ONLY TIME WILL TELL (PART 3)
#ONLY_TIME_WILL_TELL.
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Chapter 3.
"Daddy!"
I was panicking as dad's entire weight was shifted on me. And then with sudden trepidation, I realized that nothing was wrong with dad. He was simply drunk! The stench of cheap beer hit my nostrils as dad let out deep sagging breaths. I shut my eyes and mustered enough energy to drag him to the nearest couch even though it seemed to take an eternity. When dad was safely slumped on the couch, I locked the door.
"Dad," I was crouched before him and shaking him vigorously.
"Water," he mumbled. "Water."
"I'll bring it as fast as possible."
I was perspiring as I rushed to the kitchen to grab dad a glass of water. I mean, I didn't know what to do with a drunk. In all the years that I'd lived with my parents, neither of them ever drank this heavily. They only bought themselves decent wines on their anniversary but this night, dad saw it fit to drown himself in alcohol.
"Here," I said, handing dad the glass of water but he was too drunk to hold the glass firmly so I ended up making him drink the water whilst I held the glass for him.
I doubt he even drank much as his shirt was now soaked with the water that had been drooling down his chin.
I sighed and placed the empty glass on the table.
"Dad."
"Mmmh."
"Can you hear me?"
"Yeah," dad said in a slurred tone.
"Can you please get up and go to your room?" I know I sounded dumb but there was nothing else I could think of. I was only 12 years old for crying out loud.
Dad responded by sitting up, burping loudly and throwing up on the couch. The stench of liqour was now beyond unbearable but with more than much effort, I managed to persuade dad to retire to his room. When he was now resting on his bed, I closed his bedroom door and went to the bathroom where I grabbed a bucket, put some water in it and also grabbed a mop.
Cleaning dad's puke from the couch was the most disgusting thing that I had done in my life and I couldn't help but blame mum for dad's current condition. If only she hadn't left him, he wouldn't have found solace in drinking liqour.
After half an hour, I was finally done cleaning dad's vomit. After dumping the mixture of soap water and vomit in the toilet and flushing it away, I washed my hands thoroughly but the stench of the vomit was still stuck in my throat.
When I left the bathroom, I didn't know where to go so I returned to dad's bedroom. I glanced at his sleeping snoring form and couldn't help but shed tears. When I glanced on the dressing table and saw mum's photos resting on it, I was filled with rage. It was so intense that I felt if mum were standing in front of me, I would have wrapped my hands round her frail neck and strangled the bitch to death.
I angrily grabbed one of the photos from the table and glared at the woman who had brought me into this world.
"They say a picture is worth a thousand words," I said through clenched teeth. "But yours mother is worth a thousand disappointments!"
Before I knew it, I was breaking every picture frame containing mum's photos. When I was done, there was a heap of shattered glass and ripped photos lying before me and at least now the rage I'd been feeling was subsiding.
•
Two weeks past and dad would show up drunk at odd hours and there was nothing I could do but watch him and feel broken inside.
Today, it being a Saturday, I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when dad walked in.
"Goodmorning," he quietly said, sitting at the dining table.
"Morning," I replied.
When dad and I were seated opposite one another and quietly had our breakfast, I decided it was high time dad and I discussed his drinking habit.
"Father," I said, playing with a slice of bread.
"Yes," he didn't spare me a glance.
I took a deep breath and said, "Why are you doing this to me?"
Now he stared at me. "Milika, I've got a bad headache so It would be best if you don't beat around the bush and tell me what you're talking about."
"Why have you succumbed to drinking beer?" It was almost a whisper.
"Who's the parent here?"
"You're."
"Good," dad continued eating. "So act like the child you're and don't ask me such questions. And I've noticed you've barely touched your food. It isn't right to waste food so you better eat cause I'd like you to run an errand for me as soon as you're done."
Silence.
"But you promised not to be a disappointment to me," I had to force the words out of my mouth.
Dad was now glaring at me.
"Are you indirectly calling me a disappointment? Are you going to leave me like your mother has? Fine, go ahead and leave."
I patted dad's hand across the table. "Daddy, you're the remaining parent I have in this world and there's no way on earth that am leaving you alone," I said and stood up. "But I'd appreciate it if you quit your drinking habit though."
•
When evening came, dad wasn't around as usual but he showed up early, sober. Him and I were now seated in the living room having supper when he said, "Mimi, I'd like to talk to you."
"Am all ears," I replied.
"I was beyond irrational this morning. What you said got me thinking," said dad, a hint of shame in his tone. "Am sorry."
"It's fine. Elders shouldn't embarrass youngsters by apologizing to them. Am also sorry if I'd crossed the line by bringing up such a sensitive topic. I promise I won't act so indisciplined in the near future."
Dad stopped eating and said compassionately, "You're so mature for your age. I'll try my best to adjust on my drinking. Believe me when I say I'm not enjoying coming home in a drunken state but some matters are beyond us and-"
"You can turn to God for guidance," I warily interrupted him.
