Death, Vodka, and a Teddy Bear

The red Ford escape had seen better days; the rust around the rear wheel wells had eaten through the metal exposing the tires; the paint was so faded by the sun's constant barrage of radiation that it was almost pink, and the windshield had a spider's web of cracks that extended across it. The front passenger tire was the small spare doughnut that came with the car, and even that was worn down. But it ran, and that's all Samantha really cared about. She stopped in front of the little blue house she called home, where she lived with her dad. It was a small quaint house complete with a white picket fence and a lush green lawn that her dad kept well watered and cut short.

The tires crunched on loose rocks on the road as she came to a stop. The sun was shining brightly as a few white clouds rolled lazily across the azure sky. She wore a blue blazer and a skirt that hung passed her knees and a white blouse and white sneakers. On the passenger seat sat a small brown teddy bear with a faded and patched blue shirt with one button eye larger than the other, strapped in by the seat belt. A joke of her dad's; she found it there in the morning when she headed to work. She carried Doug the teddy and her high-heeled shoes to the front door, moving with the energy and vitality of a happy young woman. She emptied the mailbox with her free hand on the way into the house.

“Dad,” she said loudly.

She shuffled through the mail while dropping her shoes on the floor and her keys onto the kitchen table.

“Dad, I'm home,” she said louder.

She moved through the kitchen, still looking through the mail.

“Uhg, bills,” she said quietly, and then louder. “Hey, good news dad, we may already be millionaires,” she laughed. “Sounds like all our troubles are over.”

Doug was still held tightly under one arm as she moved through the house in a flurry of energy and activity.

“Dad?” she called up the stairs. “Are you home?”

She moved up the stairs, her arms still filled with opened mail and Doug. Her dad's bedroom door stood partly open.

“Dad are still you in bed?”

She pulled open the door to see her dad laying on the floor with his feet on the bed, the blankets pulled down around him.

“Dad? Whatcha doing?”

He didn’t move.

“Dad? Did you hurt your back again?”

He didn’t move.

“Dad?”

“Dad?”

“Daddy?”





The house was filled with people. Nearly every room had someone in it talking, eating, drinking in small groups. Huddled together, dressed in their dark morning clothes and speaking in low whispers; there was no privacy. Trays heaped with food filled a long table in the living room that someone brought in for the occasion. Who has a table that big just sitting around? Although Samantha knew everyone in the house, she couldn't recognize the faces, they all just kind of looked the same: bland and uninteresting, two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. She moved from room to room with incredible energy, talking to people, welcoming and thanking everyone for coming. She smiled in spite of the surreal nature of the situation. It doesn't make sense really, people crowding in a house where someone recently died to eat small egg salad sandwiches on disposable Styrofoam plates.

She made small talk everytime she approached someone.

“Thanks for coming. I'm glad you could make it. I'm going to be fine. No he didn't suffer.”

She used the same phrases over and over automatically to respond to the same questions, to the same expressions of condolences. She felt numb as she floated through the house looking at the empty faces and responding to the empty babble. In spite of it feeling so dream like, she still felt exhausted. The amount of energy needed to keep up the facade was awesome. She made her way to her bedroom, one of the few rooms void of people, and closed the door behind her. She let out a long sigh and felt the security of the silent room embrace her.

Waiting on her bed was her old worn brown teddy bear wearing the familiar blue shirt. She sat on the bed and held the bear close to her, feeling its soft fur against her chest.

“Well Doug, what do I do now?”

Those little quiches looked good.

She nodded. “I am hungry but I can't face all those people again.”

We are trapped in a purgatory of our own making.





Samantha stood in stunned silence at her dad's bedroom door.

“Daddy, no,” she said as she ran to his side, dropping everything in her arms on to the vacuumed beige carpet. She shook him hard and tried to pull him the rest of the way out of the bed and onto the floor.

“Daddy, come on. Wake up. Please be okay.” Her hands shook violently as she felt for a pulse on his cold neck. “Oh god oh god.” she looked for her phone, found it, dropped it, pick it up.

“911, please state your emergence,” said the kind yet urgent-voiced woman on the other end.

“Uh, yeah hi. My dad, he's not breathing.”

“Can you give me your address please.”

“Yeah, it's 42 Elmview.”

“OK. I have EMTs are on the way. How long had he been not breathing for?”

