After being in my room all day writing, I decide to visit Alfonso before nightfall. It was a strange habit now, with my house empty again, that I’d visit Alfonso just so I’d have company. When I walk in, there are people everywhere looking for puppies to buy. They sell fast and when the crowd disperses I take a deep breath so I can shout.
“Fonso, where are you!?”
“I’m back here!”
I walk to the back of the store, in the infamous closet where a belligerent drunk had once had a tantrum, but she was forever gone, so I shook the memory.
“How’s that book coming along, Yonnie?”
“Oh, it’s... still in progress.”
“Great, I...” rrrrrring. He shuffles to the phone. “Mhmm.. oh... a murder? What in the...?” For a moment, Alfonso seems to be breaking a sweat, but he leaves the closet for a second and comes back with a tiny screen tv. He angles its antennas just right and sets in on the shelf in front of me. Then, he turns on the news.
“A young woman by the name Sile N’Bhron was murdered late this afternoon. Police are saying the culprit may have been tall and middle-aged. He is considered armed and dangerous. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Sile N’Bhron before the incident, authorities encourage you to call in. Reporting live, I’m...” The resolution in the screen weakens and the tv cuts itself off.
“I don’t want you on the streets alone tonight, Yonnie. You’re staying here.”
“Oh... well ok. I mean... Who would...? A murder? Here? That could’ve been...”
“Anybody, Yonnie. It could’ve been anybody.”
“But don’t you feel it, Alfonso? Don’t you feel close to death when someone near you dies? I mean, I didn’t know her, but she lived in the apartments too... Don’t you feel close?”
“Very.” His face looks occupied with worry.
“I’ll lock up.” He smiles weakly as I take the keys from his shirt pocket and do just that. Then, I walk to the back room where a couch, made up like a bed, is waiting for me. I tuck myself in and shout goodnight to Alfonso who is probably doing inventory at the moment.
And that’s when I realize what my story is missing. I’ve got to tell the whole truth. No, it won’t be a tell-all autobiography, just a memoir maybe. Someone out there went through similar things. I always tried to cope for the mistakes that other people made and didn’t acknowledge when they did something right. I never gave my mother credit for protecting me. She did what she could. Though putting your daughter in an escort service at a young age isn’t acceptable, she made sure I knew how I could feed myself. And I feed myself well.
“I think I’ll stop drinking...”
...
So that’s how my book ends. I quit alcohol. Eventually I get my mom to do the same and we live much healthier lives. Nothing wrong with drinking, it’s just the self-depleting effects it has. Afterall, the plan is to drink until the pain is over, but what’s worse: the pain or the hangover?
“Fonso, where are you!?”
“I’m back here!”
I walk to the back of the store, in the infamous closet where a belligerent drunk had once had a tantrum, but she was forever gone, so I shook the memory.
“How’s that book coming along, Yonnie?”
“Oh, it’s... still in progress.”
“Great, I...” rrrrrring. He shuffles to the phone. “Mhmm.. oh... a murder? What in the...?” For a moment, Alfonso seems to be breaking a sweat, but he leaves the closet for a second and comes back with a tiny screen tv. He angles its antennas just right and sets in on the shelf in front of me. Then, he turns on the news.
“A young woman by the name Sile N’Bhron was murdered late this afternoon. Police are saying the culprit may have been tall and middle-aged. He is considered armed and dangerous. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Sile N’Bhron before the incident, authorities encourage you to call in. Reporting live, I’m...” The resolution in the screen weakens and the tv cuts itself off.
“I don’t want you on the streets alone tonight, Yonnie. You’re staying here.”
“Oh... well ok. I mean... Who would...? A murder? Here? That could’ve been...”
“Anybody, Yonnie. It could’ve been anybody.”
“But don’t you feel it, Alfonso? Don’t you feel close to death when someone near you dies? I mean, I didn’t know her, but she lived in the apartments too... Don’t you feel close?”
“Very.” His face looks occupied with worry.
“I’ll lock up.” He smiles weakly as I take the keys from his shirt pocket and do just that. Then, I walk to the back room where a couch, made up like a bed, is waiting for me. I tuck myself in and shout goodnight to Alfonso who is probably doing inventory at the moment.
And that’s when I realize what my story is missing. I’ve got to tell the whole truth. No, it won’t be a tell-all autobiography, just a memoir maybe. Someone out there went through similar things. I always tried to cope for the mistakes that other people made and didn’t acknowledge when they did something right. I never gave my mother credit for protecting me. She did what she could. Though putting your daughter in an escort service at a young age isn’t acceptable, she made sure I knew how I could feed myself. And I feed myself well.
“I think I’ll stop drinking...”
...
So that’s how my book ends. I quit alcohol. Eventually I get my mom to do the same and we live much healthier lives. Nothing wrong with drinking, it’s just the self-depleting effects it has. Afterall, the plan is to drink until the pain is over, but what’s worse: the pain or the hangover?
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