It was late by the time I got Daddy home from the carnival. I didn’t have any reason to feel embarrassed — I wasn’t the one stumbling around drunk — but I did. This feeling wasn’t rational -— most everyone in town already knew what Daddy was like. Still, he makes it so easy for everyone mock us.
I helped Daddy up the steps to the house —- skipping the rotted second step that Daddy never fixed. The moon wasn’t very bright, and Daddy also hadn’t fixed the porch light. He walked past Momma, who was sitting on the top step in the dark, and mumbled something about almost winning the big prize.
I sat down on the porch. She was cradling her head in her heads. Her hair was a mess, and her housedress had stains on the front. I thought for a second that she might be asleep. I nudged her on the shoulder.
Momma looked up, “Oh, Tessie, good. You made it. Gimme a hug.”
I wrapped my arm around her neck and rested my head on her shoulder. We sat there for a while just holding onto each other. I could hear the television blaring in the background. Annie was in the living room watching a rerun of I Love Lucy.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” she said.
I knew that Momma would be getting ready soon to go to work and would be gone all night. Since Momma works nights, she’d come in in the morning and cook Daddy breakfast before going to sleep for most of the day. Eventually, she’d wake up and would cook dinner, clean the house, and wash the clothes. Then the routine would start again.
Daddy wouldn’t help. He’d have his coffee, eggs, and toast. Then he’d go down to the pasture for a couple hours and will come back up to the house before heading to town. He’d spend whatever little money we got left on beer, feed, and hay.
The next day was Sunday, and since we don’t go to church, I slept in. Eventually, I got up, went into the kitchen and made a bowl of cereal. I wanted to turn on the tv, but I can’t since Momma and Daddy’s bedroom is on the other side of the living room wall. And, the walls are paper thin already. If we woke Momma up, Daddy start throwing stuff.
So, I grabbed my library book and sat down on the living room couch to eat my cereal.
I was reading Catcher in the Rye. I had to check it from the public library because the school librarian wouldn’t let me check it out without a note from my parents. I didn’t even want to read it at first but when she told me that I couldn’t, well, that was that. I’m not even entirely sure what the big fuss is about. The main character is an antisocial snot but I expected more sex or violence or something. I mean, I’ve been reading V.C Andrews’ books for years, and they sell those next to the cash registers at Walmart. I’m not even sure if the librarian has ever talked to a teenager or read Catcher in the Rye if she thinks this book is scandalous.
Daddy eventually got up and took up his usual spot at the dining room table. He said he had a headache, which meant again no tv, so I spent the rest of the day picking up the house and reading. Momma got up later that afternoon and started washing clothes and cooking dinner.
We’d just sat down at the table when Daddy looked up for the first time all day.
“Tess, we’re gonna have to sell Prince,” he said.
I sat there with mashed potatoes in my mouth. Momma said that we needed the money to get us through the rest of the spring and to buy fertilizer so that we could bale hay. If there was anything left over, I could use it to pay for my college application fees.
I didn’t know what to say, I loved our horse. I loved seeing him graze in the pasture when I was leaving for school. It was a scene from a painting — the sun in streaks of yellow and orange coming up over the hill. Prince’s swayed back and strong legs. I never rode him —- we used to have a saddle but Daddy sold it. But, I would brush his mane and feed him sugar cubes and carrot sticks.
I didn’t say anything. It was not the first time we had sold one of the animals to cover our bills. I had learned a long time ago not to be overly sentimental about them. We named our cows and still slaughtered them for beef each spring.
Still, Prince wasn’t a cow. He had a personality.
And, selling Prince also meant that things were getting bad. All the money was gone. Prince was my barometer of sorts, a savings account —- but Prince could only be sold once, so things were getting bad then.
I’m out of time, which is probably for the best. I don’t want to think about it anymore today.
Tessie D 
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