Chasing Sunshine | JJ Maybank

16 // The Forbidden Zone

One singular thing caught my attention when I turned the front tire of my bike into our driveway: my father's car sitting cold smack dab in the middle of it. During the work day. Two possibilities initially crossed my mind; either he was hungover and missed an alarm, or he'd gotten hurt on the job and was sent home. Neither of the two options sounded preferable to me so I quickly jumped from my seat and let the bicycle fall into the dirt next to the house unceremoniously.

"Dad!" I called out once I breached the threshold of the front door. The kitchen proved to be empty but I could hear the muffled, cheery voices of some mid-morning talk show host coming from the living room. Peeking my head around the corner, I was greeted to the sight of my father sprawled out on the couch, no injuries to be seen, and a drink clutched tightly in one hand. "Dad?" I repeated, stepping to the room hesitantly, "What are you doing home?"

He didn't answer, just took another slow sip of whiskey and continued to stare at the television screen in front of him, like he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge my presence. Instantly frustrated, I snatched the remote from the side table and set the volume on mute. "Dad."

I was finally gifted a sparing glance from those honey-brown eyes that used to hold so much paternal love, now red-rimmed and struggling to focus on who was standing right in front of him. He yawned loudly then drained the last of the amber-colored liquid. "Those bastards fired me," he finally answered with a demeanor much too casual for the situation.

I felt a hot pit of anger stir in the depths of my gut, and struggled to keep my voice even when I asked with gritted teeth, "Why?"

He chuckled lightly, clinking the melting cubes of ice around the bottom of his empty glass. "Turns out them northsiders are picky about drinking on the job," he replied much too flippantly, standing to cross into the kitchen presumably for a refill.

I threw the remote back onto the couch forcefully, his casual attitude only serving to piss me off further. Storming after him, I exclaimed loudly, "This isn't funny! What are we going to do now?!"

He set the bottle back down on the counter after adding a few inches of alcohol to the glass and leaned forward with his hands on the counter and eyes screwed shut. "Would you lower your voice?"

A short, cold laugh bubbled from my throat and I shot back even louder, "Why? Because you're hungover again?" He rolled his eyes, making a move to go around me and back to the living room but I stepped in front of him stubbornly. "No! Tell me. Tell me how you're going to fix this!"

"Enough Meg," he said shortly, cutting around me again but this time I let him while following closely behind.

"No, you can't keep doing this!" I shouted, voice rising with every syllable, "You can't just not care that you got fired-"

"I'll find something else-"

"Then what? Your ass will get fired there too?" I practically shrieked, "How can you not see what's happening here?"

My colorful language made him slam the glass down onto the coffee table with an angry thud, turning to face me with a finger pointed towards me in warning. "I'm the parent here, not you. I won't-"

"Are you?!"

"Meg-"

"Because you're doing a pretty shitty job!" I yelled, ignoring his incensed tone of voice without regard for the consequences. Up until now, I had been barely restraining the floodgate of pure resentment and frustration but it all was spilling over as I began to rant uncontrollably, "And you have been for the past year. I can't keep living like this, with the drinking and the pretending she never existed, I can't!"