A humorous look at being poor high schooler. ..
Before you even open the door, let alone reach the door, you can smell cigarettes and body odor. You have come pick up your two teenage sons from their friends for church. They don't know that you are coming.
You are just now waking up. You push the brown haired girl who you met last night off of your lap so you can stand up and stretch. It's 8:45 and you are the only one in the garage awake. Last night you drank 8 Busch Lights, smoked weed until you got uncontrollable giggles, then swallowed about four of five pain pills that your friend had. You have a head ache and feel like you are about to throw up, "Ah, Piss." you murmur to yourself as you search the floor and table tops for a cigarette. The door opens.
You open the door and the first thing you see is the brown tobacco spit stains on the floor and a stuffed animal with a condom on it's head. You feel like you're going to be sick, and you look up. There stands your son standing next to an old dirty couch with a girl in her underwear, with her shoes still on, asleep. You take a minute to look around and find more kids your sons age spread out through your nephews garage. These boys have been to your house and eaten at your table, now they are all filthy and smell like a cigarette butt that's sat in a shot glass of bourbon for a day or two.
"Good morning Mom." You figure, you might as well just act cool since there is no excuse you can really use to get a good image out of this. "Well, I bet she stops giving me twenty five dollars a week now." you think as you start pulling on your shoes. You shake your brother, who's asleep with one of his best friends on a pallet on the floor, made out of jackets, socks and other random laundry that was gathered in a drunken stumble last night. He opens one eye, see's his mother and jumps up like he has been burnt on his ass, and dresses.
"Good morning son." You can't blame him. What else do they have to do? They don't have their father anymore, and you can't discipline them without him. "Do you guys want to come to church with me?"
"Why isn't she grabbing me by the hair and throwing me out the door?" you ask yourself. You look at your brother who is still too far in shock that she's even there to realize the oddness of this situation. "Uh, sure Mom." You walk out the door and rub your eyes. Your brother soon follows, who still thinks that he is about to get beat by your small framed mother.
"We're having chicken n' dumplings today at Grandmas, after church." You might as well just act like you didn't see any of that.
"Ok, Mom." You don't know why she isn't screaming at you, but for some reason you wish you hadn't went to the garage last night. Your brother is sleeping in the back seat.