The cold rim of a glass bottle had never felt so good on his lips so early in the morning. Five beers down with bottles littering the car and the pungent taste of beer on his breath, Gerald sat silently as he rested his already aching head across the steering wheel. Damn. He was a wreck.
After some time had passed, staring at the seat full of bottles besides his own, he closed his eyes, willing the tears not to come, and distracted himself by scratching the grown out stubble that covered his dirty cheek. He reached into his pocket slowly, pulling out his wallet and searching each flap. When finally he found what he was looking for, the small piece of soft, worn down paper rested ever so gently in his palm. The picture was an old one, but it hadn’t lost a shred of value to his heart since the day it was taken, as it would swell his heart with pride every time he laid eyes on it.
She was a tiny, talkative two year old then, with a beautiful little smile, and an already sharp intellect to match it. Gerald could remember so vividly how she held the flower to his face and counted each petal perfectly; and it was her continued actions of commendable caliber - be it all the A’s on her report cards, all her community service, or even just being a damn good human being on a regular basis - that made him proud to call himself her father every day.
So how, he asked himself in his drunken state, was he supposed to tell her and the rest of his family that he’d drank and gambled and poorly invested his way through her entire college fund? - through their life savings? - through all their bank accounts and even their mortgage?
The tears came again, this time as heavy as bullets, and threatened to fall from the former family man’s eyes as he looked up from his lap to the sealing of the car, almost as if expecting an anvil of shame to come crashing down on his head. Seconds later, a weak, whimpering sob could be heard in the quiet, solemn space, bouncing off the many walls and windows but reaching only one set of ears, and, peering over to his side again, the empty, shell of a mad reached for another bottle.