“I don't know. I just got home and found him like this.”

“Ok. Now you just need to stay calm. Can you do CPR?”

“Yeah, I learned how. I can do this.”

“I need you to stay on the phone with me while you do CPR, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Samantha put the phone next to her dad and started compression on his chest.






The house was nearly empty. Only a couple of people remain to help with the clean up. Sam puttered around wanting to help, needing to keep busy. She picks up a bag of garbage, filled with half eaten sandwiches, disposable plates, and disposable coffee cups. Everything is just so easy to throw away.

“It's okay Sam,” said a man as he gently took the large black plastic bag from her, she didn’t fight back, although taking out the garbage suddenly became the most important thing in the world to her.

She felt restless, empty, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to keep busy. She sat on her couch looking at the blank TV. Her cousin Jason flopped himself beside her, they waited silently for a long while.
He broke the silence: “Remember when we were kids and our parents took us to go camping and no one knew what they were doing?” She smiled for the first time that day. “Our dads tried to put up the tent and it took almost the whole day and still they couldn't figure it out. The campers next to us had to come over and set it up for them just so we could have a place to sleep. And the tent was way too small anyways and our dads slept outside,” he chuckled at the memory.

“My dad couldn't set the tent up because he was drunk by eleven in the morning,” she said. “Mom was so mad that she started yelling at him because he was too drunk to put up a tent so his child can have a place to sleep. That's why the other campers came over. He drank a lot back then. That's why mom left him.” She looked around the room. “I hated it here when I was a kid; dad drank all the time and then he’d pass out. Mom was always mad at him, so he'd drink more. Things got worse after she left. He never got angry, people thought he'd be angry, but he just, I don't know, shut down, you know, just kind of gave up on life.”

“That's rough,” he said.

“Yeah, but things were better for the last few years and this place is kind of like home now. I like it here but now it feels, I don't know, kinda empty you know.” Her smile was a sad one, more of a frown. “Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this.”

“It's fine. You've got a lot on your mind right now,” he spoke coolly, relaxed. “You moved out though.”

She nodded. “When I was seventeen. I had to.”






The red Ford Focus was used but looked practically new. There was a small dent in the passenger side door and chip in the windshield, but other than that it was practically new looking. She stopped in front of a run down looking house. The lawn was overgrown and filled with weeds and garbage. A pile of empty beer cans and a few bottles of hard liquor were piled near the front door. The picket fence sat like a row of crooked yellow teeth, with more than a few boards missing. There was more paint chipped piled on the ground than on the house making it look blotchy and ugly. Samantha got out of the car wearing blue jeans and a cold grey sweater. She walked with determination, like a woman who has an unpleasant job to do and just wants to get it over with.

The mailbox was overfilled with bills and junk mail. She debated about emptying it but decided not to and just went into the house. Everything was covered in dust and dirt caked the floors. She thought about taking her shoes off but she looked at the dirty floors again and decided not to.

“Dad,” she called out. No answer.

She went into the kitchen. It was filled with empty take-out containers, more liquor bottles (the cheap stuff only impoverished alcoholics drink), and bags of garbage. The place stank. She open the curtains and slid open a window behind it. Dust motes danced in the beams of light streaking across the room.

“Dad,” she called out again. “You home?”

She opened the fridge. It was empty but for a half empty bottle of ketchup, an untouched jar of mayo, two old hot dogs that have gone bad a long time ago, a jar of peanut butter, and half eaten can of beans. She shut the door in disgust.

She went up the stairs to the second floor to her dad's bedroom. She knocked and opened the door without waiting for a reply.

“Dad,” she said.

“In here,” he said, his voice weak with sleep. He cleared his throat with a phlegmy cough.

He was wearing a pair of blue boxers and a yellow-sweat stained white t-shirt. The room was unkempt, a mess really; it was disgusting. There was no more room on the floor for any more trash. His hair was a nesting ground for god knows what. His face was unshaven and he had heavy bags under his eyes.

“Hi pumpkin,” he said, scratching an arm pit. His voice had genuine warmth and affection in it.

“Hi dad,” she replied coldly.

“I wasn't expecting you 'til the afternoon,” he said.

“It is afternoon.”

“Yeah I know. Just not until like two or so.”

“Dad, it’s after three.”

He looked around lamely for a clock but it was hidden behind a beer can. He brushed it aside and the read illuminated numbers flashing 12:00.

