Sunlight danced on the bed sheets. Today was one of those days people in Chicago loved: The ones that weren't far too windy to go outside. The soft golden rays continued their waltz past the paycheck on the nightstand onto the face of Joseph Brown. This, in combination with the alarm clock yelling at him to wake up, pissed him off.
    Joseph Brown pushed back the covers and stood up, blinking multiple times to become accustomed to the daylight. As his name suggested, his hair was a light shade of brown and his eyes were brown. Not the soft color of melted chocolate, but the murky shade of muddy water that suggested a man who didn't see the world as it was. He always had a disheveled appearance, even when he didn't want to. His thin  body frame and loose pale skin reminded one of a skeleton, albeit one with the flabby belly of an alcoholic. His features contorted as his headache caught up with him and his dinner resurfaced into the trash can by his bed.
    Ah, s***, he thought to himself as his head racked with pain. He stood up, shaking himself off like a wet dog, and walked into the shower to wash away his hangover.
    Upon exiting the shower, he threw on some clothes to cover his naked body and tossed his laundry into the washer.
    He was used to the daily grind of Sunday mornings: recover from the crazy Saturday night, do the laundry, make sure his black apron didn't smell like spaghetti. Occasionally, he talked with his best friend/therapist Wally Anders. Wally, a father of a set of college-age twins, worked nearby Joseph’s job. Joseph did all of this every Sunday to forget about David.
    My son. Joseph felt tears well up in his eyes as he picked up his favorite photo of himself with more hair and a smile on his face with his kid. Davey was wearing a pair of jeans and his favorite Iron Man t-shirt. The tousled blond hair, reminiscent of the boy’s late mother who died in giving birth to him, sat atop his head like a bird’s nest and his brown eyes were full of joy. His eyes were a light and sweet color, unlike the already-hardened brown eyes of his father. Joseph felt tears carve their way down his face as he turned it around. 2004, the photo’s date said. Hard to believe it's been 10 years.
    Joseph’s phone rang with his favorite song, “Highway to Hell.” He sighed as he picked up the phone.
    “Hey Wally...Not much. I'm having a damn hangover right now...Ugh, fine. I'll see you there. Save me a Blue Moon.”
   
    Anders Bar sat between two buildings in downtown Chicago. The quiet place wasn’t as big as one would expect, nor was it very small. The holiday season was in full swing: red and green lights were strung around the bar, a wreath sat on the door, and the bar was empty save for one person. The current bartender, Wally Anders, was more barrel than man. His relatively short height of 5 foot 6 contrasted his wide and rounded body. He had had jet-black hair with the graying streaks of age with some strands leading into his deep-sunken hazel eyes, which were perched atop a wide nose. His thin lips curled into a smirk as the man in black jeans and a maroon shirt walked through the door.
    “Joseph!” His baritone voice unnecessarily shouted through the bar like the strong keel of a boat. Joseph looked at his best friend with a neutral expression and made his way to the bar. Wally left the counter and met him halfway.
    “How was your Christmas?” Joseph asked, hugging the stout bartender.
    “Not bad, not bad. I saw the kids, taught them how to make c***tails, just had a good time. They're damn happy about winter break. You?”
    Joseph sighed wistfully upon hearing the word “kids.”
    “Penny for your thoughts?” Wally asked, dragging Joseph to a weathered brown stool. Joseph shook his head, a painfully sad expression apparent on his face.
    Brandishing his trump card from the mini-fridge beneath the counter, Wally tried again. “Beer for your thoughts?” He asked, brandishing the relatively translucent brown bottle.
    Joseph’s face broke into a small smile. “You always know how to cheer me up.”
“It's a talent. What's on your mind?”
Joseph took the beer and said one word: “David.”
“Oh.” Wally paused before continuing to break his friend’s wall built against the world. “Do you want to talk about it?”
    Joseph’s face fell. “Not really,” he said as he finished his beer.
    Wally, still determined, pulled out an India Pale Ale. “Come on, Joe. I can help you out. Just tell me what’s up.”
“I think he’s still pissed at me after the last time we talked. I don't know if I f***ed up or if he took it too personally.” Joseph said as his beer changed hands to his own.
