Writers Tricks of the Trade MARCH-APRIL 2015 | Page 34

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I'VE GOTTA BE ME (CONT’D)

"What the hell's goin' on?"
Laura avoided eye contact. She knew that engaging a drunk, especially this drunk, was a bad
idea. She had lived with me long enough to know that. When some people get drunk, they
get jolly, they fall down, they make an ass out of themselves, and it's all in good humor and
fun. That wasn't me. I was a nasty drunk. Aggressive and violent, and I wasn't one to let
something go.
My oldest daughter, Veronica came into the living room and I blasted her too.
"Is somebody gonna tell me what the hell is goin' on in this house?"
Veronica looked over to Laura, who was still looking away. I moved a little closer to her,
thinking that I could push her into saying something. My physical presence might intimidate
the words right out of her. I was good at bullying. Of course, it worked. Veronica talked.
"Tanya ... had a little problem in school yesterday." "A problem? What kind of a problem?"
I heard the story only in fits and bursts because my brain had shut down after learning that
Tanya had been forced into a bathroom at school by some punk who tried to feel her up. I
rushed into Tanya's room.
I tried to control my rage, but I was never any good at that, so why would I think I could
start here? I grabbed Tanya by the arm and pulled her from the bed. I didn't realize then that
manhandling someone after she's been through that type of a trauma is one of the worst
things you can do. But even if I had known it, I probably wouldn't have cared anyway,
because drunks are self-serving people who put themselves above everyone else. I was
turning this situation, like most situations, into something about me. I was mad. I going to
avenge what had been done to my daughter.
But here I was, not 30 seconds removed from hearing that some scumbag had touched my
daughter, on her birthday no less, and what was my first reaction: I was going to get
revenge.
Tanya was shouting and pulling away from me and crying. Laura and Veronica pleaded with me, but
it was no use. I had reached the point where my anger was at the white hot point of no return. The
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