“Oh is it?” he asked.

“Yeah dad, it is.” she looked both sad and angry at the liquor bottles and beer cans that littered the floor with the rest of the garbage.

“I guess I lost track of time,” he said pathetically. He smiled up at her but saw that she was still mad and looked down at his naked feet.

“Should I put my stuff in my old room?”

“Yeah I'll help.” he staggered to his feet.

“No dad, I got it,” she protested.

He pushed himself passed her. “I'm your dad, I'll do it.”

She was left inside his room looking around at the state of the room. It was worse than the kitchen. “Oh dad,” she said sadly.






Samantha walked passed the coffins in the large funeral parlour, Doug under one arm. White and black coffins with the odd coloured one speckled in, filled the large room. Her eyes passed over a child sized one but didn't linger. An older man in a nice dark grey suit and matching hair waited patiently as she looked of the coffins. She went back to a white one and glanced at the price. It was by far the cheapest one there. Her dad would freak if she spent too much on something that was just going to be buried anyways.

“This one,” she said.

The man nodded. “Simple but elegant, a fine choice, especially for someone on a budget.”

“It's not that. He was a, um, a practical man and wouldn't want me to spend too much on it.” She couldn’t make herself say the word 'coffin'.

“Of course, I understand.” Before he could say anything else there was a polite knock on the open door. A young woman was standing in the doorframe. She was also in dark grey and had a plastic name tag declaring her as one of the employees.

“Please excuse me,” said the man and went to the woman.

Samantha looked at the coffin she picked and tried to picture her dad inside of it but couldn’t. Once a long time ago she could have done it, but now. She ran her hand along its smooth surface and reached in to touch the pillow. It was soft, really soft. That comforted her for some reason, knowing it was so soft. It shouldn't have mattered, not really, he was dead after all and a soft pillow made no difference.

She looked at Doug. “What do you think?”

We’re both under-qualified to make any decisions of such magnitude.

The man in the grey suit came back. “I'm sorry about that. Is there anything else you need?”

She shook her head.

“Wonderful,” there was a well practised artificial sorrowfulness to the way he talked, as if this death was the greatest tragedy of his career, out weighing all the rest he had faced in his decades of work. “We can take care of the rest of the arrangements for you. Please,” he gestured to the door where the young woman was a moment before. “Come this way, I just need you to fill out a few forms.”






Samantha woke in her room, the morning sun pouring through the bedroom window, tearing her from her sleep. The room hadn't changed since she left when she was seventeen. The posters of a boy-band she was obsessed with as a teenager lined nearly every free space of her walls. And everything was pink, gross.

The bathroom was unclean, no, it was disgusting. She wanted to have a shower but she didn't want her exposed body to be near the pink mold that grew along the porcelain and old beer cans that littered the bathtub. She repressed a shutter and left.

Breakfast was a cup of sweetened black coffee she sipped slowly at the filthy kitchen table. She had washed the cup first, but still was wary of how clean it actually was. She had planned to do some cleaning today, and decided to start in this room.






Jason carried two large suitcases into the house while Sam held the door open for him.

“Well, I'm here,” he said.

“Yup,” she said. “Thank you.” and she hugged him as he came into the house. “you can have dad's old room if you want. I bought a new mattress and cleaned the room,” she stopped as he shook his head.

“No, no,” he said. “I don't want to stay in there. Besides, it's your house now, you should have the master bedroom you know.”

She shook her head. “I have my room.”

They paused for several heart beats.

“How about I stay in the basement?” suggested Jason.

She nodded. “That'd be fine.”

There was a small bedroom and a smaller second bathroom in the mostly finished basement. Unfortunately it was empty so the two of them spent the afternoon moving the new bed from he dad's old room and dresser to Jason's room. It took longer and was harder than they had expected and both were worn out by the time it was done.

“I'm starving,” she said.

He nodded, “me too.”

“I'll start dinner.”

“Nah, let's just order pizza.”

“No, I can just make something quick. There's some pasta sauce I made earlier this week, or I can fry us up a couple of pork chops,” she said.

“It's okay. That's too much work, we had a busy day. I'll order pizza, my treat.” and Jason left the room digging for his cell in his jeans.

Doug looked up at Sam from his place on Jason’s bed where she tossed him while moving the heavy dresser.

I don't want pizza.

