Anyway, that was the beginning of my dislike of Christmas, but it was by no means the last time my life became shit on that putrid holiday. Take my tenth year for example. That was the wonderful year when the fact that my father was an asshole, on levels that none of us really knew of, began to come to light. It was Christmas afternoon. A cold fog, which was determined not to ever go away, had been hanging around the base of the apartment building. That fog hid the police cars when they pulled up. All … fourteen of them. Answer me this, how does a guy working as a number cruncher for a savings and loan suddenly has a hidden bank account with a million dollars in it? A million dollars that cannot be traced from any other account, it just suddenly appeared in this account. A Christmas present no doubt, right? Yeah … no. Dad was laundering money through the savings and loan. Apparently again from that same, unnamed, mafia connection. But they could not find a source, no matter how hard. I take the small nozzle and purse my lips to it pretending to suckle like a baby.“Eww!” Sherrie snatched it away from me, “This is my grandmother’s. It was hers when she was little,or I guess it was her mother’s because she used it for my grandmother when she was sick.”I consider my mother’s care of me when I was sick in my younger years.“It’s a straw? Why is it so long?”“No, it goes with this,” Sherrie produces the orange-red rubber bladder, “See?” She attaches the open end of the hose inside the bladder, twisting a little a she eases it up inside. “Then this,” Sherrie shows me the top of the bladder which is gathered in a fold with a hole punched where the rubber ends all meet. When Sherrie unfolds the rubber, the bladder looks like a deflated balloon with its rounded top cut straight off. “This is where you fill it with water,” she folds the top back together and holds the rubber bladder by hooking her finger through the hole, then raises her arm above her head. “See?” She grabs.
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