The Family Circus: Family Crisis
Bill sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers pressed against his head. He had one hell of a headache.
There was nothing he could do. They'd lost the baby. Thel had withdrawn—grown distant. Ever since they'd come back from the hospital nothing had been right between them. She lay curled up on the other side of the bed.
"Are you gonna sit there all night?" she shot at him without raising her head "Why don't you be a man and say what you really think? That it was my fault? Why don't you be a man, Bill?"
Bill said nothing. He'd had enough of her pity parade. Wordlessly he shoved his body off of the edge of the bed and stalked with the deliberation that comes with impotent anger into the living room. Advancing to the cupboard, he threw open the doors and grabbed a bottle of scotch.
Little Billy and Jeffy were both awake. Billy looked at his brother with a sense of worriment. "Jeffy," he said, "I'm scared. Mom and Dad are angry. I don't know what's gonna happen."
Jeffy murmured, almost to himself "It's cause Mom lost the baby. I hope she finds it soon."
Billy bit his lip to stop himself from screaming at his brother, the heat of anger growing inside of him. He was far too old for such childish naivety. He knew anger served nothing, however. He made certain to sound gentle. "No, Jeffy. The baby isn't lost. It's dead. Like grandpa." He felt a pang of bitterness stab his heart. "The baby's with grandpa now. I'm sure he's taking good care of it in Heaven." Billy cursed himself even as he said these words. Even at his young age, he knew that the mercy of God was a lie.
Suddenly, a shadow stumbled into the room and with a crash it slumped into the frame of the door. It was Bill Sr., drunk out of his mind.
"Billy, if there's any justice in this world, your grandfather is buried head-first in the deepest part of Hell!"
Jeffy started to cry. Bill took a swig from his bottle of scotch. Jeffy's blubbering angered him. "Stop that racket!" he smashed the bottle against the floor and stood up.
"Now look at what you've made me do! Now look at what you've made me do!" and he balled his hand into a fist. He would have punched his son in his jaw if the crying hadn't woken up Dolly.
"Why's Jeffy crying?" Dolly asked, "Is he hungry? I want some momcorn!" she said, smiling at the cleverness of her pun.
Bill would have nothing of it. The sight of his daughter, her voice, her insufferable punning. "Shut up, you festering cunt! You'll grow up to be quite the little whore, won't you! Oh yeah, all the boys'll love you, and I'll have to pretend not to mind it, not to mind it when you spread your legs for anyone who's got a fast car or can score you a bag of weed! Jesus, just look at your piggish little face! Oh, I can tell, I can tell—" he was foaming at the mouth "—I can tell already that you'll be one of those girls, one of those horrid little things who boys'll love because they've never seen a real woman! And you'll fall right into it, they'll tell you you're beautiful 'cause they've never seen a fuckin' beauty before, and you'll lead 'em on, 'Oh, no one's ever told me that before'—Jesus Christ you women!—and then you've got them, you've got 'em—just like your mother. Just like your mother." And he began to weep.
Thel heard the commotion, heard her husband's drunken rambling and the screams of Jeffy and Dolly. She rose out of bed and with manifest authority strode down the hall. When she reached the boys' room she spat in disgust at her husband who sat crumpled in the doorway. "You bastard!" she yelled, and kicked him in the back. He rolled over on the ground, and fueled by a drunken rage he stumbled to his feet and clocked Thel in the forehead.
The outraged woman stared at him as the sobering assault of remorse washed over him. "Thel, I—" he started to say.
"Get out of my house!" she erupted in all the pious fury of a violated woman Thel picked up Billy's alarm clock. She threw it at Bill, who ducked and began sobbing. Little Billy lay under his bedsheets, his eyes closed. He was simply listening. He heard the clattering of the alarm clock on the floor. More angry words. Screaming and crying filled his ears. Slamming, stamping of feet. The front door crashed shut. Father was gone.