“Me neither.”

He just doesn't understand us does he?

She shook her head.






Four large garbage bags sat on the front curb waiting to be picked up as Sam added a fifth. She grunted as she tossed the last bag on top of the pile and wiped sweat from her brow. The kitchen was starting to look almost normal. The surface was clean(ish) but she still had the cupboards and fridge to do. She opened the cupboard under the sink and found a couple of hidden liquor bottles.

First she put the bottles back in disgust but then thought better of it. In anger she gathered the bottles from under the sink and began dumping the contents into the sink. The room filled with the smell of harsh booze, and dropped the bottles into a garbage bag, changed her mind and placed them on the counter, so he could see what she did.

In furious energy she started moving through the kitchen, ripping open cupboards and finding her dad's stashes. She collected bottle after bottle as her rage moved her through the house, looking under the couch, on top of the book shelves, and in the old fridge in the garage finding dozens of bottles and upending all of them in the sink. The kitchen stank of cheap booze. She lined the counter with the emptied bottles, to shame him really, so he could see what he wasted his life on; he needed to be shamed.

She was fuming in the living room when she heard her dad's bedroom door open. She stormed up the stairs. He looked at her meekly with something hidden behind his back.

She opened her mouth to, well, yell maybe, or just to say something dammit; she was so angry. But he spoke before she could say anything.

“I uh, forgot to give you this yesterday in all the excitement,” he said.

“What,” she snapped, her anger still on the surface.

“I don't know if you remember, you know, from when you were a little girl, but,” he laughed. “He was your best friend.” he seemed oblivious to her anger, or just choose to ignore it.

“Dad, what are you talking about?”

He put an old teddy bear into her hands. It had definitely seen better days. It was missing one button eye and its fur was worn down. There was a small tear down its side where some of its stuffing was making a slow escape and the blue shirt had several holes in it.

Her dad smiled and moved passed her to the bathroom leaving her alone with her old friend.

“Hi Doug,” she said. “You've looked better.”

So have you.






Jason made a feeble attempt to clean up the pizza box and dishes, but really just made more of a mess than anything. In the end Sam had to do most of the cleaning. They sat on the couch and watched a lame reality show that he had been obsessed with lately. She didn't like the show that much, but didn't care to change it either, she felt it shut her brain off and that was fine for her right now.

They talked a bit about nothing. The nothingness of the show, the nothingness of her job, the nothingness of their lives. But somehow ended on more serious topics. The transition felt natural, organic even.

She found herself talking about her childhood in this house and the chaos and sadness of it.

“Dad had his drinking buddies after mom left,” she said. “Most of them were alright, just quiet drunks. Did you meet Barb?”

Jason shook his head.

“Well, she was nice. She'd bring me treats whenever she came over, you know, like cookies and stuff. I liked her. Always smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. Anyways, there was this one guy, shit, what was his name? Fred? Frank? It began with an F I think. Doesn't matter. He gave me the creeps. Would stare at me, like all the time. And he'd make inappropriate comments like 'hey that dress looks really good on you,' or 'you really growing up, got a boyfriend yet?' and when I shook my head he was like 'want one?' and he'd laugh and elbow whoever was beside him, just creepy.”

“Sounds like an asshole,” said Jason.

She nodded. “He was. I started to hide in my room whenever he came over just to get away from him.”

“What did you do in there?” he asked

“Read mostly, hugged my teddy.” she laughed. “I felt safer with Doug there for some reason. Like he'd protect me or something.” she laughed. I am a vicious beast. “One day I heard what's-his-name coming up the stairs. To use the bathroom, I thought, but he didn't, he came into my room, and sat at the end of my bed.”






Sam was scared. Kyle had always frightened her. He was smiling and talking to her, his voice was gentle and his mannerisms were friendly, but his eyes were predatorial. She kept moving away from him, ever so slightly but he would closed the distance, his hands moving closer. She moved further and further away until she was stuck by the immovable bedroom wall and he had her trapped. Kyle's hand found her knee, she was too afraid to move it. He seemed so strong and his grip hurt her.

“Oh come on now,” he said, his voice still gentle, teasing. “No need to fuss, I ain't gunna hurt you.”

She did nothing, fear gripped her heart and she froze.

His hand moved up her leg, over her torn jeans to her skinny thigh.

Sam didn't move.