Dad flashed me a weary grin. "I wish matters were that simple, Mimi. I really do. But you can rest assured knowing-"
This time a knock at the door was what interrupted him. On impulse, I placed my plate aside and contemplated seeing who was at the door but dad said, "I'll get it."
As soon as dad opened the door, Mrs Kajilo pushed him aside and entered the house, two men in her wake. I recognized both of them as her sons.
"Is my money ready?" she hissed at dad, her right palm outstretched in readiness to collect her money.
Dad cleared his throat.
"Landlady I- I," he was stammering. "I'll get your money by tomorrow."
"As if," she scoffed. "Am no kid Mr Torrence Mwelwa. You've been feeding me story after story. If your own wife got tired of your pathetic excuses then what makes you think I can handle them?"
I don't know how dad could control his temper but I swear I was on the brink of hurling insults at Mrs Kajilo for including my mother in this but I refrained from doing so and simply clenched my hands into tiny fists.
Mrs Kajilo was saying, "If you had decent furniture, I'd I've gotten it and let you stay in my house for a month longer but no, everything you own is as pathetic as you are so-"
Dad held up his hand. "You've said enough! Just because I owe some money doesn't mean you should come to my house and insult me in the presence of my daughter."
"Whatever," Mrs Kajilo snapped, warding dad off. She turned to her sons. "Lameck, Sidney, please start throwing this man's things out. He can't stay in my house any longer."
Silently, her sons set to work.
"Mrs Kajilo," dad pleaded. "You can't do this to me."
"Watch me."
"You could at least have given me notice so that I-"
"Please, Torrence. Spare me your drama. Surely being three months overdue should serve as a notice. You're lucky am not even demanding money from you."
Tongue-tied, both dad and I silently watched as our house was swept clean. After what seemed like an eternity, her two sons finally finished throwing our stuff out.
"Tomorrow, new people will move in." mocked the landlady as she ushered us out. Probably enjoying every minute of it, she locked the door.
"Mr. Mwelwa," she said. "You two should be gone by the time dawn comes. How you're going to get your stuff from here, I don't know and honestly don't care but please spare yourself some unnecessary drama and politely leave this place."
That being said, she added, "And a piece of free advice, find yourself a ramshackle that you can afford to pay. Goodbye, I won't miss you." and she and her sons walked out of the yard, leaving dad and I standing on the porch, glaring at our stuff which consisted of couches, tables, chairs, a fridge, two wardrobes, a four plate stove and the list goes on.
I glanced up at dad who seemed to be lost in thoughts and wondered if things could get any worse than they were.
.
.
.
.
.
Let's meet in chapter 4.
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.
.
.
.
Chapter 3.
"Daddy!"
I was panicking as dad's entire weight was shifted on me. And then with sudden trepidation, I realized that nothing was wrong with dad. He was simply drunk! The stench of cheap beer hit my nostrils as dad let out deep sagging breaths. I shut my eyes and mustered enough energy to drag him to the nearest couch even though it seemed to take an eternity. When dad was safely slumped on the couch, I locked the door.
"Dad," I was crouched before him and shaking him vigorously.
"Water," he mumbled. "Water."
"I'll bring it as fast as possible."
I was perspiring as I rushed to the kitchen to grab dad a glass of water. I mean, I didn't know what to do with a drunk. In all the years that I'd lived with my parents, neither of them ever drank this heavily. They only bought themselves decent wines on their anniversary but this night, dad saw it fit to drown himself in alcohol.
"Here," I said, handing dad the glass of water but he was too drunk to hold the glass firmly so I ended up making him drink the water whilst I held the glass for him.
I doubt he even drank much as his shirt was now soaked with the water that had been drooling down his chin.
I sighed and placed the empty glass on the table.
"Dad."
"Mmmh."
"Can you hear me?"
"Yeah," dad said in a slurred tone.
"Can you please get up and go to your room?" I know I sounded dumb but there was nothing else I could think of. I was only 12 years old for crying out loud.
Dad responded by sitting up, burping loudly and throwing up on the couch. The stench of liqour was now beyond unbearable but with more than much effort, I managed to persuade dad to retire to his room. When he was now resting on his bed, I closed his bedroom door and went to the bathroom where I grabbed a bucket, put some water in it and also grabbed a mop.
Cleaning dad's puke from the couch was the most disgusting thing that I had done in my life and I couldn't help but blame mum for dad's current condition. If only she hadn't left him, he wouldn't have found solace in drinking liqour.
After half an hour, I was finally done cleaning dad's vomit. After dumping the mixture of soap water and vomit in the toilet and flushing it away, I washed my hands thoroughly but the stench of the vomit was still stuck in my throat.
When I left the bathroom, I didn't know where to go so I returned to dad's bedroom. I glanced at his sleeping snoring form and couldn't help but shed tears. When I glanced on the dressing table and saw mum's photos resting on it, I was filled with rage. It was so intense that I felt if mum were standing in front of me, I would have wrapped my hands round her frail neck and strangled the bitch to death.
I angrily grabbed one of the photos from the table and glared at the woman who had brought me into this world.
