Writers Tricks of the Trade MARCH-APRIL 2015 | Page 33

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I'VE GOTTA BE ME (Cont’d)

SUBMISSIONS FOR THE

Yes, I knew that this was it for me. A lifetime of harming and being
harmed was coming to an end. A voice inside me said that this was
going to be my last drunken rage. I wasn't going to get away with
this one. Strangely, I didn't even want to get away with this one. But
I did want to see him suffer.
I stood over him writhing in pain, covered in his own blood,
squirming for dear life. I had sliced the punk-calling him a rat
bastard repeatedly-at least a dozen times. But there is no reason to
continue, a voice inside me said. And then I really felt my insides
surge and turn as I watched him bleed.
Sixty years of insanity had come to this. I had gone off the deep end,
once and for all, in the most unlikely of places-a community college
classroom.
I had come home that morning from another of my 72hour benders
of drinking, gambling, and living the wiseguy lifestyle that I had
been living for. .. well, most of my 59 years on Earth. I would drink
so much and for so long that I would almost drink myself sober
again. So when I staggered into the house that morning, I was
dazed from lack of sleep and from watching day turn into night and
back into day. Everything seemed larger, closer and louder to me.
When I walked into the house that morning, it was eerily quiet. I
called out to Laura, my wife. No answer. I noticed the crack of my
daughter Tanya's bedroom door.
I went to open it. She was on her bed asleep, curled up in a ball. I
closed the door and headed to the kitchen. Laura stood over the
stove.
My voiced sounded hoarse from my three-day spree.

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ME"—SHOCK.
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"Why's Tanya still sleeping?"
"You haven't been home in three days. Did you forget yesterday
was her birthday?"
"Let me ask you again and maybe I'll get a straight answer this
time." My voice went up, "Why is Tanya sleeping? Why isn't she at
school? Is she sick?"
Laura turned and walked past me and out of the kitchen. I
followed her.
"Are you gonna answer me or what?"
She kept walking in silence, avoiding the question and trying to
avoid me. Like the thick-headed Calabrese that I am, I wasn't
going to accept no answer. I followed her into the living room.
WRITERS’ TRICKS OF THE TRADE
Cont’d…

PAGE
23

MAR-APR 2015