Under the Influence

It started the moment he stopped rubbing their backs, and giving horsey rides on the living room carpet. It started the moment he began to frequent the bar twenty minutes away instead of coming home for supper. They saw him less and less; his youngest angel didn’t even know what it was like to have a real father because the moment after her birth he started to fade. Beer in the fridge became a regular sight, and his daughters learned what a DUI was from their father’s own experience. They didn’t talk about it. The change was so gradual it took them years to realize that they had lost their father. His behavior started to seem normal— a couple of bud lights every day, stumbling through the door late at night, the pungent scent of alcohol wafting from his clothes, his hair, his breath. Then they saw their mother cry. Then they saw how lonely their mother was. The sisters had each other, they had the same experience; they only knew what it was to lose a father—so different from losing a husband. So they thought maybe they could change his interests, give him gifts to make him want to be at home more than anywhere else. Nothing worked. It was like telling a fish to stop swimming, and he was swimming in a sea full of delusions. In his mind nothing was wrong. He had everything under control until one drunken night, when his girls were all grown up and making their own bad decisions, he realized he was empty, and had nothing left but the beer can in his hand.