Brothers
You decide to keep working, you're up for promotion after all.
During the last few weeks at school, you start talking to Gwen more and more. The two of you start as friends but soon become romantically involved. You think you may love her.
A few weeks pass before your employers make a decision on who they promote.
It isn't you.
Another month goes by and your review comes up. You get a raise. It's no promotion, mind you, but more money is more money.
One night, after payday, you get home from work and your father is up waiting for you on the recliner. He has a half empty whiskey bottle in one hand and a dour look on his face.
"Paul," he says. "It's high time you started pitching in around here."
"It is?" you ask.
"Yeah," he says. "Your mom and I talked about it, and we're gonna need you to start paying us rent. A hundred a month will do."
You think about it for a minute. You don't want to give up any of your hard earned money, but it's certainly not an unreasonable request to ask you to pitch in. The family is strapped for cash, and you want to help out, but you're afraid that any money you offer will go straight into your fathers' endless supply of alcohol.
"I don't have any money on me, pops," you tell him.
"Fine," he says. "Go to the bank tomorrow."
You don't respond, you just walk up the stairs to your room. You lay in bed for a while thinking about it.
A hundred is a bit steep, but it's certainly a lot less than you'd be paying if you were renting somewhere else. Maybe you can talk him down on the price. Surely he can see that a hundred is too much to ask.
Then again, perhaps you should go elsewhere. You're a legal adult, you've got a decent job, and you've graduated school. Maybe it's time to move out on your own. But when you think of your brothers you feel guilty for even considering leaving them with your absent mother and drunken father.
During the last few weeks at school, you start talking to Gwen more and more. The two of you start as friends but soon become romantically involved. You think you may love her.
A few weeks pass before your employers make a decision on who they promote.
It isn't you.
Another month goes by and your review comes up. You get a raise. It's no promotion, mind you, but more money is more money.
One night, after payday, you get home from work and your father is up waiting for you on the recliner. He has a half empty whiskey bottle in one hand and a dour look on his face.
"Paul," he says. "It's high time you started pitching in around here."
"It is?" you ask.
"Yeah," he says. "Your mom and I talked about it, and we're gonna need you to start paying us rent. A hundred a month will do."
You think about it for a minute. You don't want to give up any of your hard earned money, but it's certainly not an unreasonable request to ask you to pitch in. The family is strapped for cash, and you want to help out, but you're afraid that any money you offer will go straight into your fathers' endless supply of alcohol.
"I don't have any money on me, pops," you tell him.
"Fine," he says. "Go to the bank tomorrow."
You don't respond, you just walk up the stairs to your room. You lay in bed for a while thinking about it.
A hundred is a bit steep, but it's certainly a lot less than you'd be paying if you were renting somewhere else. Maybe you can talk him down on the price. Surely he can see that a hundred is too much to ask.
Then again, perhaps you should go elsewhere. You're a legal adult, you've got a decent job, and you've graduated school. Maybe it's time to move out on your own. But when you think of your brothers you feel guilty for even considering leaving them with your absent mother and drunken father.