It had been another exhausting day at the factory. Wearily, Wakko Warner made his way to the time clock to punch out, wiping his grimy hands on his light blue one piece uniform. He'd been there since six o'clock that morning. A new shipment of filters had just arrived and he'd spent the better part of the day running heavy boxes from the back of a semi to the warehouse, where material would be processed. It had taken longer than everyone expected because the main generator in the warehouse had inexplicably died around five o'clock, and Wakko's boss would not let anyone leave until it was up and could be running all night long. It was now close to nine o'clock at night, and tomorrow morning he'd have to get up and do it all over again.
Wakko knew he wasn't a bright guy, and knew his mind hadn't been running at top capacity in the past few years due to mind-numbing jobs such as this one, but once in a while it occurred to him that he actually hated his job and his life. He and other toons in town had long since learned to anesthetize themselves to the drudgery of their lives with any available means, but nothing was a permanent solution. It just dulled the pain for a while.
Home life wasn't much better for Wakko. He lived with his girlfriend, Constance, and five kids. The number of kids fluctuated, anywhere from four kids to (one time) as high as nine. Wakko was never sure exactly how many of them were actually Constance's, and how many were her sister's or her sister's friends' kids. He never asked. Wakko didn't care all that much anyway – he was ignored most of the time, and that was fine. He knew his role was to bring home a paycheck every week, and as long as he wasn't alone, he didn't care too much what his home life was like.
There was one bright spot in his life, and he wasn't even exactly sure it could correctly be called a bright spot. Sometimes he thought of it more as his 'enduring responsibility' than anything. Constance and he had had one child – that he was sure of anyway – who was now about five. It was hard to be accurate about the age, though; Wakko was sure there was something wrong with the little boy. He'd never spoken a word and barely ever looked up from the floor. Wakko didn't remember when exactly his son had been born since he'd been drinking so heavily at that time, and Constance didn't seem to care all that much period. Constance had named their son Charles (after one of her favorite soap opera stars) but Wakko had always called him Harpo because he'd never spoken. Wakko wasn't all that sure that Harpo knew who Wakko or anyone else was, but some part of him loved his son deeply.
Wakko had done his best for the little boy, but was mostly at a loss. He'd pick Harpo up and play with him every now and then, but only very rarely did Harpo even smile at his father's antics. Wakko mostly just got a vacant look from the boy. Sometimes as Wakko lay in bed at night listening to Constance breathe softly next to him, he wondered if babies could hear things when they were still in their mother's stomach. If Harpo did, he would have heard all those horrible arguments between Wakko and Constance about whether to even keep him or not. That might explain a few things.
As Wakko trudged home in the darkness towards their dilapidated house about a mile away, he resisted the urge to blow his paycheck in the liquor store he had just passed. He'd done it before, only to face the wrath of Constance, who only seemed to notice him when he was either broke or drunk. He didn't give a shit what she thought of him, anyway – it's not like he loved her, for Christ's sake. He knew full well they used each other for certain resources the other had need of: she for money, and he for sex. That's all it was. In addition to his meager paycheck, he received federal funding because the family he supported was so poor. Even with this combined income, he was perpetually in debt. If he'd had more initiative, he would have grabbed Harpo and left a long time ago. Or maybe he would have just left Harpo. He didn't know.
Wakko abruptly turned back around and entered the liquor store. The owner, who saw Wakko on a regular basis in his store, shouted hello to him. Wakko saluted him and headed straight for the low-priced hard liquor section. He grabbed a few bottles of cheap, strong whiskey, a case of beer, the biggest jug of gin he could find and a good bottle of vodka. Both he and Constance could stomach almost anything except bad vodka – it was the one luxury they indulged in. "Gimmie a few packs of Brasileriros, would you?" Wakko said, naming his cigarette brand of choice. "Four or five."
"We're all out," the owner said. "Pay day, remember? Every guy from the factory's been in here this afternoon. Brasileriros are cheap and strong. They're what you guys go for first."
Wakko gritted his teeth. "Fine. I'll try the convenience store down the street. Just give me a bag though, all right? I may be a toon but even I can't carry all this without something to put it in."
