Burnt Rye Toast - Introduction

I'm bad about having several writing projects going at the same time. I'm sure it has something to do with my ADD. I told you guys last year that I was going to start an 80's coming of age book in the spirit of 'The Catcher in the Rye' and 'Ham on Rye'. My book is called 'Burnt Rye Toast' and I'm happy to share the introduction. I'm hoping to have it finished by the end of the year. So without further ado, I present Harley Davidson Sinclair.

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My refrigerator smells like fear and Jack Daniels. For some reason, my dad leaves his half full, watered down Jack and Coke glass just sitting in the refrigerator...like he is going to come back later and drink it. Maybe he does sometimes. The smell of Old Number 7 has permeated into the plastic shelves of the 5-ton, baby shit green, GE refrigerator. It has the smell even when there isn't an open glass of whiskey sitting on the shelf. Good times.

My dad is a drinker and my mom is an enabler. He is a functioning alcoholic. What that means for my family is he is only drunk at home and he never misses a day of work because of his drinking. Hell, I don't remember him ever missing a day of work for any reason. He likes to yell and scream and cuss and be a dick. Besides the emotional abuse, he’s a pretty good guy.

When I was eight, me and my wild ass cousin, Schme, used to sneak into my grandfather's shop. He had a mini fridge, before people had mini fridges. He wasn't a big drinker, but he always had Miller High Life ponies. I knew what beer was because my dad drank ponies too, but I'd never tried it. I knew I wasn't supposed to have it; thus my obsession with wanting to find out what it tasted like. I didn't care for it and wondered why anybody drank that shit. I understood a few years later.

I got drunk for the first time last Summer. Believe it or not, it wasn’t with Schme, it was with my cousin on the other side of the family who was about ten years older than me. A bunch of us played quarters till half of us got sick. Coincidentally, I smoked pot for the first time last Summer too. Not at the same time or the same day…I’m not an animal.

"Get out of bed you skinny little shit."

That's how I start my mornings for school. My dad opens my bedroom door and yells that loud enough to wake me up. If he ever has to come into my bedroom again, it is with a belt. Good times.

Burnt Rye Toast©

John Clayton Hale

Five Horizons Publishing

All Rights Reserved