He was close enough that she could smell him. He stank of beer and stale cigarettes.

He leaned in like he was going to kiss her.

Sam didn't move.

His hand was on her thigh, and his other, his other was frantically rubbing himself on the outside of his pants.

Sam closed her eyes tightly.

His hand was on her stomach, it made her skin crawl.

“You're a skinny little thing, ain't ya.” he said. She could feel his breath on her neck.

His hand moved up and up, slowly until it found her small budding pubescent breasts.

He groaned and suddenly everything stopped. Kyle's hand was gone and she could no longer smell him. She opened her eyes slowly as Kyle stood, a wet stain on the outside of his pants. He was smiling at her.

“See ya around kid,” he said and left.

Hot tears suddenly filled her eyes and she hugged Doug as she wept.






“Frank or Fred or whatever his name is, still came around after that. I'd lock my room or go to your house,” said Sam. She felt so vulnerable, why the hell did she tell him all that?

He nodded. “Makes sense. I guess that's why we saw so much growing up.”






Her dad said nothing when he saw the empty liquor bottles she left on the counter. He didn't seem to notice, instead he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot she made earlier and sat at the table. He was wearing a dirty robe and boxers, his pale belly jutting out over his underwear's elastic. He smiled at her, innocent and oblivious.

“Good coffee,” he said.

“You need to do some cleaning today,” she said coolly.

He nodded and smiled some more.

“I was thinking we could go down to that diner down the street like we used to when you were a little girl.” He laughed as some memory filled him mind. “Remember when you ordered a stack of pancakes and when the waitress brought them to you you said 'these are bigger than my head,' your eyes were so wide.” He demonstrated and opened his eyes as wide as they could go. And then he laughed some more. “It'll be great,” and he stood and started to head up the stairs.

“Dad we can't. We have too much to do,” she said after him. But he was already gone and she was talking to ghosts. She gathered up the empty bottles in a clear plastic bag and carried them out to her car. She would make a run to the bottle depot later.

It took over a half an hour for her dad to get ready and when he was one he didn't look like he had spent nearly that much time getting ready. His hair was uncombed and his clothes were dishevelled, but he was smiling and had a child-like excitement to him over eating pancakes.

She didn't want to go to some shitty diner she used to go to in some long forgotten childhood with her drunken father, but she had to admit his child-like energy was contagious.

“Fine, but we can't stay long. There's a lot to do today. I can't live in this mess,” she gestured to the garbage that still littered much of the living room.

He nodded like a child. “Yeah, that's fine. Whatever you want.” And he headed towards the door. “I'm going to order the biggest stack of pancakes you've ever seen. Bigger than my head.”






Samantha woke up, the alarm beside her bed buzzing insistently. She had long ago taken down her childhood posters and wall coverings, leaving much of her walls bare; there was hardly any pink left. The kitchen was relatively clean, a few dishes were still piled in the sink and the garbage can needed to be emptied. She drank her coffee, watching the caramel-coloured clouds spread through the black drink. She ate here buttered toast and added to the dishes.






There was a car parked in her spot, a shitty looking brown 1980s garbage can leaking oil onto the road.

“Great,” she muttered and parked her car on the other side of the street.

The house stank of booze and cigarettes emanating from the living room; it was filled with drunks. Samantha felt her mood sour immediately. She could hear people talking and laughing in the living room, their voices slurred from too much drink. She started to walk up the stairs to her room to be alone but decided against it. Instead she stormed into the living room. Her dad was sitting on the couch, empty beer cans surrounding him, piles of cigarette ash and butts overflowed out of the ashtray and onto the table. There were about a half a dozen people in the room, all drinking and smoking. God it stank.

Her dad saw her. “Hey pumpkin,” he said too loudly, the alcohol controlling him now.

And they all turned to her and greeted her too loudly, the sound of it assaulting her senses. She didn't respond, instead she kept her gaze on her dad.

“I need to talk to you in the kitchen, now!” She left, not waiting to see if he followed.

The kitchen was filthy, again. Pizza boxes with half eaten pies were piled on the table, grease and tomato sauce stained napkins littered the floor and counters. She was disgusted. Her dad meekly entered the kitchen, she spoke before he had a chance to say anything.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“I just wanted to have some friends over is all. It's my house.” he said lamely.

“Is this the life you want?” she gestured to the mess that surrounded them.

