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the road through alcoholism


I think I was Seven

awakened by the loud voices of my parents. yelling. it gave me fear. my mother was so angry. my father asked her
“what do i owe you?”
things quieted down.

the next day i opened my drawer to get dressed. i had clothing from a little boy who had died. one of the t shirts had a stain right on the chest.
i put on the t shirt and walked out to see my mother. she had very bad breath in those days.
diet pills
“mom. is this the shirt the boy was wearing when he died?”
“it might have been. maybe.”
i went out into the garage and got a hoe. i took it into my bedroom and began smacking it into the linoleum or whatever. i made some good dents and lots of noise. my mom did not come to see what was going on.
i wanted to dig to the devil. dont ask me why.
later that evening she and my father examined the damage i had done.
they asked my why. i told them about the devil and that was that until the next day.
my mother took me into the bedroom and pointed at the damaged floor.
“would you like to go live with someone else? would you like to be adopted?”
i thought about it. it sounded pretty good. i told her i’d think about it.
it occured to me how crazy it was to dig for the devil.
i knew he stayed in the bushes by the front door.

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