Cold Coffee and Pretzel Nibblers, chapter 1
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I opened the fridge, not really knowing what I was looking for. Which was in a fact a good thing because the only thing in thing in the fridge was a jar of pickles, a less than quart of milk, cheese that stunk like it went in a smelly old sneaker to France and back, left over beans from a week ago, a half empty bottle of mustard and a yogurt. I sighed. I decided, once again to have coffee for breakfast.
I pulled the old pot from the bottom of the refrigerator. Cold. It's been that way for the past week, since the microwave broke. Oh, well. Coffee's coffee. I poured myself some in a mug from the top cabinet and added some sugar and some soy milk. Stella said she had the grabs on the regular milk and that if I drank a single drop she'd whack me across the head with my own bass. I couldn't blame her. She makes me remember a lot of things I don't want to. Things from the past that haunt me. Stella is exactly the result. My daughter.
I walked sluggishly to the cabinet, yawning and pulled out the only thing left. A bag of pretzel nibblers. Oh well. That'll have to do. I closed the cabinet with my elbow. I plopped down into the chair from the dining room that was for no apparent reason dragged into the kitchen. I ate straight from the bag, with my mug of cold coffee staring into space. After sometime Stella walked in unnoticed. She just stared at me staring into space. She had the stray cat that had supposedly found its way threw the whole in the garage door in her arms. It stretched and meowed. I still was in my own little world...
"Dad?"
I said nothing.
"Dad!"
"Huh?" I looked at her; she was still in pajama pants and a t shirt, with her curly brown hair in a pony tail. Her penetrating brown eyes seem to look right threw me.
"Oh, hi hero." Hero was my nickname for her. I know it is a bit weird. You name your daughter Estelle and nick name her hero... well, it was the first thing I thought of her when I first held her in my arms. I call it my excuse...
Stella walked over and stuck a finger in my coffee.
"Mhm, cold and...pretzels nibblers?"
I shrugged.
"Dad..." she wined.
"What?"
"Why don't you just fix the microwave?" she asked for the millionth time.
I said nothing but kept eating pretzels. She sighed in frustration. "Dad, this can't keep going!"
"What?"
"What? I'll tell you what. The microwave's broken, you haven't done laundry in 2 weeks, there's a hole in the garage door chewed by god knows what, there's barely enough food to keep us alive, the tv's not working, there's no hot water, the air conditioner has a leak, the computer has been taken over by a virus, and my bedroom window's still broken!"
In a way, she was right. The house did need a bit of tiding up.
"I don't know what's gotten into you. You're a total wreck after you got that letter."
"It wasn't just a letter." I snapped at her.
"How would I know? You wouldn't let me read it!" She dropped the cat on the floor. It ran off into the living room. I sighed and ran my hand threw my un-dyed hair.
"Please, dad, it's been like this for a week, it's like you're just depressed."
"I'm not depressed, just disturbed."
"Majorly disturbed."
"Am not."
"Mike, you haven't stepped out of this house in week!" She'd always call me by my name to get my attention, or signal she was frustrated. All I could do was sigh. What could I say? It was the sad truth of life that had gripped me by the neck again, as it had done so many years ago.
"Dad, I know you feel like crap, but could you at least make an effort?" she pleaded.
"I have been making an effort Stella, ever since you where you born, ever since I was born."
"Ever since mom left?"
I looked down at the floor.
"I've tried." I murmured, trying to ignore her question. I got up from the seat and left to my bed room, leaving her standing alone without an answer.
I pulled the old pot from the bottom of the refrigerator. Cold. It's been that way for the past week, since the microwave broke. Oh, well. Coffee's coffee. I poured myself some in a mug from the top cabinet and added some sugar and some soy milk. Stella said she had the grabs on the regular milk and that if I drank a single drop she'd whack me across the head with my own bass. I couldn't blame her. She makes me remember a lot of things I don't want to. Things from the past that haunt me. Stella is exactly the result. My daughter.
I walked sluggishly to the cabinet, yawning and pulled out the only thing left. A bag of pretzel nibblers. Oh well. That'll have to do. I closed the cabinet with my elbow. I plopped down into the chair from the dining room that was for no apparent reason dragged into the kitchen. I ate straight from the bag, with my mug of cold coffee staring into space. After sometime Stella walked in unnoticed. She just stared at me staring into space. She had the stray cat that had supposedly found its way threw the whole in the garage door in her arms. It stretched and meowed. I still was in my own little world...
"Dad?"
I said nothing.
"Dad!"
"Huh?" I looked at her; she was still in pajama pants and a t shirt, with her curly brown hair in a pony tail. Her penetrating brown eyes seem to look right threw me.
"Oh, hi hero." Hero was my nickname for her. I know it is a bit weird. You name your daughter Estelle and nick name her hero... well, it was the first thing I thought of her when I first held her in my arms. I call it my excuse...
Stella walked over and stuck a finger in my coffee.
"Mhm, cold and...pretzels nibblers?"
I shrugged.
"Dad..." she wined.
"What?"
"Why don't you just fix the microwave?" she asked for the millionth time.
I said nothing but kept eating pretzels. She sighed in frustration. "Dad, this can't keep going!"
"What?"
"What? I'll tell you what. The microwave's broken, you haven't done laundry in 2 weeks, there's a hole in the garage door chewed by god knows what, there's barely enough food to keep us alive, the tv's not working, there's no hot water, the air conditioner has a leak, the computer has been taken over by a virus, and my bedroom window's still broken!"
In a way, she was right. The house did need a bit of tiding up.
"I don't know what's gotten into you. You're a total wreck after you got that letter."
"It wasn't just a letter." I snapped at her.
"How would I know? You wouldn't let me read it!" She dropped the cat on the floor. It ran off into the living room. I sighed and ran my hand threw my un-dyed hair.
"Please, dad, it's been like this for a week, it's like you're just depressed."
"I'm not depressed, just disturbed."
"Majorly disturbed."
"Am not."
"Mike, you haven't stepped out of this house in week!" She'd always call me by my name to get my attention, or signal she was frustrated. All I could do was sigh. What could I say? It was the sad truth of life that had gripped me by the neck again, as it had done so many years ago.
"Dad, I know you feel like crap, but could you at least make an effort?" she pleaded.
"I have been making an effort Stella, ever since you where you born, ever since I was born."
"Ever since mom left?"
I looked down at the floor.
"I've tried." I murmured, trying to ignore her question. I got up from the seat and left to my bed room, leaving her standing alone without an answer.
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