one of the sketchier parts. I don’t want to make our neighborhood sound like it’s some violent, trash-ridden dump. It isn ‘t. Our neighbors are all working class and everyone looks out for each other in the vague way that people who work on different shifts do. We know who belongs and who doesn ‘t.
But compared to the street where Noah dropped me off, our neighborhood feels…abused.
Still, it’s home. It isn ‘t perfect, but I have my dad and I am going to school and, you know, sometimes being a little hungry isn ‘t a bad thing.
I let myself into our house. I really need to remember to pick up some WD-40 the next time Dad’s check comes in. The door creaks something terrible.
The light from the TV casts an eerie glow in the small living room. The threadbare rug is a score I’d found in a dumpster behind one of the houses that are not officially fraternities, but everyone knows exactly what they are. That was before Dad’s back had taken a turn for the worse and the VA had demonstrated just how completely fucked up they are. It was right around the same time that I’92d gotten a healthy dose of just what not 100-percent disabled meant financially.
My blood pressure rises just thinking about the nightmare of phone calls I will have to contend with again tomorrow. My dad needs an injection in his back but because the powers that be judged them as elective, we’92ve either got to get them done at the VA or pay out of pocket. And we can ‘t afford them out of pocket.
But right now, I slip into the living room. Dad is laid out on the couch but at least he’s awake. He offers a blurry kind of smile. “Hey, sugar bear.”
I lean down to kiss his cheek. “Hi, Dad. How’s your back?”
“Been worse, I suppose.”
He’s wearing one shoe. It’s not laced up and it’s half off his heel. “How did you get that on?” I don ‘t care that he’s gotten up – that is a good thing. But it hurts him to put his shoes on when his back is out.
“I had to try and see if I was still completely useless.” He glances down at the single shoe. “I sneezed when I was bent over and damn near blacked out from the pain.”
“Ah hell, Dad.” My heart gets a little tighter in my chest. I lean against the edge of the couch and ease the shoe off his foot. He used to be so active, so alive.
So different from the man who can barely get off the couch.
I keep telling myself this is just temporary, that I’92ll get a job that has insurance and I’92ll claim him as my dependent. I’92ll get him the best back doc in the country and he’92ll get fixed.
My eyes burn because it is such a far-off goal. It feels like more of a dream. We barely have enough money for his prescriptions. The idea that someday I’92ll have a job where I make enough money to have insurance, too, is…sometimes it feels like a fantasy that people like me live on, just to keep going.
I pull his one sock off and drop it on the floor by his shoes. “Want some help up?”
He shakes his head, his eyes closed. “I’m going to sleep out here tonight, I think.”
“I’ll get the heating pad. Did you get your evening medicine?”
His words are blurred together, jumbled. “I doubled up after the sneezing incident. I’m out until the VA can see me again for a refill.”
“Crap. You are supposed to have enough to get you through to Wednesday.” My stomach twists. I don ‘t know what the kind of pain my father lives with feels like, but I know what seeing him in it does to me.
There is no way he’s moving tomorrow.
I fight back tears as I check the cabinet where we keep the alcohol. I’m not much of a drinker. Dad doesn ‘t really have a problem with it, despite me being underage. I don ‘t drink that often, though, because what if I drink and he needs it?
We have a half-gallon of vodka. It’s going to be close. I don ‘t know if that will hold him for two days or not but he’92ll need it in the morning after his medication wears off.
The first time he ran out of medication after he’d gotten out of the army, I discovered how to get him through between appointments. It involves me buying alcohol with a fake ID and him getting hammered until he can ‘t stand up.
Guess chipped discs in your spine will do that to a guy.
I hate seeing him drunk, but it’s infinitely better than seeing him in pain.
I only had to clean up pee once, when he’d thought he was in the bathroom and instead had been in the kitchen.
I am so tired. All I want to do is sleep for one night without worrying about whether my dad is going to be able to move in the morning. Without worrying how we are going to pay the bills. Or whether we are going to have food in the house.
I blink hard. I have papers to grade, but I’92ll do it tomorrow. I just need to sleep before my dad sees me crying. I can ‘t let him see me cry.
I cover him with a blanket and kiss him on the forehead.
“Love you, sugar bear.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
My voice doesn ‘t break. Barely. It’s only when I’m down the hall and my door is closed that I let the tears come. They burn down my cheeks and relieve some of the pressure around my heart.
But they do nothing to ease the growing frustration that no matter how much I do, it is never enough.
Noah
I’m renting a small house outside of town. It’s not exactly country living but it damn sure isn’t living crammed into the city like the neighborhood where Beth lives. It isn ‘t much, but it is home for the time being.
And hell, it beats being in Iraq.
The kitchen sink still has remnants of breakfast. Guess the dishes aren ‘t going to wash themselves. I can’t ignore the four orange pill bottles lined up like sentries in the open cabinet near the kitchen sink. I reach for the one farthest to the left.
Princess Ambien and I had become lovers before I left Iraq, and she’s never left me alone and afraid in the dark. I sleep like a champ with her. I don’t know how people do it without her. She’ll give me a few minutes to take a shower and all that, but soon she’ll reach up and tug me to bed. Tuck herself around me like a warm blanket and pull me down into a mostly dreamless sleep.
It isn ‘t the life I dreamt of for myself, but if the worst thing that happens to me from Iraq is that I need a little help sleeping, I figure I’92ve come out ahead of most.
I shower and dry off, sliding between the cool sheets. They’re scratchy tonight. My skin is tight, my hands dry.
I stare at the moonlight that spills into my bedroom. You can actually see the moon up in the sky out here away from the city lights. And the stars. I couldn’t see them in Iraq. Too much dust in the city.
Tonight, though, I stare at the moonlight, and I think about Beth.
Her mouth in a firm line when she’s in class. All business and proper.
Her mouth as she asked us what we wanted to drink. Softer. Smoother. Friendlier. That’s what it was. She was friendlier at the country club.
I guess it has to do with tips and all that. Can ‘t count on good tips if your customers don ‘t think you’92re warm and charming.
It’s a toss-up which Beth I’m thinking about. The two images blur as Princess Ambien slips her arms around my waist and pulls me gently toward sleep.
The last thing I remember is her standing on the porch of her house, waiting for me to drive off.
I wonder if she’ll let me give her a ride home tomorrow.
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