The Story of Edith

Chapter Two: Chaplin Looks Better...

CHAPTER TWO:
CHAPLIN LOOKS BETTER IN A SUIT

I LOOK OVER my shoulder at the man walking into the kitchen. The strands from his half-bun are falling over his eyes as a quick reminder that it's morning and we all have to get ready.

His eyes have sunken in over the years and the hair on his head has started aging a bit more, I notice a few more gray hairs on the sides.

He squints his eyes at me and shakes his head towards Peter, who is still soundly sleeping on the pull out couch, some drool coming out of his mouth.

After I got him in the car, the boy warned me that he was going to puke, but I already noticed the way his eyes rolled back and forth and the way he tried to swallow the saliva building in his mouth. I'd already stopped on the side of the road but I know he was feeling like we were still driving.

I had no choice but to open his side of the door for him and nurse him with water. (I dont know how old the water was, if I had to guess — it could've been from a month back.)

I smile at the man blinking, trying to adjust his eyes to the bright lights in the kitchen. His hand runs through his hair and he unties it, "He consumed a little bit of intoxicating substances."

Charles, my dad, again squints at me and looks over my face while an eyebrow raises. He's asking me if I drank and I shake my head.

We have established a kind of peaceful solution to the slow mornings. I noticed from a young age that my old man doesn't exactly enjoy the way sun shines directly on his face — bright and early. So I try to make sure his curtains are closed when I am home in the evenings. But since I wasn't home and got pretty tired from helping (basically carrying) Peter inside — I didn't close them.

And the grumpiness on my dads face is clearly evident.

He doesn't usually sign in the morning, because of having to wake up so early so I have to watch his face for any kind of questions or tells.

I give him my cup of coffee and take out some wet food for Chaplin who is patiently watching my surroundings while leaning against my leg.

"Did you take him out yesterday before bed?" I ask my dad glancing at his nodding head, "Did you feed him?" I again get a nod out of him and the man sighs.

He scratches the growing shadow of hair on his chin and sneaks a look towards Peter, thinking I'm not going to catch the annoyance clearly showing in his eyebrows but when I do I know what's on his mind.

Is this going to be my everyday life now?

"Don't worry, it's not going to be a daily occurance." I assure him and finally give Chaplin the well deserved meal. I scratch his ear and think about Edith's face when she finally found out about the animal in my house.

Her eyes were bright, maybe from the small square on her tongue but I feel like it was more of the fact that Chaplin looked crazy in the picture. Her bottom lip was sucked into her mouth and it popped out wet and looked like she had bitten into it.

The sight of it all was creating a different feeling in my hands, and I remember tapping them faster but still in rhythm.

I look up at my dad and notice him going through his phone, probably reading something in his teacher chat. The straight line made from his lips is making me wonder if there's an argument settling down between the school workers.