With a large paper bag loaded with the bottles and the case of beer dangling off two fingers on his left hand, Wakko made his way down to the Speedy Stop. The first thing to meet his eye when he walked in was a display of fresh fruits. His mind quickly darted to Harpo, who, because he was so quiet, sometimes got overlooked during mealtimes. It was like the mother bird and her babies that had made her nest in the gutter at his house last spring which had fascinated him so much. Constance and the others thought he was crazy, but he'd stand looking up at the birds for hours. He learned that the loudest of the bunch always got fed first, sometimes meaning that the quieter birds didn't get fed at all. When they were all grown up and ready to leave the nest, the birds who had been the loudest were also now the biggest and strongest. The quieter ones were skinny, and their feathers hung apathetically from their wings. Wakko had put Harpo up on his shoulder and pointed to the birds. In fact, that had been the last time since then that he'd seen his son smile.
Wakko wasn't entirely sure he liked these feelings of fatherliness, especially when he had to decide between Harpo and his nicotine addiction, but he was feeling generous and so bought a few oranges, some lunchmeat and a pint of milk instead of Brasileriros. He knew Constance would be pissed off for not bringing cigarettes home, but fuck her. If she fed their son once in a while, he wouldn't have to do it.
The lock to the front door was almost always jammed, meaning that Wakko had to nearly kick the door down to get in. The house was almost completely dark except for a small table lamp that was on in the corner. He set down the bag and the beer and scanned the room. Just as he'd thought, Harpo had been left alone in the corner again. Not that it mattered. The kid never moved, so they never had to worry about Harpo getting himself into trouble. Still, for some reason, the sight of his only son hunkered down in a corner facing the wall night after night always made Wakko a little sad.
"Hey buddy!" Wakko said as he tossed the small boy up in the air and then caught him. "I've got some dinner for you."
Wakko quickly made a small sandwich and cut up the oranges on a plate. He sat Harpo down at the table, placed the milk and plate of food in front of him, and commanded, "Eat."
Though Harpo could understand simple commands, he usually needed helping in carrying them out. After it became apparent that Harpo was not going to feed himself, Wakko sat down and patiently brought the food to his son's mouth. For the hundredth time, Wakko wondered why in the hell he even bothered. He didn't consider himself a humanitarian by any means, and anyone who knew Wakko could affirm this. However, whenever he looked in Harpo's eyes, he saw himself. Sometimes he even saw his brother and sister. He scoffed and wondered what they might think of him having a kid even dumber than he was. What a waste of time.
Still, as those little hands clutched his bigger ones, Wakko couldn't help but sigh softly and steal a quick kiss on his son's forehead. If Wakko and Harpo were alone, a passerby might even be able to see a little affection passing from the father to the son, but only briefly at that. Wakko had been this way for so long that he didn't really seem like the same toon star he'd been just less than ten years earlier, and didn't want to be.
Harpo finished everything rather quickly, signifying he had been hungry. A dark look crossed Wakko's face as he realized Harpo must not have gotten dinner that night. He picked Harpo up, who yawned gently and wrapped his small arms around his father's neck, and carried him upstairs to the bedroom. The house was rather large but almost always filled to capacity and finding a bed was a hit or miss operation. Wakko opened the door to the third bedroom on the right (where they usually put Harpo for the night) and nearly tripped over a form lying near the doorway. The little person sat up and snarled, "Watch it!"
"Who the hell are you?" Wakko hissed, annoyed to find another stranger in the house.
"Aunt Constance's niece! We got evicted so we're all here! There's no room, you'll have to sleep somewhere else!" the voice of a ten year old girl spat at him. Another figure sat up in the darkness.
"What's that? What's going on?"
"That dumbass boyfriend of Con's is looking for a bed."
"Tell him to get out, there's no room in here, or any of the other rooms."
"Get out, there's no room in here or in – "
"Yeah, I got it!" Wakko growled as he slammed the door. Harpo held tighter onto him. Wakko entered his own bedroom – where only he and Constance were allowed – and set Harpo down on the bed while he made up a makeshift bed for the night for the kid on the floor. It wasn't until he was on his hands and knees that he realized how cold the floor was. Harpo would surely get sick if he slept down here. A very large part of Wakko didn't care, because the only thing he'd wanted to do since he got up that morning was crawl into bed and have it off with Constance. Supposing he just put Harpo down there until he and Constance were done? Wakko looked back up to the bed to find Harpo staring down at him with those big eyes and sucking his thumb. Wakko sighed; the kid was wide awake! Wakko couldn't concentrate if he knew his kid was watching! Not without a little cursing, Wakko shoved Harpo to the middle of the bed, climbed in, and covered them both with the blanket he shared with Constance. He couldn't believe that some people actually wanted children…
Wakko could feel his son pawing at him to turn over and hold him, but Wakko stoically resolved not to. Not when that little pipsqueak was the reason he couldn't be over there with Constance at the moment. He finally fell asleep a couple hours later, after listening to his son slowly fall asleep.