He would whisper, "Are you awake?" Repeatedly until of course, I would wake up.

With a little more alcohol in his system he could open up and spill the entire contents of his soul. He became the warm and affectionate man . The father that I should have 24 hours a day. When he was liquor free he was this rigid man, unwilling to accept the slightest show of affection. He was always polite and gentle but he kept his distance from everyone and silently studied the world around him. When he drank, he let go of these formalities and became my sweet loving Dad. The man who would play dress up with me. The man who would prance around the house when a groovy song came on. He became the man who could enjoy life rather than cower from it. I wanted my dad to be an alcoholic because the more he drank the further out the father I needed to have revealed himself.

Without him asking I would bring him another beer before he could finish the last. If his glass of bourbon began to near the bottom I would refill it. My mother couldn't handle his passive drinking habit and left him one day. She asked me quickly, "Coming or going?" I stayed.

After the divorce I would spend every other weekend with her, not really wanting to. My dad said that I couldn't push my mom out of my life like that.

The relationship between my mother and I had deteriorated quickly. She hated my father drinking and I adored him for it. She moved further and further away from us and I was fine with it. Once she left there was no one to guilt my Dad into sobriety. She began to resent that fact it was me my father turned to when he was brimming with affection. She would only scold him repeatedly, telling him that he was wasting away being an ignorant drunk. As if he was some hobo from the street. She had no idea how much better it was for him. He was free. He became a man rather than a coward, hiding within life instead of living carefree. My mother constantly tried to rob me of this Dad. She wanted Mr Rigid. When she left I was overjoyed. No one to push unwanted expectations. It would be just me and my Dad. He would come home from work and I would be waiting with a cool alcoholic beverage, ready for consumption.

The longer my mother was away the more my Dad drank and the happier I was. Six months down the line he would be drunk by the time he came home which opened up more time for us. Eight months in he began drinking in the morning before work to ease through the day's routine. He was relaxed and always ready for play.

One day, after my mom had been gone for almost a heavenly year, my father was home sitting on the couch waiting for me. From the door I could already tell by the way he stood up so quickly, that he was sober. As I came closer I could still smell the alcohol that seeped out of his skin. But that was years of alcohol brewing in his system.

I kissed him on the cheek lightly and said, " Hi Daddy, one bourbon coming up!"

He touched my shoulder and his lips parted but it was too late. I saw her from the corner of my eye. She came out to the kitchen holding two piping hot cups of coffee. I gasped and stared blankly at my dad.

"Honey," He said, but was interrupted by my mother handing him a mug.

"Isn't it great dear." She said. "I am glad your father has decided to go to AA."

I couldn't hide my shock. I let out a sharp yelp that made me sound like a shot dog.

She was moving back in. She was ruining his life. She was ruining my life. She was ruining our life. His and mine, together.

I glared at him accusingly. But all he could give me was a weak smile. A weak man's sedate, sober smile. I was disgusted and wanted to slap him across the face. Wake him up from the horrible nightmare that is my mother. Horrible sobriety.

"Aren't you going to congratulate your father dear?" She said with a sing song tune.

"Congratulate him? For what? Going back to the dull and the boring? The cold and uncaring?" I hissed through my gritting teeth.

She enjoyed pounding him into a square mold and putting him out to dry, making him rock hard. I didn't want this man back. I liked the man he finally allowed himself to become. She came at the height of enjoyment to rob me, to rob us. I wouldn't live with it. I couldn't live with it. Not again. Not with him sober.

I turned on my heels, grabbing my bag and keys at the door, hopped in my car and drove off. I could hear my father's muffled voice calling out to me but there was nothing that those non-drinking lips could say that would make me want to return.

I refused to turn back. Go home to that somber couple? I didn't want that for me, I didn't want that for my dad.

Two days passed. Then four. Then a week. I didn't call and I didn't return home. I was hoping that my disappearance would drive my dad to drink. It did. He had cashed in his sobriety chip and was high roller in the casino of alcohol. I called one night. My dad picked up and answered with a slurred, desperate hello. I didn't answer. I listened to his heavy breathing across the line.

"Baby is that you?" He whispered.

I hung up. He was drunk. I could come home. But not right away. I still had my mother as a problem. How could I get rid of her? The only thing I could think of was letting my dad stew in his own juices. When I call again I would demand that damned retch of a woman be gone, out of our lives.

I was his little girl, and now that he was drinking again I knew I could get him to accept my demands. As a drunk my father always let his emotions rule his decisions.

That night without a thought he jumped in to his car, in search of his darling daughter. Not having a clue as to where I would be he drove around from place to place motel to motel, bar to bar, hole to hole, holding a picture of him and I together.

Who would have thought it possible? I wouldn't have guessed. Driving along that road at top speed, pumped filled with alcohol. Crash! Right into my dad's car. Dad didn't live long enough to know who or what hit him. The other driver did though. Barely a scratch. They said the alcohol in his blood was four times the legal limit. He went to jail while my dad lays in a coffin.

As I stand here over his body and look at his discolored face I smile. My dad went out to find me, drunk as can be. Drunk! He died an alcoholic. He did it for me. I am proud to say my dad was an alcoholic and he died trying to stay one.

The End