Dumbasses, all of them. Hector stared straight ahead, his gaze directed through his windshield onto the road ahead of him. Cars zipping in and out of the multiple lanes that made up Benjamin highway, intermittent honking spells, and the heavy static crackling from the radio all swirled and simmered together to make Hector into a boiling pot of pissed off.
All he wanted to do was to get out of this rush hour traffic and go home to a nice cold glass of… lemonade. Even as he had the thought, he glanced up at the 2 year chip he had hung from his rear view mirror. He remembered that night so clearly. Lily had confronted him at the door, eyes full of tears, like she had done nearly every night for hundreds of nights, except this time, her arms were occupied with a suitcase and their daughter, Mary. Daniel, their son was standing behind her, looking reluctant yet sad. They both were too young to understand why their father came home late so often or why he always smelled vaguely of cheap perfume and stale cigarettes. Lily had never had the heart to explain to her children why daddy always talked funny when it was late in the evening or why mommy was always crying. Hector had never sobered up as quickly as he did when he saw that old, worn, brown suitcase.
He had ended up promising Lily, and by pure extension, his children, that he would quit cold turkey that night and start going to AA. He kept his promise, going to the anonymous meetings filled with pathetic people twice a week at the local community college. He sat there and listened to their stories, insane stories about drunken car accidents and wild affairs that ultimately ended with court mandated rehab or lives so shattered the only hope that remained was these hour long meetings, lit with flickering fluorescents and highlighted by store bought, crumbly cookies. Hector despised these times more than he despised his wife’s extreme fad diets. These people, some of whom he recognized from everyday life, had tales so glamorous and exciting that his mundane experiences seemed, just that, mundane. Lily had put up with so little and had snapped so quickly. All of the tears and fits, with the children peering from between the slats in the railings at the top of the stairs, watching their parents fight. As the fights became more and more frequent, their little eyes grew more and more listless, glazed over. Eventually, they stopped even watching. Daniel would whisper to his sister to ignore the shouting before getting up to the shut the door to their playroom.
It was all Lily’s fault. The most Hector ever did was to watch TV a little too loudly or vomit in the kitchen sink rather than in the guest toilet. Maybe occasionally wipe his face on the decorative towels that hung next to the mirror that always seemed to be just smudged, no matter how much Lily claimed to clean it. Hector had grown to hate the faded tan color of the carpet that hugged the bottom of the toilet, he had gotten really familiar with it in the multiple years of his binge drinking habits.
Hector pulled his car into the driveway, rather surprised that he was suddenly home. Muscle memory had taken over and brought him straight to his house. A part of him wondered, briefly, if the alcohol had partially destroyed his ability to form memories or if it had simply harmed his ability to concentrate.
Lily greeted him rather coldly, standing in front of the counter as she peeled the crinkly skin away from an onion. She was making another one of her under-seasoned and generic roasted protein and veggie dishes that Hector may have hated more than the children who weren’t allowed to have more than 10 grams of sugar a day. Lily tossed the rooted end of the onion into the open bin before asking Hector about his day. Hector must’ve taken too long to answer because Lily dove almost instantly into the story of her day, explaining about how Daniel had been sent home from school for calling a fellow classmate a bitch. She skated over the rather alarming issue by following it up with another heartbreaking moment in time about Mary, the little girl, their little daughter, who was starting to show evidence of being hurt, abused. Her teachers were noticing bruises on her thin legs and arms. Hector stiffened, fully expecting Lily to start accusing him of somehow causing his little girl’s injuries. Either Lily would infer that Hector was beating Mary himself or that his negative alcoholic influence had steered Daniel down a dark path of no return. She often spoke like that, using big words and strong sentences in her own odd attempt at intimidating her husband.
Hector gritted his teeth as he shrill voice grew louder and louder. She knew he wasn’t listening; his lack of attention must have been obvious on his face.
All he wanted her to do was to shut up.
