Alive at Heart

Chapter 2

I walked down the stairs to the kitchen where Hope was making breakfast. She was toasting bread, scrambling eggs, and frying bacon. 

"Morning," I said rubbing my eyes. 

"Morning Analia," she said while buttering the toast.

"I won't be home till around 6:30 tonight because there's open gym."

"Okay, I'll plan dinner for around 7 then so that you can come home and do a little homework before we eat."

"Alright," I said walking over to the cupboards to grab plates. I grabbed three plates and set them onto the counter. I then walked over to the refrigerator to grab jelly for my toast. "I'll try to be home as soon as I can." I grabbed a spoon and started putting jelly on the pieces of toast. 

"No jelly on you dad's," Hope grabbed my hand just in time. "He doesn't like strawberry jelly on his, remember?" 

I placed the spoon back into the jar and placed two pieces of toast on each of the three plates. Hope carried the pan of bacon over to the opposite counter where the plates where and dished a couple pieces of bacon onto each plate. She then walked over to the refrigerator where she grabbed the gallon of homemade orange juice that she freshly squeeze yesterday. She poured some into a glass, handed me the cup, and the plate with my dad's food on it. 

"Take this to your dad please."

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. This was probably one of the most depressing parts of my days. Wasn't the best way to start off each day. This was my daily routine though. I always brought my dad something to eat, in hope of him realizing that I'm a desperate girl in need of a father. 

I walked up the stairs, plate and cup in hand. I came to the door of his room. I lightly rapped on the door with my knuckles. "Morning dad!" I called, hoping to sound cheerful so that would brighten his mood a little if he was cranky, which 99.9% of the time he was. 

I balanced the plate in the crook of my arm and turned the door. I walked into his dimly lit room that reeked of alcohol. While tripping over many bottles, I walked over to his bedside table and set set down his breakfast. I then walked over to one of the far windows and drew back the curtains to let a little light into his room. 

He was sitting in his recliner in front of his TV, where he usually fell asleep. I walked over to the TV and pressed the power button, turning it off. "Dad, it's time to get up," I walked over to him and shook his shoulder. 

He groaned and threw his head back against the back of the chair. 

"Dad," I shook his shoulder again. "Your breakfast is on the table over there. You should probably get up and get cleaned up. You also might want to tidy up your room a bit." I held my breath as I walked out of the room and let it go once I was on the stairs. 

I always felt so bad for Hope. She was such a hardworking person. She cooked, did laundry, cleaned things when they needed to be cleaned. Cleaning was her job. I was just that my dad had always been a slob since my mom left. Guess he had no more reason to keep clean. 

Every morning after I went to school, Hope would go upstairs to my dad's room, clean up the floor, clean up his breakfast that he usually never touched, made his bed, and usually helped him get ready for work. Most days though, if my dad was drinking the night before, he wouldn't even go to work. Which drinking, that was on a nightly basis. 

I walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. I took a sip of my orange juice and grabbed my fork, anxious to dig into my eggs. I ate quickly and went back upstairs and down the hallway to my room where I started to get ready for school.