The first morning I woke up in Dad’s house, I was wearing this pair of pants. They were 2/$7.99 at Costco. I sat on the edge of his bed while he was still sleeping. The house was silent. Darla slept fitfully on the futon behind me. I watched him breathe, wondering how he could be dying. How could it be? His face was full. His skin, long oddly pink from heart medication, was turning a healthy olive. He looked like himself. It was just the first of many mornings where I’d creep in and watch him sleep, saving up these tiny moments for the time ahead when he’d be gone. I’d need them. I still had the luxury of thinking nothing made sense. This particular morning, as I was sitting there, he opened his eyes, spied the cut-rate loungewear –
Dad: Those pants clash with themselves.
– and fell asleep. I burst out laughing but he didn’t stir.
About 3 this morning, rain pounded against my bedroom windows, one of which was open. I got up and closed it, and while I was up, opened my bedroom door. Kittens, staging World War III on top of me, had been banished to the rest of the apartment. Now they padded back to bed with me and curled up around my legs. For a moment, all was bliss.
Then Alexis said, “Blake will always love me, you trailer trash whore” and Krystal slapped Alexis across the face and Alexis grabbed a handful of bleach-blonde hair and they wrestled and both fell in the swimming pool…