Prompt: https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-523/
Whiskey with a Ghost
Maybe your dead can’t talk, but in my experience, they never shut up. Sometimes the brown liquid muffled their voices. On nights like tonight, though, I just got pissed.
“You know that I loved you and did my best. Life was hard and we did what we could do, all things considered.”
I took another sip and paused before speaking. Yelling was a game both of them taught me, but I was trying to do better.
“Did you though? Did you ever think about what I was learning from you?”
“I tried to teach you so many things.”
“Yes. I know you did. By constantly questioning everything I did, you taught me not to trust myself.
“By finding fault in everything,” my voice caught, and I took another sip. “You taught me that I was never going to be good enough. Did you ever notice how hard the world was for me?”
“I know school was rough. Those kids were so mean to you.”
“Uh-huh. And when I got home, did you let me know I’d always be good enough in your eyes, no matter what the bullies said? Did you make home a place where I knew I could be me and that I’d be okay?”
“We loved you!”
“But did you ever like me?” I drained my glass and poured another.
“You know you shouldn’t drink that stuff.”
“And you should have realized that your problems weren’t my problems. Go away, mom. Or at least shut up.”
Project Gemini 