My father walked in the door, with a bad face, he’d kept that same expression, as my mother cussed him out, “We’re already very poor, and you’d squandered ALL your wages away at the whore house, and the bars?”
“Go, go, go, follow that DEADBEAT, no good father of yours out, see what he’d been doing?” my mother, who’d working hard as a manual laborer, to keep the household of eight, must also track down her lazy husband, there’s NO way she’ll have anything nice to say, at age nine, I’d stealthily followed behind my father, feeling scared, passed through the dark and ghostly and haunted bamboo forests, my father stopped at the phone booth at the entrance of our village, placed a few coins in, and, the smiles started crawling up his face, that, was a kind of bliss I’d never seen at home.
If I could get on a time machine, I’d love to return to that day, get closer to my father, to see who he was talking to? What are the difficulties in his life? Because he’d lacked the money, he’d had to carry the bad name my mother gave to him, and, be disrespected by six of his kids, and getting sculpted, into a bad man, by my mother’s words daily.
And so, this, is a memory from the childhood years, the narrator saw how her parents fought like hell, and it surely must’ve affected her, and, she’d become a spy, by her mother’s orders, to keep an eye for her mother, on her father’s whereabouts.