Here comes that car again. Same familiar screech of the brakes by the not-so-sober man. Same familiar slam of the car door as he stumbles out. And his polite little knock on our front door? Yeah, that phony gesture is familiar, too. This whole scene is déjà vu ×1000, considering this has been the norm for over 8 months. Maybe if I listen really closely, I’ll hear him breathing this time. It’s only happened twice before, yet it is still something that I take interest in catching the sound of. That raspy inhale…too many Pall Malls I suppose. And there goes my mom, falling for it every time with fingers crossed behind her back hoping that he’s changed. But the same disappointment is still at our doorstep. Nothing is different about him, except maybe a new shirt, but that’s highly doubtful. Even from up here I can smell the Jack Daniel’s. What does she see in him? Is it the lack of employment? The constant belittling? The fear of not knowing what will happen when he comes home? The bruises? The pain? The tears? I know, maybe it’s his smile. I mean, who doesn’t love a guy with pearly yellows? And there’s only a few missing…charming, huh? If only there was someone to write LOVE on her arms. Someone to show her true love, and treat her like she’s important. Someone to tell her that she isn’t crazy, and that she’s beautiful on the inside and out. I hate to see her like this. Thick layers of make-up covering the damage of a drunk man; thick layers of bandages covering helpless wrists that have been decorated with a razor; thick dosages of pills attempting to cover unending depression. Why does she do this to herself? Why can’t she just up and leave him already? She says it’s not that easy. She says he’s gonna change. But sadly, I don’t see that happening.