"They say a picture is worth a thousand words," I said through clenched teeth. "But yours mother is worth a thousand disappointments!"
Before I knew it, I was breaking every picture frame containing mum's photos. When I was done, there was a heap of shattered glass and ripped photos lying before me and at least now the rage I'd been feeling was subsiding.
•
Two weeks past and dad would show up drunk at odd hours and there was nothing I could do but watch him and feel broken inside.
Today, it being a Saturday, I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when dad walked in.
"Goodmorning," he quietly said, sitting at the dining table.
"Morning," I replied.
When dad and I were seated opposite one another and quietly had our breakfast, I decided it was high time dad and I discussed his drinking habit.
"Father," I said, playing with a slice of bread.
"Yes," he didn't spare me a glance.
I took a deep breath and said, "Why are you doing this to me?"
Now he stared at me. "Milika, I've got a bad headache so It would be best if you don't beat around the bush and tell me what you're talking about."
"Why have you succumbed to drinking beer?" It was almost a whisper.
"Who's the parent here?"
"You're."
"Good," dad continued eating. "So act like the child you're and don't ask me such questions. And I've noticed you've barely touched your food. It isn't right to waste food so you better eat cause I'd like you to run an errand for me as soon as you're done."
Silence.
"But you promised not to be a disappointment to me," I had to force the words out of my mouth.
Dad was now glaring at me.
"Are you indirectly calling me a disappointment? Are you going to leave me like your mother has? Fine, go ahead and leave."
I patted dad's hand across the table. "Daddy, you're the remaining parent I have in this world and there's no way on earth that am leaving you alone," I said and stood up. "But I'd appreciate it if you quit your drinking habit though."
•
When evening came, dad wasn't around as usual but he showed up early, sober. Him and I were now seated in the living room having supper when he said, "Mimi, I'd like to talk to you."
"Am all ears," I replied.
"I was beyond irrational this morning. What you said got me thinking," said dad, a hint of shame in his tone. "Am sorry."
"It's fine. Elders shouldn't embarrass youngsters by apologizing to them. Am also sorry if I'd crossed the line by bringing up such a sensitive topic. I promise I won't act so indisciplined in the near future."
Dad stopped eating and said compassionately, "You're so mature for your age. I'll try my best to adjust on my drinking. Believe me when I say I'm not enjoying coming home in a drunken state but some matters are beyond us and-"
"You can turn to God for guidance," I warily interrupted him.
Dad flashed me a weary grin. "I wish matters were that simple, Mimi. I really do. But you can rest assured knowing-"
This time a knock at the door was what interrupted him. On impulse, I placed my plate aside and contemplated seeing who was at the door but dad said, "I'll get it."
As soon as dad opened the door, Mrs Kajilo pushed him aside and entered the house, two men in her wake. I recognized both of them as her sons.
"Is my money ready?" she hissed at dad, her right palm outstretched in readiness to collect her money.
Dad cleared his throat.
"Landlady I- I," he was stammering. "I'll get your money by tomorrow."
"As if," she scoffed. "Am no kid Mr Torrence Mwelwa. You've been feeding me story after story. If your own wife got tired of your pathetic excuses then what makes you think I can handle them?"
I don't know how dad could control his temper but I swear I was on the brink of hurling insults at Mrs Kajilo for including my mother in this but I refrained from doing so and simply clenched my hands into tiny fists.
Mrs Kajilo was saying, "If you had decent furniture, I'd I've gotten it and let you stay in my house for a month longer but no, everything you own is as pathetic as you are so-"
Dad held up his hand. "You've said enough! Just because I owe some money doesn't mean you should come to my house and insult me in the presence of my daughter."
"Whatever," Mrs Kajilo snapped, warding dad off. She turned to her sons. "Lameck, Sidney, please start throwing this man's things out. He can't stay in my house any longer."
Silently, her sons set to work.
"Mrs Kajilo," dad pleaded. "You can't do this to me."
"Watch me."
"You could at least have given me notice so that I-"
"Please, Torrence. Spare me your drama. Surely being three months overdue should serve as a notice. You're lucky am not even demanding money from you."
Tongue-tied, both dad and I silently watched as our house was swept clean. After what seemed like an eternity, her two sons finally finished throwing our stuff out.
"Tomorrow, new people will move in." mocked the landlady as she ushered us out. Probably enjoying every minute of it, she locked the door.
"Mr. Mwelwa," she said. "You two should be gone by the time dawn comes. How you're going to get your stuff from here, I don't know and honestly don't care but please spare yourself some unnecessary drama and politely leave this place."
That being said, she added, "And a piece of free advice, find yourself a ramshackle that you can afford to pay. Goodbye, I won't miss you." and she and her sons walked out of the yard, leaving dad and I standing on the porch, glaring at our stuff which consisted of couches, tables, chairs, a fridge, two wardrobes, a four plate stove and the list goes on.
I glanced up at dad who seemed to be lost in thoughts and wondered if things could get any worse than they were.
.
.
.
.
.
Let's meet in chapter 4.
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