Uncle Jackie Monologue

Uncle Willie one morning spotted me lying on the kitchen floor. I slept walked to have gotten there. "Why are you in the kitchen? Go to bed." Uncle Willie stumbled on me as the sunlight came in through the window drapes. "Get those clothes out of the washing-machine and hang them up, will you." He suffered from alcoholism. I never saw him sober.

I held my side and sucked my teeth. I must've had a sweet tooth during the middle of the night because syrup had spilt all on my pajamas. The stickiness of the syrup had felt icky.

I began as I headed towards the basement steps, pinned things on a clothesline, before I knew, woke up and heard footsteps. "Why am I so tired?" I place my palm on my forehead. "I better hurry to finish hanging the rest of this stuff up."
"Paul is doing chores." He said. "I hurt my leg tripping on him this morning. I swear, there's something wrong with the boy." He yells out of the cracked doorway. "Have you done what I asked?"

After the fifth or sixth response, he moved towards me. "I said, yes."

"You need to learn how to speak up." Uncle Willie said, as I stare. "Today, there will be housework for you." His eyes looked bloodshot, red; like, Crayola red. Claudie was my only brother, the oldest, and we had one sister, named Bela, they both were older than me.

We lived with our relatives because having a mom and dad, they didn't exist. Our father traveled different cities. He coached professional boxers from all over the world. We'd see him on TV, that's it, or get a phone call. And our mother; I wasn't old enough to understand, but Aunt Jackie told us stories.

Uncle Willie had finally left me alone, thank goodness, when we heard everybody awake in the house. That day, I developed having emotions. Not teary eyed, but the age nine in 1990 turned me