“It's not a big deal,” he said. “I was going to clean it up later. We're just having a little fun is all.” she glared at him.

“As long as you drink, I won't live here. I won't have a drunk in my life.” she said it. She finally said it. She gave him the ultimatum she wanted to give him years ago. He looked hurt. “I'm moving out at the end of the week unless you can give up drinking.” She stormed up to her room.






Jason left a mess in the kitchen, not a big one, but a mess. He made himself breakfast, well he poured himself a large bowl of Fruit Loops and left the half eaten mess in the sink, the milk already starting to sour.

“How the hell did he make such a mess making cereal?” she cleaned up the kitchen while the coffee brewed.

By the time she was done she didn't have time to eat and left for work on an empty stomach.






There was shouting coming from down stairs. Samantha couldn't understand what was being said but she heard her dad's voice louder than the rest. There was some crashing and the sound of glass breaking.

“What the fuck?” she stood to go yell at them to shut up but didn't want deal with the crap right now.

Something else broke and there was more yelling. She was too tired for this shit and crawled into bed. In the morning she was going to pack her bag and leave. There was no way she could live like this. “What the fuck was I thinking moving back here?”

She looked at Doug sitting on her bad. He had been patched and a new eye was sewn on. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You can't save those who don't want to be saved.






Samantha woke to a loud crashing coming from downstairs. Her heart raced in her chest. “What the hell was that?” She held Doug tight to her chest.

I will protect you from the demons that threaten destruction from below.

She shivered in the darkness of her room when she heard a loud thunk followed by Jason crying out “ah, fuck!” He's drunk. He made a tremendous amount of noise as he crashed around the kitchen. Pots and pans banged together like the world's worst marching band. She was so angry, tears filled her eyes.

“God, I can't go through this again.” She closed her eyes tightly hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before work.






The house was cleaner than she had expected. Her dad must have been up all night cleaning up. He didn't do a great job, but it was passable. Her anger dissipated a bit over the night so she didn't actually pack a bag. Still, she couldn't keep living here much longer. When she returned home from work her dad was waiting for her, bags of empty liquor bottles and beer cans surrounded him.

“What's all this now?” she asked, feeling exasperated.

“I'm,” he started. “I'm giving up drinking,” he said. “It's not going to be easy but,” he paused and looked at the floor, shame etched in his every feature. “Your mom left me because of my drinking. I didn't understand that at the time.” he paused. “I don't want you to leave me too.”

Sam didn't say anything, she felt like she was in shock. He stood up, gathered the garbage bags and took them outside.






Samantha's feet were killing her. She sat on the couch rubbing her feet, letting out a long moan. She sniffed the air, something stank. The living room was messier than she liked it to be, but there was nothing that should stink. She sniffed again; something definitely stank. She got up and moved around the room looking for that damn smell. What the hell was that? She looked under the couch and found a dirty plate. She pulled it out. “Uhg,” it was covered in old food and speckled with mold. “gross.” she took it to the sink to wash the dirty dishes standing on her sore feet. She spent so much time cleaning everyday that she had little time left for herself. He wasn't even working right now, what the hell does he do all day?






Samantha could hear her dad crying and moaning inside his room as the withdrawls took him. She kept herself busy around the house cooking lunch, sweeping the kitchen floor, scrubbing the bathtub anything to keep her away from her dad's bedroom. It wasn't working she could still hear him suffering, it hurt her heart. The vacuum helped drown out the noise coming from the bedroom but only for a little while. Finally she couldn't take it any longer and knocked on the door.

“Daddy? Are you hungry? Can I get you something?” There was a long pause before he answered.

“No, just leave me alone okay? I'm fine I just need you to leave me alone.”

She busied herself some more, deliberately ignoring her daddy's crying.






The living room stank of cheap booze and overly sweet juices. Jason was really drunk and loud, like really loud. The room was filled with people, drinking and talking too loudly. Jason was standing on the couch and singing along to the song playing on his laptop. The smell of weed overpowered the stench of everything else. God, she was going to be sick, she felt her anger rising inside of her.

“Hey,” yelled Jason. “Hey everyone it's my baby cuz.” They cheered. “Hey Sam, come have a drink with us.”

She shook her head, a forced smile on her face. “I'm fine.” She hid herself in her room, listening to the overly loud party down stairs and dreading having to clean up the mess in the morning.






