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Michael

Michael never knew his father. His father had left them long before Michael was born and, although he grew up with his mother, she never really seemed to be there either. She could never get over his fathers leaving and, for as long as Michael could remember, she existed in a bottle. It wasn't that she didn't care about him or that she didn't try to make things right. She always managed to take care of his basic needs but she just couldn't seem to get past that point. He knew that she loved him but she couldn't ever seem to love him as other mothers seemed to love their kids. Her alcohol was always more important or more necessary to her. She would try not to visit that private hell of hers, but before the end of each day some thought would come back to her, and she would start crying and reach for a drink to erase what she was never able to deal with. Sometimes she would just sit and cry and other times for no apparent reason she would just start ranting about everything and nothing. He wished that he could remember even one single day in their lives when she wasn't drunk, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't.

Every now and then it was like she was trying to explain why everything was as it was, but she never could get it out and, things just went on as they had been going on. It was like the few times that they tried to talk, for one reason or another, they just couldn't connect. So they developed a pattern that they stuck to and that seemed to cause each other the least amount of irritation. He would sit and watch television while she drank till she passed out. She in return tried not to draw him into whatever conversation she was having with herself.

They learned that it was easier to just leave each other to themselves and at some point in time both just decided not to get too personal with each other anymore. Then he took this a step further and just gave up trying to get too close to anyone at all. It was just easier this way. She shrank more and more into her bottles and he shrank away inside of himself. He didn't bring other kids around because he didn't want them to see her like she was. He and his mother were different from other people and he knew it. Everyone else seemed to know it too and they shunned him for it, laughed around him about it, and yet would never talk to him about it. So he became a loner like her. He hid away from the whispers that he heard behind his back. He spent his time just waiting for it to be over. Waiting

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