“Wahh,Wahh,Wah,”thelittleitchcries out.
Shitwouldhavebeenmucheasierifhermotherdidn’tdecidetogooftherself.Now,wellallhellis
now. But, she left me with this.
“Ican’ttakeit anymore!”Iyellatmybrat,babygirl, lying in her crib.
I put my beer down, get up from my chair, and go check on the little agonizing piece of...nah she
isn’tshitbutmylittletrash,dumpster, or brat, itch or, whatever hell mood I’minI’ll call her what I
think of then. I’m a piece of shit anyway. And well she is part of her mom but also part of me, so
trash is better than shit any day. For leverage I place one hand on the crib, the other at her heart.
“Hey,littlepieceoftrash. Whoisapieceoftrash?”SayingasItickleherbelly.“You, you are my
dumpster.”
She starts to laugh and settles down a bit. Folding my hands, I rest both arms on the crib I built for
her. I start thinking about my own father. Idon’tremembermuch about him. He went to war and
died in Nam. Moron. I got my trashiness from him, I guess. I never really understood that whole
serving your country crap, and honour shit, because there sending you to your grave. I give off a
sigh, just thinking about it. And at the end now, itdoesn’tmatteranyway.But still, I really do think
the whole world would be better off helping each other rather than killing on another. But now it
isn’tthatwayatall. Now itdoesn’tmatter.Theworldis going to take us to shit, and nobody cares. It
probably is better off that way anyway, for the world I mean.
Iwhisper,“Dayisdone,gonethesun.Fromthelakes,fromthehills,fromthesky.All is well, safely
rest; God is... Godis...”
My father use to sing that lullaby to me, The Day is Done1.
“AndGodisnowhere tobefound,”Ifinishit how it really ought to be finished and walk back to my
chair, my beer.
“Bart,whatareyoudoing?Youcan’tdrinkthat,” My ma says entering my room.
“Ma,don’tbesohysterical.I’m17 andit’snotlikeI’mgoingtobeabletodrinkatalegalage
anyway.”
“Whatever,Idon’tcare.You’reahorriblesonandyouneverlistentomeanyway....But never mind
that, I came to ask if you wanted to go toschool?I’mgoingtogotoworknow.Soif you want a lift, I
can drive you and Nicole,” She says angrily at me, more upset than angry though.
“Surewhythehellnot,it’snotlikeIgotplansorsomething.Andyoudon’tobviouslywanttospend
timewithme.”
I chug the rest of my drink, grab the baby seat and try placing her comfortably in it.
