by Jarrett Fontaine
A wooden step creaked under the weight of a
large man. It sounded like a staggering walk up the stairs, drunken but
deliberate. My heart filled with dread.
One step closer.
His alcohol breath
was my kryptonite. I lurked away from my bedroom door. Nine years old, but I
felt like a weary soldier. Battle fatigued. I'd been waging wars against my
alcoholic father for as long as I could remember. He took it out on mom; he
took it out on me. I looked at the starry sky through my bedroom window. Last
week my dad had thrown a ten-pound weight at me and broken it. My mom scraped
together some money to have it replaced, but inside I still felt shattered.