“You’re shift is over. Don’t be late again, got it?” my boss said.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Cheong. I promise it won’t happen again.” I bow and pack my things to leave.

On my way home I pass the local grocery store. Oh yeah, I need to get some more food. I walk inside and browse the aisles. Let’s see…I need peanut butter, bread, eggs, oh and milk, and –

*Crash

I stumble to the floor. Ow…

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” I look up and there’s a girl standing in front of me. She looks shocked. Her hands cover in surprise.

She looks familiar….her hair is long and wavy and she’s rather tall and thin… I get up and gather my things. Where have I seen her before…?

“I’m okay.”  I say, reaching for the eggs. I quickly examine them.  Nice, they’re not broken.

She bends down and helps me. I feel her staring at me.

“Hey, you’re in my class, aren’t you?” she asks.

I pause and look at her. Ohhh, I thought she looked familiar. She’s that one girl who sits in the front row next to Chin Ho. I can’t remember her name though….Joon something? Joon Yi? No….

“Ren, right?” she hands me the bread. I take it and nod in gratitude. This is bugging me, what’s her name?

“Yeah, and you are….” Her name suddenly came to me. “Yoon Ji?”

Her eyes widened in happiness.

“Yep! I’m surprised you know! There are so many people in our class!”

“I could say the same for you.”

She laughs.

“Yeah, I guess.”

I laugh awkwardly. This is actually the first time actually talking to someone from class outside of school, besides Su Min…and I guess Chin Ho.

“Well, I have to go. See you tomorrow!” she says, breaking the silence.

“Bye.”

I grab a few more things and head to the register to pay. Yoon Ji…I’ve never talked to her in class before. I think she’s in the student council with Chin Ho. Maybe? Eh, who knows. I don’t really care.  I walk out the doors and leave the store behind me as well as the conversation with Yoon Ji. I’m finally going home.

I walk into the apartment. The kitchen light is on. I walk in and see Dad going through the fridge. He sounds frustrated, mumbling something about the lack of food.

“I got some groceries just now.” I say slowly.

He looks up at me blankly and furrows his brows. He stares at the bags in my hands and walks over. He looks a bit tipsy, probably had a few drinks before I came. I worry about his health….so much alcohol consumption can’t be good.

“Whas dis…?” He uses his fingers to peek inside. Grunting with approval he snatches the bags from my hands and proceeds by making himself a sandwich. His hands are kind of shaky. The knife he’s holding is a sharper one…

“Hey Dad, how about I make one for you?” I cautiously try to reach for the knife but he takes it away before I can grab it.

“I’m fine…….” His words slur. I nod and can’t help but feel uneasy at the looseness of his grip on the tool as he spreads the mayonnaise.

Suddenly, his hand slips and he cuts himself. He curses loudly as a small droplet of blood forms on his finger.

“Dammit, stupid knife…”

I rush over to help him but he pushes me away. His knife was still in his hand and he ended up cutting my arm. I wince and look down. The cut was about one inch long. I ignore the pain and turn back to my father.

“Dad, here, you need a band aid. I’ll make the sandwich for you.”

He ignores me and rinses his finger under the sink, cursing under his breath at the sting. He flings the slightly bloody knife into the sink and continues making his dinner. I stare helplessly. His finger was hurt. The cut looked kind of deep. I could see the blood starting to rise again. I reach up into the cabinet and pull out the box of band aids. Shoot…there’s only one left, oh well, that’s alright. I move toward my dad.

“Dad you need to stop the blood flow…”

I touch the hand with the injury. Wrong move. My dad turns and shoves me into the refrigerator. I crash, the band aid flutters to the ground. The back of my head hurts. I reach up to rub it. Aish…there’s a bump.  I look up to see my dad leaving the kitchen with his food, moving towards the living room and the TV.

I pick the band aid and follow him. He’s sitting on the couch. The TV is turned to some college basketball channel. So many beer bottles and cans covered the floor…. He picks one up and starts drinking from it. He shouldn’t be drinking so much…he is already so wasted.

I move forward and snatch the bottle away. He looked at me, alarmed at my bold move.

“Givit back…” he says

I shake my head. I refuse to allow him to do this to himself. I can’t let this continue.

“Dad, you can’t drink anymore. It’s not healthy”

“Give. It. Back.” he demands, emphasizing each word. I run to the kitchen and dump the remaining alcohol down the sink. He follows me and jerks my shoulder, trying to make me stop. I stand my ground.

“What are you doing?!” he screams, horrified that his beloved beverage was sinking down the drain.

“Dad, I’m doing this for you! You have to stop!”

“NO” He tries to wrestle the bottle from my hands but I will myself to hold on. The glass burns my hand as my dad tries to wiggle it from me. Just a little more…the bottle is almost empty, just a little bit more...

“NOO!” Dad screams as the last drop falls. I let the bottle fall gently into the sink and sigh with relief. My hands ached from the grasp and my chest heaved from the struggle. Suddenly I was on the ground, my face turned to the side, my cheek enflamed. My eyes water from the pain. My dad stood in front of me, hand still raised from hitting me.

“How dare you do this to me?! I am your father! How dare you waste the drink that I had paid for with my own damn money?!” I guess my act against his drinking sobered him up a bit. His eyes were suddenly very concentrated and his enunciation was intact.

I don’t answer him so he walks over and kicks me in the leg. I grunt and clutch my ankle. He lowers himself so that he was eye to eye with me.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, understand? I know a lot more than a thirteen year old kid like you would know.”

He gives my head one last push before turning back to the living room.  I sit on the kitchen floor panting, my body aching.

“…I’m sixteen……” I say. Though I know he’s already too far to hear me.

 With all the strength I can muster I heave myself up. The slap on my cheek stings as does the bruise on the back of my head. I roll up my pant leg. There’s a glob of blue and purple where I was kicked. I sigh as I put the remaining groceries away. I then go over to the freezer to grab the ice. I can’t help but laugh at how many times I’ve had to do this in the past. My heart feels like crying but no tears fall.

*sigh*

I limp to my room with my ice and close the door, exhausted from the day’s work.