the Letter

I opened the door to see my drunk uncle on his recliner chair and sniffed in a heavy odor of alcohol. I sighed and frowned. Every day, I come home to the same scene, my uncle completely passed out and the television on high volume. I walk over to him and wrap him in a blanket to keep him warm. I picked up several bottles of what seemed like wine. They had been smashed, perhaps out of intense anger. Some were still intact, others were nothing but glass shards. I throw away the bottles and decide it’s best to take the trash bag out, so the bottles don’t rip through. 

After I dispose of the trash, I head to a small storage closet where I can get the broom. When I entered, all seemed normal, I thought nothing of it. However, once I took the broom out of its spot, I found a bottle. It appeared to be the same bottle my uncle had been drinking out of, but it wasn’t empty. Inside, I found a letter. I looked around to make sure my uncle wasn’t around. I was sure he wasn’t but wanted to make good measures. The letter seemed old as it was browning. There were a few tears on the corners and some alcohol stains. It was taped up, but the tape wasn’t holding anymore. I unrolled it to find words that were a bit hard to see. I couldn’t tell what some of them were, but most of them were readable. After I read it, I felt a sense of dishonesty and distrust. The letter read:

“Dear Frank,

Please don’t let Jackie see this. The only thing she knows about me is that I’m deceased, though that story will become more blurry as she grows older. As I let you take care of her, don’t let me down. Try to encourage her that she is worthy. Although not true, it is best to lie and make her feel better. Tell her that I did in fact care about her before I died. Make her feel loved. Lie about it. We both know we don’t care. When she’s old enough to move out, make her, then leave town and come with me. She probably won’t be able to get a job or education without any funds. If she can find her father, good for her. That’s probably her best bet to live. I promised to make this letter short, so I’ll end it here. Stay safe.

Sincerely,

Hilary Pockton”

I was in severe shock. I thought my mother was dead. Although hurt, they certainly did bam-boozle me, tricked me. I then heard a few steps coming my way, I quickly assumed it was my uncle. I pushed the letter back into the bottle and put it where it originally was. I grabbed the broom and shut the storage door. I looked behind me to see my uncle. “What’re you doing..?” he asked in a groggy voice. “Getting the broom to clean up your mess,” I said. He stared at me and snarled. “What’s the matter with you? Bad day?” he asked. “No, just tired of cleaning your mess every day. You do realize all I want to do after work is sleep?” I snapped. He rolled his eyes and headed to the bathroom, where I assumed to vomit.

After I clean up, my uncle is already in bed. I figure I should do the same, but there’s something about that letter I cannot keep my mind out of. I head back to the storage closet to put the broom away and try my hardest not to grab the bottle when leaving, but it’s testing me. I have no self-control and take it.

I kept it behind my back as I walked up the stairs to my room. Once I got in, I shut the door and locked it, though it’s not like my uncle would come into my room anyway. I hide it under my pillow as I shower and get ready for bed. Afterward, I retake a look at the letter. Even though it’s a short letter, it holds a lot of secrets in it. I could just take the pain and deal with it, or I could try to prove I am better than that. Usually, I’ve always chosen to go with the first, but they want me to fail in life, not me. I’d have to find my father, who my uncle said divorced my mother before my birth and fled. It would seem to be true, though I don’t know if I should trust that story anymore.

“There must be some sort of clue,” I thought to myself. If my relatives were stupid enough to hide a secretive letter in an obvious spot, what more could I find from their lack of brains? The letter was deemed to be old, so I wasn’t sure if I could find any other type of writing. I looked behind the paper. “Oh, what’s this?” I asked myself. It was some marking covered by a bit of dust. I pulled the sleeve of my shirt to my hand and swept some of the dust off. Numbers. These couldn’t just be random numbers, they had to be used for something. 

“A phone number?”

“No, too long.”

“A date?’

“No.”

“An address?”

“Perhaps…”

These were the thoughts going through my head as I wondered what this order of numbers was. If it were an address, whose would it be? My first obvious thought was my father, but there had to be a reason they’d add his address to the letter. They don’t care about him, so how would they know where he lives? Even if this was his address, this letter seemed to be years old. Who knows if he moved or not? I rethought and recited the numbers in my head. “Oh! My grandma?” I said a bit too loud. I knew my uncle was close to her until they had a violent argument. Something about his want to not become sober. They eventually disconnected, but this letter must have been before that. I still was unsure. Why would they add my grandmother’s address? I had to rethink. After pondering for some time, it became clear to me. My uncle used to live with her, which explains why her address would be on the letter.

Was this my best bet? Would the only way I could grow up stable be by living with my grandmother? I was already planned to fail in life with my uncle, and I didn’t know if it would be any better with my grandmother. Would it hurt too much to try? I had her address, I could go whenever I felt like it. I glanced back at the letter and the address. I remembered that staying here and waiting for negativity to come at me was exactly what my mother and uncle wanted. I felt willing to take the risk. I’d never know what would come at me if I went to my grandmother’s if I never tried.

I began packing a bag. I stuffed some clothes in the bag, a few snacks from some drawers in my room, and my cellphone. I opened my bedroom window and looked outside. I’d have to climb down a large tree to get down, but it wasn’t the elephant in the room. I started asking myself if I really wanted to do this. The thoughts were getting too ahead of me, and to block them out, I threw myself on the tree, quickly climbed down, and sprinted down the streets...