Page 16 of Saving Micah

I’ll be by your side

You know I’ll take your hand

When it gets cold

{‘Keep Holding On’ -Avril Lavigne}

Where is he? He isn’t in his room. He isn’t in the living room, drooling all over himself, on the couch. His glass is on the counter with ice but no liquor in it. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that something isn’t right.

Is he hiding around the corner waiting to hit me again?

I look in all the corners without turning on the lights. I’m not going to let him see me if he is in the house.

I need to get back to Micah’s house.

Where ever he is, he can stay there. Maybe he’ll die.

Once a few years ago, I found him passed out in his own vomit near the back door.

I got home from school and heard nothing. The house was silent and very unnerving. Usually, he is on the couch, passed out, with the TV on high volume. This day, he was not doing that and I knew something was wrong. I went through the house and couldn’t find him. I was quiet and crept around like I wasn’t supposed to be in my own house.

Every day of my life is like that.

He yells at me and tells me I’m worthless more times in a day than most kids hear ‘I love you’ from their parents.

I looked in our bedrooms, the bathrooms, under the beds, in the closets, everywhere. He was nowhere to be found.

I finally wondered if he was out back doing something. It is the only place that I hadn’t checked.

When I got to the back door, he was on the floor. He was unconscious and vomit was everywhere. There was no way I could get him up and I had no idea if he was even alive.

I did the only thing I could do.

Roy has always told me not to call the police because they would take me away. No matter how much I hated him, I never wanted to leave my home or Micah.

I ran across my yard, yelling for Mr. Davis.

“Mr. Davis! Mr. Davis! Help!” I was running and looking everywhere outside. I didn’t find him until I barreled into his house through the back door. I didn’t even knock this time. The adrenaline masked all my common sense and manners. Sorry mama.

“What is it, son?” Mr. Davis caught me as I came into his kitchen. He grabbed me by the shoulders to slow me down.

“What’s got you running like a mad man?” He’s talking to me in a soothing voice to calm me down.

My breathing is heavy and I’m winded.

“Roy. It’s Roy. He’s passed out and throw up is everywhere. He may be dead.” I rush all the words out in one breath because that is all I had.

“Come on boy. Let’s go see.” Davis says as he leads me right back out the back door and across our yards. I take him through the front door since Roy is in front of the back.

Mr. Davis kneels next to Roy, making sure not to get himself in the throw up. He reaches out with his fingers and touches his neck to check his pulse. After a very long few seconds, he looks at me and gives me a nod, letting me know that my father is still alive. Mr. Davis then puts his legs on each side of Roy and grabs him under the arms. He lifts him and props him up against the wall by the back door.

I grab some paper towels and start to clean up the puke. It smells just like straight whiskey. He must have been hitting the bottle hard this time.

At that moment, I’m really glad he is passed out. My jaw hasn’t healed completely from the last time he drank so heavy he lost his mind and used me as a punching bag.

I’m also glad he isn’t dead. And that angers me.

Why am I glad that loser is still breathing the same air as me? The more I think about it, the angrier I become and I start slinging the paper towels in my hand across the floor. I can’t even see what I’m doing. All I see is red.