37 Days

It’s Friday morning.

The last day in my San Diego apartment that I’ve spent the last year in. Let me rephrase that, the last shit show of a year. I spent the last year putting my life and career on hold to stay close to my parents house taking care of my father. In the last three years, he pissed away all of his and my mom’s savings on booze and drugs and ended up foreclosing on the house.

I don’t even know why I bothered, he hated the sight of me and after all my efforts he just ended up killing himself to herion. It wasn’t always this way though. I was once “daddy’s little girl” he adored me, he was an amazing father and husband up until three years ago when all that changed.

My phone buzzing in the back pocket of my jeans break me of my thoughts. The phone screen reads Steph. My best friend of fifteen years. I answer by the second ring.

“Hey Steph! I’m just packing up a couple more things and I’ll be on my way.” I may have lied a little.

I have a lot more than a couple things left to pack, I woke up later than I wanted to pressing the snooze at least three times before I actually rolled out of bed. It was my last shift at ‘Ricks Restaurant’ last night and the other staff members threw me a going away party after closing. I had one too many drinks hence the late wake up. I feel like shit right now but nothing a large glass of water and Ibuprofen won’t clear up. I’m not a big drinker but definitely not my first rodeo either with a hangover.

She answers oh so sweetly”Well hurry up bitch! I haven’t seen my girl in months! And if I remember correctly, it was your 26th birthday last week which means we are celebrating tonight.” no. no. no.

I reply with “ummm yeah you remembered correctly because you texted me on my actual birthday? And nice try but we are not celebrating tonight. I’m already nursing a hangover and I just want to catch up on sleep when I get there.” She grunts through the line and I know she’s rolling her eyes at me.”Fine. I’ll let you recover once you get here but I’m not taking no for an answer on partying tomorrow then. Now hurry up so I can see your beautiful face. I’ll text you the passcode for the front gate. Love you bye!” She hangs up before I even have a chance to answer any of that.

 I know what she’s trying to do but I’m just not interested in all of those parties anymore.

Sure, when I was in my late teens and early twenties I had my fair share of partying but it’s just not really my thing like it used to be.

Over the past years, I’ve gone from outgoing to more introverted. I guess playing parent to my dad did that to me. We sort of switched places in a way. On more than one occasion I’ve had to hop in my car late at night driving through bad areas of town searching for him from bar to bar being hit on by drunk creeps. One time, my dad even offered me up to his “friend” in exchange for drugs. I refused to let that happen, I immediately left and without him, it got that bad. I’ve convinced him to check into several rehabs only to show up days later to visit finding that he had checked himself out and went off the grid as usual. I became his parent, constantly worrying about him wondering whether he was dead or alive until one day my worst fears came true. He was found in an alley with a needle in his arm by the police two months ago. In a way, it was bittersweet that I had this sense of freedom again and of course on the flip side I was heartbroken that I lost my dad, not the man who was possessed by some demon over the last three years but the dad that I knew before that. I had always hoped that he’d just wake up one day and want to change. Change for me or change for him, just change. That’s all it was though, hope and in reality he was in so deep with his addiction that it just became hopeless.

I finish packing my bags and take one last look in the mirror before I make my two hour road trip to L.A. My long brown hair is up in a messy bun which by some miracle doesn’t look half bad today because it’s showing off some of my thin highlights. It’s not my usual look but I don’t have the energy to make myself up this morning. I throw my black backpack over my shoulder and make my way down the elevator and make sure I never look behind me at apartment 307.