/ "and i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay" /
Michelle "Mickey" Hopper has a lot of problems. An alcoholic father ignoring the loss of his youngest daughter, her sister, Sarah...
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...Monday November 7, 1983... know your onion! - the shins
The shrill sound of her alarm clock was the first thing that hit Mickey's ears that morning, so much like so many before it. The sun was only just rising and straight lines of light cut through the blinds to shine right into Mickey's eyes.
She groaned and sat up in bed slowly, slamming her hand down on the alarm clock to stop it's incessant noise. Beside the alarm clock, she spotted a baggie of small, ovular pills with only two left. Mickey sighed and popped one in her mouth, swallowing it dry as she was so used to the routine by now that she no longer needed water to make it go down easier, then stashed the rest in the drawer of her nightstand.
Mickey finally pulled herself up from her bed and wandered toward the kitchen to make coffee, hearing the lowered volume of the news from the living room. She poked her head around the corner as soon as the grounds were being turned into her caffeine for the morning and saw her dad passed out on the couch.
She rolled her eyes as she got closer, realizing he was shirtless, only half-covered by a ratty, brown blanket, and surrounded by a near-empty pill bottle and countless empty alcohol glasses and cans.
Mickey lifted her foot and nudged his leg, making him jolt awake. "Rise and shine," she muttered blandly.
The chief of police sighed and looked at his watch, groaning when he saw the time. "You... You don't need a ride, do you, Mick?" he asked as he ambled up from the couch and stumbled back toward the bathroom.
"No, Dad. I'll skate. Just... Just go to work. Don't gotta worry about me."
Hopper sighed again, looking over his shoulder at his eldest daughter. She never really needed him, always self-sufficient in a way he couldn't understand. So, he bypassed the bathroom and instead went out to their back porch, overlooking a murky body of water and had his morning cigarette.
"Plan on cleaning up after last night at all?" Mickey called from inside of the house.
Hopper blew out a line of smoke and furrowed his eyes as she turned towards her. "What?"
"I don't know, Dad. Have you even looked around the place recently?"
"I'm a little busy out here, Mick."
Mickey moved up to the door and leaned against the frame with a travel cup of coffee, now having brushed hair and a presentable outfit on. "I'm leaving. Maybe just think about cleaning up a bit before you head to the station... Okay?"
Hopper leaned on the rail of the wooden porch. "Yeah, yeah. I got it, Mick. Get to school. Don't be late, kid."
Mickey rolled her eyes again and turned towards the door. "Whatever."
Before heading out the front door, Mickey slipped on her battered pair of powder blue Vans and took her Dogtown skateboard. Since fifth grade, Mickey had been hopelessly obsessed with everything skateboarding. Her mother caught onto this interest early and bought her nearly every magazine she could find on the subject so Mickey could stay up to date on all the new trends in skateboarding. From her Vans, mimicking the style of Tony Alva and Stacey Peralta, to her Dogtown skateboard from the somewhat newly founded company of Wes Humpston, Jim Muir, and Ray Flores. Even her clothing choices each morning matched the bright colors and patterns and oversized silhouette of all of her favorite skateboarders.