    “Maybe you both messed up. You're taking all the blame and shouldering it on your own. That’s why I'm here. You just need to calm down and let bygones be bygones. Just let me help you with the load. I have kids too and I know how much of a handful they can be. Not a day goes by that I wish could see them in college,” Wally said with his brow knit tightly to dam the river of suggestions he had.
    “Anyway, I was on the news this morning and I found something really interesting regarding the Afghan War.”
    Joseph’s ears perked up immediately and he looked at Wally. “You have my attention. Continue.”
    Wally turned on the TV set in the corner of the dark red-walled bar.
    “2 more reported deaths of unarmed black men by police have been reported and the officers are going to be put on trial. In other news, the war in Afghanistan has come to an end after NATO surrendered security to the Afghan military. Veterans will be returned home by July of 2015.”
    Joseph was elated. The veterans were coming home! But more importantly, his son was coming home! For the first time since Davey left, he felt hope in his heart bubbling like boiling water. His heart almost jumped out of his throat.
    “I've never seen you this happy, not even when you were wasted that one time.”
    “Ugh, don't remind me. I heard stories about what happened and I’m still getting s*** about that.”
    Joseph’s heart fell back down to its correct spot. He’ll be a legal citizen, able to do his own thing. What if he won't come home? What if he’s disabled? What if he has PTSD? What if he’s dead?
    “Wally,” Joseph said slowly. “What if Davey’s dead?”
    Wally sighed. “Death is a part of life, Joseph. I’m afraid my kids’ll get killed if they drink in drive, or maybe get really high and do something stupid, but I can’t stop them. At least you'll know Davey died an honorable death. Hell, he may already be dead, but you can only hope he can make it back to the States.
He could already be dead. Joseph’s blood ran cold at the thought as he put down his beer -the first time ever- and ignored Wally’s questions of “hey, where are you going?” and “hey, you didn't finish your beer. What happened?” Joseph stood up and walked home. Better alcohol was calling.

    Joseph sat on his floor, tears streaming down his face as he thought about what he said earlier in his life and how it affected Davey.
    Why? Why did I do this to myself? This is all my fault after what I said.
    Joseph tossed his empty liquor bottle to the side and grabbed a new one. He began dumping the liquid relief down his throat.
    Finishing his second bottle, he looked up at the s***hole of his room.
    How the hell did I get here?
    He thought back to when his alcohol problems began: when David left. He could remember the events like it was yesterday.
    “Get out of my house and go do something useful with your life!”
    “With pleasure, you son of a b****! Something useful? How about dying to protect a s***ty country and a s***tier father? Is that good enough?”
    According to the Mayans, the world would end in 2012 after a big flood. This didn't happened and the world didn't end, but 2012 was when Joseph’s world did. Feeling the need of a therapist, Joseph decided to call Wally.
    “Hey Joseph! Can't believe you're calling me back after earlier. What’s up?”
    “Hey Wally. I need to t-talk to you about -hic- something,” Joseph said, feeling tipsy after some good alcohol.
    “Whoa there cowboy. How much have you drunk?”
    “I don't know, maybe -hic- two bottle of liquor?”
    “Ok, I can deal with that. What do you want to talk about?”
    “I'm s-sorry -hic- for being a bad friend today.”
    “Don't sweat it dude. Anything else you want to talk about?”
    “Y-yeah. Am I a good person? Do I deserve to exist?”
    “Ok, who are you and what have you done with my friend?”
    “Haha, very funny. I'm either having an epiphany or I'm way too drunk. Answer my question.”
    “Look, don't get me wrong, but you're too headstrong, too unpredictable, you have alcohol problems, and you're an asshole to nearly everyone almost all of the time.”
    Joseph’s face fell. As he was about to hang up, he heard Wally say “But I would trust no one more than you and despite your flaws, you're still human. Don't beat yourself up. David’ll be home in, at max, six months. He probably grew more mature and he definitely will be happy to see you. I just want you to sleep on this: six months is enough time to get out of the hole you dug yourself into. Goodnight and I'll see you soon.”
    Joseph hung up and was about to reach for his third bottle of liquor, but drew his hand away, stood up, and tumbled onto his bed. He fell asleep immediately.
    He awoke with a splitting headache as he vomited into the nearest trash can. He continued his usual winter break morning routine of washing away the weekend and preparing for his week of nothing but cleaning up a trashy Christmas, but today, he did so with a purpose.