For the first nine years,
I was an only child
My father had run off with an cocktail waitress who had the nose of a macaw and breasts the size of aborted mice, but she was thin. That's all that bastard cared about.
Mother drank. I used to hate how she would walk my five year old self down to the liquor store, bribe my protests silent with a rainbow popsicle on a light biege stick. Its red and yellow horizontal stripes, the orange stickiness would melt down and drip off my fingers while I walked slowly behind her and the brown bag she gripped to, filled with beer.
I hated the way she smelled. The wet yeast on her breath, that seemed to eclipse some part of a darker self, that would twirl her fingers around and around a phone cord in the kitchen, while she talked and drank for hours but rarely cooked.
Sometimes she brought men home, but I can't remember their faces.
I played records to drown out the sounds, both inside and out. I pulled my hair, jumped on the beds screaming till the sheets fell to heaps and wrote 'I hate mom' on the back of a small yellow envelope that I hid behind the old wood bookself. I would slip it out carefully from behind and read it often, tracing my fingertips over the words.
Later into the night, she would often pass out in the middle of the floor.
I couldn't move her. I would shake, rattle her shoulder, feel for breath under her nose with two small fingers and know the terror of wondering if she was dead.
Each time, the thought would pulse that I should dial those three numbers 9-1-1 in case she was dying,
but something inside me, knew I couldn't.
Author notes
So instead I pulled a blanket over her, a pillow for her head
and then put myself to bed, unable yet to read the hands of the hour.
In a list
A contest entry
- What Went Wrong? (prewrites welcome) by Danna Hobart.
490 points, ended January 12, 37 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 22 of 22
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Nice
not really my taste in poems so i have to give a 5 just because it's not my taste but the poem was really great my unbridled very part was this
I played records to drown out the sounds, both inside and out. I pulled my hair, jumped on the beds screaming till the sheets fell to heaps and wrote 'I hate mom' on the back of a small yellow envelope that I hid behind the old wood bookself
sounds like an antiquety saying love it great job and great poem thanks for sharing. -
you are still at your best.
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lol You're too nice to ever say otherwise.
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What a maroon
That's all. -
i've been in a simaler sitaution. compelling read.
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Congratulations on the bronze trophy. I never experienced anything such as this as a child but I, too, later in life, experienced the heartache of finding out my parents weren't exactly perfect.
As usual, your writing pulls no punches and makes no apologies for reality.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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I was immediately drawn in by your interesting title. This definitely conveys a dark childhood. My comments are specific revisions:
-"liquer" should be spelled "liquor"
-I feel like "on a light beige stick" should be eliminated.
-don't say "gripped to." "gripped" is fine on its own. Also, the was you say the bag is "filled with beer" makes it sound like it is a bag of beer and not a paper bag wrapped around a bottle.
-you should say "that I hid" or "that I'd hide" instead of "that I hide," unless the speaker still hides the same yellow envelope, in which case present tense is alright
-"bookself" should be spelled "bookshelf"
-you used "often" in two consecutive sentences
- no comma should be used after "inside me" -
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Thanks for the revision suggestions.
However: "Also, the was you say the bag is "filled with beer" makes it sound like it is a bag of beer and not a paper bag wrapped around a bottle."
It is a 'bag of beer' and not a bottle. So that one is as it should be.
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wow. this piece really hits home for me, and you wrote it with such strong emotion that i could clearly feel all of it. you did very well with this one.
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well. that was very vivid. i always love the way you write. so detailed. so appealing to the readers emotions. sad. as usual. and it gives so much insight into your childhood... with such a small piece, one can see so much.
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Wow so sad a story one could almost feel the teardrops a the child narrated this ..it is so sad and very common occurance these days ...and people wonder why many of our youth are so bitter ...I think we should look closer at earlier selfish generations...an eggcellent insightful piece
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wow. this is... amazing. the descriptions (in an icky kinda way) are just beautiful and so vivid. and the actual story? told with such emotion and darkness, im left wishing a)this sorta thing didn't happen and b] that i could write this well.
amazing write, i like it just the way it is.
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Well told story. I wonder about the ending, however. I think you could add the two lines in your note or instead of "Each time, the thought would pulse that I should dial those three numbers 9-1-1 in case she was dying," cut after 911 and add as the final line "I never did.
That ends a dramatic story in a dramtic and mysterious way.
Just for your comtemplation.
Great Write.
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Actually, if I put that ending, then it would change the meaning of the poem. Plain and simple.
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Indeed, the juxtaposition of the Popsicle image in the piece really works. I love the details you include - the smell of her breath, the brown bag, the bribery, the envelope. Gives this a feeling of something very human and personal, rather than just a generic story. I also love that you created such a dramatic ending without having to spell everything out - that's part of really showing a good picture with the details. Brilliantly done.
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That ending is haunting - to be a child fearing for your mother's life, yet fearing something worse than that you risk not dialling. sigh. The whole piece is haunting, yet written so well it's beautiful. The popsicle memory was the only 'happy' thing here, but even in that there was still recognition of her insincerity.
Just a couple VERY minor typos:
S2 L1 - 'an cocktail waitress' and S6 L3 - 'bookself'.
I really enjoyed reading this, very well expressed!
Best wishes in the contest.
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I like the way your prose flows. nice piece. It evokes emotion well.
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So sad that there's so many children that come from this sort of disfunction. My parents split too, and both drank heavily before and afterwards. But I was older and could tell time; which seemed way to long at times. I like how even as a child we know we can't call the authorities, there's that inherent sense of shame, and perhaps some fear what will result from confession.
Needless to say this moved me.
Line #7-liquer/liquor?
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that I hide behind
Everything is written in past tense, except for this that is present tense.
It's stories like these that make me feel like I may not be the worst mother in the world after all.
This was very moving and very well written. Thank you for entering my contest.
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That line was probably a typo; perhaps she meant "hid"?
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Yeah, I figured either that, or maybe "that I'd hide behind"
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It's always a sad thing when a child must take the place of the adult, when said adult refuses the role. It's even worse when the child is too young to understand why any of it is happening, and so comes to see it as the cold reality of life.
In a way, this reminded me a lot of when I was younger and the way my father's words often hid behind his whiskey mask.
Your words always flow so smoothly and with strong attention to detail, though I imagine you don't think so. I could learn a great deal from you.
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