there was a liquor store across the street from the little shopping center. every day paula would sit in her dads car, sprawled across the back seat, and wonder when she'd get to have a normal family that went to target every day instead of don's liquor shack.
she'd wonder all sorts of things in the back of her father's old camaro, wishing to simply be somewhere else. where was her mom? why did her mom leave her with her dad like this? was her mom happy? was her dad happy? was paula, herself happy? paula didn't know. every day her dad would eventually come out, sluggishly walking back to the car after a long chat with the cashier. he'd have a black plastic bag held tightly in his arms, and a sleepy grin on his face. he'd drive them home and then he'd get wasted, and paula would lock herself in her room 'til morning, when she'd wake up and catch the bus for school. on weekends she's catch the bus to go to church camp, but she didn't know what she'd do when she'd get into middle school.
the days were ticking at this point, with just a week left of fifth grade, and low and behold, her father is trudging back to the car with yet another black plastic bag. they had just as many of those bags as they did extra grocery bags. paula knew she had to do something. she took one last glance at the happy-looking shopping center across the street and hoped for the best as her dad threw himself into the car.
"dad?"
her dad seemed startled. paula rarely spoke to him. "y-yes, sweetheart?"
"can you, um, maybe try to stop coming here so much?"
her father seemed startled again. his dark eyes were bulging now, his hairy jaw hanging in shock. "...huh?"
"can we stop coming here? i don't like it. i'd rather go to target and buy a board game to play at home instead of you getting all of those drinks," paula said meekly. had she chosen her words correctly? did he get the drift? had she come off as too much of an adult? she didn't want her dad to know that he'd cut her childhood off short.
her dad sat in the drivers' seat for a while, staring at the black plastic bags in the seat adjacent to him. he didn't know what to say. he wasn't a good father, was he? he wanted to open those bottles of wine and whiskey right then, because he realized how awful he was. he was neglecting his daughter. emotionally neglecting her, he corrected himself. just because you make sure she's fed, dressed, and bathed doesn't make you a good father. he wasn't sure where his thoughts were coming from. his conscience? he'd forgotten he had one of those. maybe it was the idea of liquor talking, and the bottle in the passengers seat would ask him to drink him up. is this real life?
"dad?"
"hmm?"
"do... you understand what i'm trying to say?" suddenly paula felt just as tired as her dad seemed every day.
"yeah, sweetie. i get it. i just-"
"this is bad. you should stop."
"i know," he slumped down in his seat, knocking his keys onto the floor. "i know." he looked at the receipt on his console, and realized he had the power to take it back. to take it all back. his sanity, his relationship with his daughter, his life. he wouldn't have to sit around in misery in the early morning hours. he wouldn't have to pretend to he asleep as his daughter got ready for the day without him. he wouldn't have to picture the image of his ex-wife laughing at how pathetic he was. he could fix his life, take it back, and get a refund if he tried hard enough.
so he did.
