Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XXV

I open the door gently, biting my lip as I attempt to make as little noise as possible, not to wake up my Papa.

Closing the door behind me I tiptoe against the floor, placing my coat onto the hanger and leaving the keys on the stairs.

The loud creaks coming from each door that I tried to open rings and echoes throughout the houses.

A clumsy turn causes me to stumble into the living room.

I jump in shock letting out a small, quiet squeak and nearly falling backwards over a coach the minute I see Papa waiting for me with a sad look on his face.

He moves only slightly to look at me with a strange and perplexed face.

"What happened to you?"

I look down at myself noticing the spots of dirt on my clothes but except from that I don't really see any big difference.

"What do you mean?" I respond obliviously.

"You're covered in sweat and look... off. Really off actually."

I sit down on the seat next to Papa, playing with the hem of my dress, immediately feeling aware of how stupid and messy I must look.

My hair has probably turned into a birds nest of curls.

"It took me a few hours to walk here. I get tired. Quickly. You of all people should know how much I lack any athletic talent."

I glance around the dimly lit room, making sure that all the pictures of Mama and Rose are still intact and in their exact same place.

A habit that I've randomly gotten used to.

When I decide to bring my attention back to Papa, I only just notice the large half-empty bottle of beer that he's waving in his hand.

"What's that?" I question him, pointing at it already knowing the answer.

I should have smelt it, but the strong alcoholic scent hasn't hit me yet.

"Beer," he hiccoughs.

Why?

"You're drunk?" I chuckle, half-heartedly, trying to hide my small discomfort. "Again?"

Most of the time if Papa gets drunk it's because something bad has happened and I'm not sure if I want to hear what must have happened to cause Papa to decide to get drunk.

"Well I sure hope so," he laughs back, much too enthusiastically.

I take a daring chance and snatch the drink from my Papa, remembering the last time that he decided to get drunk in the house, and ended up breaking a lot of important things.

"What are you doing Papa?" I sulk at him sympathetically.

He stands up, ignoring my question, rubbing his hand against his trousers and walking across the room.

I feel quite troubled that he completely ignored the question that I just asked him but my anger fades away when he proceeds to pick up an old photo of a younger and more carefree me, that I never truly noticed was placed there.

"You were ten years old in this photo," Papa's voice hitches. "Taken nearly eight years ago and yet... it feels like it was only last week that you were squirming and refusing my requests to stay still for this picture."

"You know it's only twelve days," I smile. "Until I'm eighteen."

Papa gives me an equally warming and happy smile.

"How could I forget your eighteenth?"

I blur out of focus from the present for a minute, just worrying about what will happen when I finish school and I'm expected to leave, study or get a job.