Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • the move to los angeles went well. we settled in well. everything was going so well.

    and then his dad went for a walk. . . came back to our new home with a gallon of whiskey.

    "This was the only size they had," he said.

    "I don't plan to drink it all," he said.

    the whiskey was poured, mixed with coke into a bright green thick plastic cup.

    and then another.

    and another.


    the evening rolled on into the other time zones and we finally caught up with the night sky.

    i worked to get the closet organized, to feel accomplished for the day. his dad sat.

    watched us work. watched his son document the move with pictures on his phone.

    "They better not mess with me tonight while I sleep," his dad said/complained about our dogs.

    "They better not come in there with me," he said again much like a child who wants so bad to be noticed.

    my husband and i continued to work. and his father continued to drink.

    while i prepared myself for bed, my husband had gotten his father's bed ready. his father sat, one eye half open, the other completely shut, breathing out of his mouth.

    "Pop. I got your bed ready for you. Why don't you go to sleep," my husband tried to direct his dilapidated father.

    "Wha? You better watch how you fucking talk to me. Sit down for a second-"

    "Pop, we all had a long day-"

    "Sit down for a second. Can't you do that? Can't you just sit down for one second?"

    "Alright. I will sit down."

    "That's some bitch shit you are doing to me. . ."

    "What? Telling you to go to bed? Your eyes are practically closed."

    "You better watch how you fucking talk to me. You know. I hate you. I hate hanging around you and your wife. I hate seeing you guys and being with you guys. And I've tried to figure out why I hate you so much. And I got nothing but this: You remind me of me."

    "Pop. Why don't we all just go to bed."

    "You are acting like a real bitch."

    "Pop. You are tired. We are tired. Let's just go to bed."

    his father got up on his own. and walked into the room his son prepared for him to sleep in for the rest of his visit.

    my husband came to lay down with me. i waited till i could hear them both snore. got up and poured all but 1/4 of what was left of the whiskey out into the kitchen sink. enough to make it blatant to him that he went too far again. enough to make him pace himself like an adult.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.