Objects in the Rearview Mirror by F.E. Feeley Jr

Author:F.E. Feeley Jr [Feeley, F.E. Jr]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-06T05:00:00+00:00

HE RAN from the window when he saw the car pull up. Dinner was made and on the table, the house was clean, and the dishes he’d used to cook with were put away. His homework was done and the yard work was finished. The young man mentally went through his checklist. The car door slammed and the nervous sweat began. Please don’t be drunk. Please. God, I’ll do anything. Get me out of this nightmare. This perpetual cycle that never ends. It’s always the same, the young man silently prayed as he waited at the dinner table. The heavy footfalls on the stairs were steady. A good sign. The young man breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut short when the front door slammed against the wall.

“Hey!” his father yelled.

On shaky legs, the boy got up and walked into the living room. “Yes?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you roll the hose up after you used it?” the man bellowed, kicking off his boots.

The boy’s heart sank. He’d missed something. Shit. “I’ll do it right now,” the young man answered, and he tried to wedge his way past his father, who was filling most of the doorway. The sickly sweet smell of liquor was on his breath, and the last bit of hope for a quiet night died. He tried to squeeze through, but his father brought his hand up and hit him in the back of the head sending him into the door. He hit his nose and blood immediately started to flow as his eyes teared up. He reached blindly for the latch so he could get out. He couldn’t find it.

“You’re bleeding all over the goddamn floor!”

Alan raised his head, his father was right, he was bleeding all down his face, and when he looked down found that he had bled on his shirt, his shoes, and now blood dripped at his feet. The snap in his brain was almost audible.

Alan braced himself against the screen door to give him as much leverage as possible as he brought his elbow back against his father’s face, hitting him dead in the face. He was rewarded with the sound of a sickening crunch as his father’s nose broke. The man stumbled back as Alan wiped the moisture from his eyes, clearing his vision so he could see what he had done.

His father was bent over, gagging, holding his hand over his face. Blood oozed from between his fingers as Alan walked over to him and knelt down, coming eye level with him. His rage burned inside of him, a fire so hot it turned his insides into ash.

“You son of a bitch, you broke my nose,” Mark cried out, gagging and coughing on the blood. He dropped his lunch box and the lid broke open, revealing a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

Alan grabbed it and held it up so his father could see it. “Sixteen ounces. This is all you’re worth these days. It’s rotted you from the inside. I’m glad Mom’s dead so she can’t see you like this.

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