Waiting....

Waking Up

Why is the ceiling so interesting to me? All it is, is a ceiling, nothing more, nothing less. The most plain, indifferent, white cream coloured ceiling in history. But nonetheless, I stayed looking at it with the most curious gaze someone could possibly give something. Expecting something from beyond the ceiling to reach out and take hold of me, and take me from this place. Yes, please rip me from my soul and take me to a different land. Somewhere I can fly and never have to touch the ground of reality. Somewhere the breeze is always fair and the sun is shining down on everything. Somewhere I can be free from this mess of a life. Oh if only this ceiling could reach down and grab me in its cream coloured hands and devour me whole until I am gone from this place. But no, I just stay laying in my bed looking at the most plain, indifferent, white cream coloured ceiling in history. And then a knock come from my door.

"Boy, you better get up or best be expecting another ass whooping" my dad said in a hung over manner. Right on cue. "Alright, dad, I'm coming."

My dad was a drunk, a beaten, sad drunk and he had no problem with it. None whatsoever, and in his eyes, that was perfectly fine because every night, he had no problem getting filthy drunk like it's was some OCD ritual. But he never failed to knock on my door and tell me to get up. No matter how hungover he was, he still managed to knock on my door. And in a way, that knock ever morning from Monday through Friday, gave me hope that my dad still cared about me. Such a  simple act, a knock on a door, filled my heart with love for my dad. This knock on my door meant the world to me more than my dad ever knew.

Slowly but surely, I rose and rustled my hair to somewhat fix it. Put on my torn Levis, then my Jimi Hendrex shirt, and then my beat to death vans. Typical attire for a teenager, well, any teenager I knew. Finally, I unlocked the door and stepped out into the living room and I saw my dad passed out on the sofa as usual. This scene became a norm for the past six years, like one movie moment set on repeat and quite frankly, I was getting tired of this movie. I walked over to him and pushed his arm to wake him up but he didn't budge. "Dad, rememeber to pay the light bill today" , I said hopefully. I turned around and to walk away but something grasped my arm. I looked backed and my dad's hand was wrapped around my upper arm. "Boy, don't you come home late again or you know what's going to happen" , he said drunkenly. I could smell his beer breath run off his tongue like it was escaping for dear life. I pulled away aggressively, and rubbed my newly sore arm. Thanks dad. 

I walked to the door and turned my head and looked at my dad with disgust and sympathy, if those two emotions were allowed to coexist. It wasn't his fault, mom died because of me.