Written for | Friday Frictioneers
“Berries, Berries, Berries…..”
His voice was like a hammer in my head. I was already fighting the taste of stale beer in my mouth, I didn’t want this.
“What do you want!”
“Mrs. Morris asked for real berries!”
“These are real, just a bit cold.”
“But we didn’t go up the hill to camp and pick berries, like we did with dad.”
And I lost it at that….
“Well, do you see your bastard of a dad anywhere around here?”
I don’t know if it was my shrilling, slurred, drunken voice or the loud thud of refrigerator door, he broke down.
“Mom! It’s not my fault, he’s gone.”
His every word cut deeper than the already stabbing feelings that I had in my gut and I knew then, I had to get myself together for both of us.
But all I could manage was, “I know honey, it was the Puerto Rican Bitch!”