Gambler Dad

I was fourteen when I met Jake "Shark" O'Connell. Scrawny and small for my age, thanks to years of not eating enough, I looked more like a twelve-year-old. My dad, Frank, was a deadbeat gambler. Our family of three lived off my mom, Susan's, measly $3,000 a month salary from the garment factory. Frank gambled away every penny, and when he lost, which was almost always, he’d drown his sorrows in booze, then take his anger out on Mom and me. Our apartment floor was a graveyard of shattered dishes.

When I was five, he lost big. He came home reeking of cheap whiskey, grabbed Mom by the hair, slammed her against the floor, and bashed her head against the concrete. When his arms got tired, he’d kick her in the stomach. "You think I'm a loser now, huh? You looking down on me, bitch? You couldn't even give me a son! I can't even hold my head up high! It's your fault, you jinxed me! I'd be rich if I hadn’t married you!"

Mom curled up on the ground, her blood matting her hair. She didn't fight back, just took it, hoping her silent suffering would somehow bring him to his senses. When he ran out of places to hit her, he turned to me. "And this little brat! Like mother, like daughter. What are you looking at, huh? You wanna fight me too?" His hand connected with my face. The sharp pain faded into numbness, the world around me muffled, like it was behind a thick glass wall. My eardrum ruptured. Mom screamed and shielded me with her frail body, taking the blows meant for me. The torrent of curses and cries ended only when he collapsed, exhausted. Later that night, his snores mingled with her sobs. Mom cleaned my wounds and the mess, her eyes red and swollen. We huddled on our small bed, her arms wrapped tightly around me. "Mom, let's leave," I whispered. "I'll earn lots of money and take care of you."

She stared out the window at the crescent moon. "No. Your dad, he used to be so good to me. He saved up to buy me a gold bracelet. He carried me on his back for miles just to see the fireworks. He bought me so many pretty dresses, I couldn't even wear them all."

I tugged at her faded, threadbare nightgown. "Mom, you're lying."

She stroked my head, her voice stubborn. "No, I'm not. He's just confused now. He'll get better. He promised he’d love me forever. He promised." Then, more to herself than to me, she murmured, "Just like the moon, it'll be full again someday."

The next day, Dad acted like nothing happened, joking with Mom and asking for money. "Susan, honey, I love you," he’d say. "I just got carried away. Once I win big, we'll live the good life." A few sweet words, and Mom handed over her entire paycheck, a smile plastered on her face as if she had forgotten all about me. I wanted to ask her about the kindergarten she’d promised, the one I’d never gone to, even though I was already five. But seeing her happy, focused only on him, I stayed silent. It’s okay, I thought. She'll remember next month. But she never did, not until I was old enough for publ...