He paced back and forth on the balcony in the bitter winter cold; trying to come up with a valid excuse for why he opened up the hard liquor on a Wednesday night, if that was even possible. When he looked through the sliding glass door leading into his apartment, he could only think to himself how his home looked like one of a sad and lonely man.

With each swig of rum, his throat was warmed and his thoughts became more and more raw. He missed them; His two with eyes like his. The same nose and crooked smile. Their refusal to write him back made it clear to him that they wanted little to do with him and the life he lived.
He had about 5 “Just For Today” chips and a couple of “1 Month” chips, but the timeline never passed that. Those were thrown messily into his nightstand drawer. He tried to convince himself that those were for him, to really try and get better. They weren’t. He did it to try and persuade them back into his lonely life. He couldn’t figure out why it never worked.

He tried a couple of times to open the door, and stumbled inside. Impressively, he only spilled his drink once or twice.

“Happppy birrrrrthdaaay tooo yoooou!
“Haaaappy birthhhday tooo yoooou!…”

She loved every person whose voice harmonized together during that tacky song she’d heard the past 17- now 18 years. However, like every year before, there was one person absent. Him. He claimed that he reached out to her and her brother, but the letters were sloppy, stained, and the reek overpowered his claim of sobriety. How did he expect her to help him when he didn’t even want to help himself. All she wanted was a father she could trust. Trust to be there for her at least one day of the year.

She excused herself from the room full of people while her eyes got more watery by the second. She tried to be as discrete as possible. She tried to focus on each breath turning into a cloud in the frigid air to avoid her tense feelings. She wished she could go back inside and enjoy some chocolate cake and coffee with the company of those who wanted the company of her. As she turned and looked back inside, she wondered how many of them knew what her one and only wish was when she blew out those eighteen candles only moments before.

He stared into his reflection examining his 5 o’clock shadow he had once convinced himself made him appear rough and edgy, all the while, inside he was crumbling. In that moment he realized the truth. It was careless and it was lazy. Then his stare wandered to the stained walls and rusty shower.

The only part of his life that he took pride in had been long gone for some time now. He wasn’t sure they would even come back.

In the top right drawer of his living room desk, he had what he thought could be the solution to every problem he’s ever had, or ever caused for himself. His footsteps were slow; he didn’t want to take even one of them for granted. He knew they would most likely be his last.

He walked to the fridge that was stocked with no more than a well used pack of lunch meat, a few apples, and a bottle of ketchup. Also, Keystone. Lots of Keystone. He popped one open and took a seat in his squeaky, torn up desk chair.

He opened up to the picture of her, and her brother knowing that if he were able to think in his next life… or wherever he ended up, leaving them would be his only regret, even if they never thought twice about it. He finished analyzing the picture. Each perfect imperfection. He smiled his last smile. Drank his last drink. He took the little baggy out of the drawer and made neat little lines on the oak, one after another. In the midst of his last desperate act, he chuckled to himself as he chose the $100 bill instead of the $1.

He mumbled and he laughed, “I guess I got the last laugh. I might as well go out in style.”
It took effect faster than he could’ve ever imagined.

It was euphoric.
It was guiltless.
Then it was cold.
Then it became black.
Then over.

She didn’t recognize the number, yet something in her gut told her she needed to answer this time.

The voice on the other end asked “Are you his daughter?”

It was a question she never knew how to answer. Before another word was spoken she knew that it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t anymore.
The phone dropped to the floor, followed by her tears.