Drunken Jace

Short Story

The echoes of screaming and the sounds of glass bowls shattering after being thrown throughout the house had become an ordinary expectation for Dominick. He never flinched when he heard the ruckus in the kitchen—he simply ejected himself from under his blanket and walked into his closet, sheltering himself from the commotion transpiring downstairs.

His miniature hands trembled, not because he was in need of warmth, but from the trauma his parents had instilled in his head. In his closet, Dominick would raise a finger for every second the house went silent, distracting himself from the sounds of shattered pottery and explicit language.

"I'm done, Jace! I'm done!" Dominick's mother's voice cracked through the walls, and Dominick formed a fist with his hand to repeat the distraction he had created. "I can't stand when you get drunk, Jace! You're such an obnoxious asshole!"

Little Dominick spent hours at a time in his closet, contemplating the series of events that would always play out the same way. The glass bottle containing Rolling Rock would be thrown at the ground, shards of glass flying through the air—blending with the carpet to meet its next victim.

The shattering sound of the bottle created a signal for Dominick. It marked the heat of the argument—the peak before his father's drunken words spilled out in an unconscious manner. The infuriated voice of Jace overpowered the soft voice of Janice, showing his dominance in the argument.

"Shut the hell up, Janice! I work my ass off to put a roof over your ungrateful head, so don't tell me if I can drink or not!" Janice looked at him in disbelief, almost as if she had stumbled across somebody she hadn't seen in ages. Her tears ran down her face, staining the white top Jace had bought her the prior Christmas.
"Oh—I'm ungrateful? You have a kid upstairs that you don't even pay attention to! That goddamn bottle in your hand is all you care about! And just so you know, I don't think sitting on your ass all day drinking your sorrows away is the same as 'working your ass off!'"

Little Dominick sat quietly in his closet, crossing his arms to feel comforted. He was a young boy—only eight years old—so he didn't understand much of the commotion. In the corner of his cramped closet was a teddy bear his father had bought him for his seventh birthday. Sometimes, Dominick would hold it, remembering that the family wasn't always damaged. Tears filled Dominick's eyes as he recalled moments in his childhood that weren't filled with chaos, granting him a nostalgic feeling that wasn't so tormenting.

Jace placed his half-drunken can of Bud Lite on the coffee table and stared through Janice's eyes with a sinister expression. "Wow... would you look at that! You placed your booze down for once in your fucking life!" Janice exclaimed, sarcastically.
Jace paused, then approached the can of Bud Lite sitting on the coffee table. She was right, wasn't she? That can in his hand was all he cared about. But admitting that? Never. His eyes teared up, and his fists tightened. How did the relationship get like this? He couldn't even remember the last time they laughed together—or the last time he felt like a half-decent father to Dominick. Not that it truly mattered now. The guilt he felt was just another excuse to pound down another beer.

"Don't ever tell me I'm not a good father to Dominick! I'd do anything for my kid—take my life for my kid!" Jace yelled, his words slurred from the alcohol in his system.

Janice chuckled, then grabbed the beer that was on the coffee table. "This is being a good father? Jace—look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what you see! I'll give you a hint—an alcoholic!"
Upstairs, little Dominick stepped out of his closet to grab a coloring book from his dresser drawer. He was a very creative child—constantly drawing and coloring his thoughts onto a sheet of printer paper. One day, Janice had walked into his room to wake him up for school but noticed one of the pictures he had drawn. It was a tan man in blue coveralls and a trucker hat, holding a can of beer in his hand—similar to his father, Jace. In the background of the picture was Janice on all fours, crying while covering her face with her hands.