Samantha woke to find her dad making breakfast, he always made too much food in the morning. She had told him like a million times that all she wanted was just some toast and coffee but he would insist on making a large breakfast for her before work. She house was filled with the smells of pancakes, frying bacon, sausages, and eggs.

“My god dad, are you expecting half the neighbourhood for breakfast?”

He laughed. “I just want to make sure my baby girl has everything she needs.”

“Is there coffee?” she asked.

“Uh,” he looked around. “Uh, no. I forgot the coffee.”

She smiled at him. “I got it.” The brewing coffee added to the already present aromas.

After eating too much she said goodbye to her dad for the last time. Doug was sitting in the passenger seat, strapped in by the seat belt.

“Are you coming with me to work today?” I thought you could use my help. I'm very smart you know.






“This isn't working anymore,” said Samantha, her cousin's head hanging low. “I can't live with someone who drinks.”






“I know,” said her dad. It was barely past noon and he was already drunk. He swayed on his feet as he stood in front of her.






“You have to understand, after my dad died I felt lost, but his drinking is what destroyed him and our relationship,” said Samantha. “I know,” said Jason. “And you're right, it's for the best.”






“After mom left I thought things would be different, but you just can't change can you?” she felt her anger rising. She hated seeing him looking like a sad puppy dog be scolded for something he didn't understand. My god, he can be so fucking stupid sometimes.






“We can't live together any more,” said Samantha.






“I know,” said Jason.






“I know,” said her dad.






Samantha picked up her bag and stepping over a garbage bag laying in the middle of the kitchen and left the trash-filled house behind. She was seventeen and had no intention of coming back to this house, ever.






Samantha hugged Jason as he picked up his bag and left the house. Samantha felt light and heavy at the same time, she knew this was for the best, but still felt kind of guilty about kicking him out of her home. It was for the best, she knew it was.

She walked up the stairs to her room, stopping outside her dad's room. Hot tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she wiped them with the
heels of her hands and moved on. She sat on her bed and picked up Doug and hugged him tight to her chest.

“Looks like it's just you and me Doug.”

I'll take care of you.






Samantha's dad turned from the door his daughter closed on him. His world was empty now, he had nothing left. He sat on the couch and picked up a bottle of vodka. The warm liquid burn beautifully as it ran down his throat and comfortably numbed his body and mind. He wanted to cry, he drank instead. He leaned back, sank into the couch. Something poked at him from behind, he reached behind and pulled out a small brown teddy bear. He smiled and hugged it close to his chest, smelling his daughter's scent buried deep inside.






There were more people at the funeral than Samantha had expected, it was a nice day for it after all. The sun shone brightly and the air was filled with sweet scent of spring flowers. Her dad was resting under the closed lid of the white coffin she had chosen, his head on the soft pillow.

People she hardly knew all took polite turns saying something about the man they hardly knew. Throw away phrases used at every funeral. She felt like she should cry or something, but she couldn't.

The priest said somethings about her dad, focusing on the good only, forgetting about the drinking.

In death, none of our sins matter to the living.

There were flowers on top of the coffin lid. She didn't want them there at first, her dad wouldn't have liked it, but the funeral director and the priest both insisted, saying that it was traditional.

The priest took the flowers from the coffin and handed them out so they could throw them back on top of the coffin once it was lowered into the ground, with her daddy inside. Everything was just so easy to throw away.






Samantha was in her room, she could hear her parents fighting downstairs, she did her best to ignore it, to bury herself deep in her game she was playing. Her dolls talked and acted out the happy life she didn't have but wanted. She heard her mom screaming at her dad as his heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs. There was a soft knock on her door.

“Yeah, daddy,” she said.

Her dad entered the room, his hands hidden behind his back.

“Hi pumpkin,” he said, his words slurring slightly. “I got you something.”

“A present?” Excitement in her young voice.

“Yup,” he smiled sitting on the bed, patting the empty spot beside him.

She sat on the bed, smiling.

“I didn't name him yet, that's up to you,” he said placing a new teddy bear on her lap, his blue shirt bright and happy, his fur soft and full of life.

“I love it,” she beamed, hugging her daddy and kissing him on his unshaven cheek.

He left her alone in the room with her new friend.

Hi, my name is Doug.

“Hi Doug,” she said. “I'm Samantha.”