Classical Jazz '05



Rough Morning

    I woke up to the smell of cigarettes, vomit, and coffee. The sun was barely up so I guessed it was around seven in the morning. I sat up and that’s when the pain in my head hit me.

    “Drank too much,” I said to myself, “You always drink too much.”

You always drink too much.”

I tried to wipe my eyes but felt fabric instead. She left me panties. Panties, really? She couldn’t leave me a note or her number? Well at least it’s better than nothing. If I had nothing to remember that girl by, I might have cried. I have never met a girl like that ever. Dad must be back from work by now. He worked the night shift as a security guard at some computer company.

I stumbled out of bed, puked in the hallway bathroom, and finally made it to my dad’s room to see it was empty. I peeked into the hallway to see the clock which said it was seven-ten. He always made it back by six-thirty.

“Must have stopped for breakfast.” I said to the dog that arose from his sleep to greet me.

I made my way to the kitchen. It was littered with empty beer bottles. Dad didn’t really care much about what my friends and I did in the house. Hell, he even joined in sometimes and always supplied the fun. The pantry looked like a swarm of locust came through and the fridge didn’t look much better. I poured myself a cup of lukewarm coffee and grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the table.

I made my way to the front door trying to avoid the odor of vomit coming from the urn next the door. I opened the door to the chilly September morning wind. I lit my cig and took a long drag. The garbage truck had already made its weekly visit so I headed down the driveway. The dog followed me as I brought the garbage bins up and that’s when I saw the note.

It was written on notebook paper, folded up, and taped to the front door with Dan written on it. I opened it up to the saddest words I’ll ever read.


                                    I’m Sorry.



That’s all that was written on it. I felt like I was going to throw-up again. I dropped my cig and fell to the ground. Tears started to form in my eyes as my dog licked away the ones that escaped. Dad wasn’t getting breakfast, he wasn’t getting anything at all, He wasn’t coming back.


Bookmark and Share

Artist: Tim Gill
School: North Allegheny
Ticket info - call 800-555-1212