The pawn shop was across town, near where I used to live. I glanced out the window as I passed by the familiar streets. There, at the liquor store, I could see my father’s car parked in its usual place nearly hidden from view from the streets behind the dumpster as he slept away the buzz of that morning’s, and last evening’s bender. Good. At least he was still alive. That niggling feeling of regret leaving him and my mother to their own devices; not cleaning up after their messes, or making sure they were safe eroded just a little. Still, the thoughts remained. Should I go check on him? No. He’ll wind up home like he usually does. Will he?

I grumbled pulled into the parking lot, and walked over to his car. Sure enough, his head was pressed against the rim of the steering wheel. I peered through the window until I saw the slow rising and falling of his chest and breathed a sigh of relief before tapping on the cold window. The first three taps did nothing to stir him. I sighed and tapped a little louder. Still nothing.

“Damned drunken piece of…” I slammed my fist into the side of the door: nearly denting it in the process, and finally, he awoke.

Perhaps it was the drunkenness evident on the face. Or the way the folds of his wrinkles stuck to the warmed rubber of the steering wheel, but at that moment my father looked old. Incredibly old. His skin looked far too saggy for someone in their early 50s, and all at once the anger I had been holding on to melt away like morning fog.

My heart fell deeper into my chest as he forced a smile on his face. Have I really been forcing a man like this to take care of me? How thankless was I? I curled my fist into a ball and slammed it into the side of my thigh, to stop the burning in my eyes from spreading down into my throat. Piece of shit. You’re a piece of shit, Lawrence.

No. No more. He reached for the door handle and pulled it open. I won’t let him work another goddamn day in his life. He’s worked enough.

“Hey! Lawrence!” He slurred and hung out of the car with his arms opened wide.

I leaned down and wrapped my arms around him. Warm tears sank into the cloth on my shoulders.

“I thought you hated me.” He said as we held each other.

“I don’t hate you dad. I could never hate you.”

Those simple words broke him either further as he sobbed into my shoulder, shaking and wailing. I wanted to cry too. More than anything I wanted to, but a part of me knew that I had to be strong and let him be weak for once. He’s been strong for too long, so I held him — his shoulders, so frail and small and spent, and let him cry. Let him wretch his soul out on me. What have I done?

For the first time in my life, I made a vow to myself: to never let my father work another day in his life.

“Let’s go home, Dad,” I spoke through gritted teeth.

He sniffled loudly and nodded as he reached for his keys. I reached over instead and grabbed them for him. He glanced up at me. Confused, a little bit of anger began to crease his face.

“I can...drive.”

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“Don’t worry about it, dad. I’ll take you home.”

“I said I can —“

“I saw a cop down the street.” I lied.

He went quiet for a moment and climbed out of the card. His feet tangled together and he fell forward. I jolted forward and caught him by the shoulder and led him to the truck.

“Where’s your...car.”

“I traded it in for this,” I answered as I kicked the wheel of the truck. “Figured it would be more functional.”

I sat him down in the passenger’s seat and helped him put the belt on over his stomach before he slumped forward and began to snore. I climbed into the driver’s seat and pocketed his keys before pulling out. I’ll come back for the car later. I pulled down the familiar streets and roads until I came to the house: lightly tan in color with a red, terracotta roof. The rain tap danced across it familiarly, and the neighborhood strays that had, at one point, included Shadow among their numbers, hopped down from their hiding places and zipped across the black asphalt toward the car: meowing loudly as I stepped out of the seat and rubbing against my leg.

They had never done something like that before. Could it be an effect of my increased charm? I counted them. Five in total. There had been seven when I left. I hoped the other two were doing okay. I glanced around at the other houses who put out food.

Though I thought about it briefly, as I scooped my father up and carried him to the house, and laid him down on the sofa. I turned on the lights and looked around. The photograph of our family that we had taken when I was a kid had been taken off of the wall, and laid on the black coffee table right in front of the sofa.

On the coffee table, a variety of letters were laid out. Bills that had yet to be paid, pink shut-off notices and court summons that will never be answered. I sifted through them

I took off his shoes and placed them on the ground. Just a little above his ankle, barely visible from the rolled-up jeans, there was a tattoo: ink faded, and the skin underneath wrinkled, with white hairs sticking through the black. It was something that I had never noticed before, but of a figure I recognized. When I was a kid, I had drawn him a small picture of a daddy with long legs, with a goofy smile. It was all asymmetrical and ugly, in retrospect, but I was super proud of it. My dad beamed and went to get a blanket from the room. My mother was passed out on the floor: white pills scattered in front of her as the amber RX bottle sat overturned on the tile. I looked her over, and she looked fine, but I cast Lesser Healing just in case. She was lighter than I remembered, I thought as I laid her back in the bed, and grabbed a blanket for my father.

After I tossed the blankets over him, I sat down in the armchair across the room. On the coffee table, a variety of letters were laid out. Bills that had yet to be paid, pink shut-off notices, and court summons that will never be answered, I got up and sifted through them. I might as well help out with these. A couple hundred here and there...really? Was it really that expensive to live here? I’ll pay for it all.

I rolled the handle of my wand in my hand. Should I wake him up? No. I should let him sleep off the drunkeness. Let him relax. I pulled the rest of the money out of the Shard and counted out the bills. A little over 10k left. I couldn’t just outright give it to him, as he and my mother would spend it on alcohol and whatever pills my mother could get a hold of. Why didn’t I think of that before I left the money before? I slapped my forehead a couple of times, and pocketed the change. I suppose I could put it in my bank, but what would the IRS think when they find out I had a mysterious 10k from nowhere in particular? I’m sure it’d be more trouble than it was worth. Then what could I do?

The only solution I could think of was something that I didn’t want to do: to make sure that they didn’t indulge in their addictions, and got their lives on track: I would have to look after them like before. I sighed. Was that really the only option? Why should I have to do that? What did they do for me?

What did they do for you? They kept you here. Fed you, allowed you to use the internet whenever you wanted….

I sighed and smacked myself in the head again. There was nothing to be gained by pondering it. I wrote down my number on the backside of an envelope, and set it down on the table in front of him with the message, “Call me – Lawrence,” and left for the day. I still had other things I had to do. When he wakes up, I’ll tell him everything, and tell him that I’ll take care of him and mom when the inevitable happens, and this current world order has ended. Until then, however, I couldn't just baby sit them. There had to be a way to cure their addictions.

There is.

Came the reply on my Shard, and the message in my mind.

"Tell me about it later." I said.

The sudden information flooding my mind usually left me a little bit dizzy, and I didn't want that while driving. With that, I stepped out of the house, and into the waiting truck and to the gold-buyer by the pawn shop.