Free Falling Under by Danielle Younge-Ullman

don’t wreck your mural, Mar, that’s not—”
    “Shh, don’t worry,” you say, and walk carefully toward the front door.
    “Okay,” she says, and tips then catches herself. “Lush,” you say.
    “You should talk, chicky.”
    g

    On the wall beside the door, you paint: And then, a few feet farther:
    And again, down the hallway: “Ooohh,” Bernadette says.
    On the bathroom door:

    TOILET g

    Ha.
    Ha, ha, ha, fucking ha.
    And then... in the bathroom... above the toilet...

    GET OUT OF JAIL FREE!
    (piss in your own toilet)

    Excellent.
    You are standing with the brush in hand and you are laughing. Bernadette isn’t.
    “What? It’s so awesome!”
    “Yeah, but maybe too... too much?” she says.
    But “much” comes out sounding like “mush” and that’s funny too. And funny is good, funny is great because you would rather laugh than cry.
    “It is definitely too mush ,” you say. “That’s the point. It’s all too fucking mush. Musshhh. Muh-muh-muh- mmmuuuussshhh.”
    She just looks at you.
    Another laugh bubbles up, but it comes out sound- ing like a shriek. Too loud. Too loud and everything is a bit...
    “Fuzzy brain,” you say. “Fuzzy.” “Me too,” she says.
    “Fuck it all anyway. T’s’all too musshhh. But I’m fine, fine, fine, always fine. My job to be fine. Too mush to be fine, but I am FINE!”
    “Shh, shh, I know.”
    All fine, except... except for the mush.
    The mush, which is too
    fucking MUCH!
    Paint can and brush waver on the cracked toilet seat. Shitfuckdamn...
    Eyes crying, nose running, both traitors. Nose and eyes damned traitors.
    Well, then, let the traitors drip. Let them run and drip right out. Bernadette is here and also... also dripping from the eyes and nose.
    “Hang on,” she says. “Just hang on to me.” And you do.
    6
    Someone must be hammering nails into your skull. You blink, then hear the sound of a key in the door. Owwwwww.
    You hear a moan and turn carefully, and see Bernadette on the floor next to the couch.
    “Oh my God,” she says.
    “Shit... he’s home.” You sit up on the couch and blink your eyes.
    Dad enters with a woman in short shorts and frosted blond hair. She sees you first, puts a hand on his arm. “Henry?”
    “Oh. Ah, hi, sweetheart, Bernadette.” “Hi,” you and Bernadette croak in unison. Bernadette looks green.
    “I thought... Weren’t you two going to stay at Bernadette’s?”
    You say, “Um.. .”
    “It was late,” Bernadette says. “And we... were worried about you.”
    Dad introduces you to his woman-friend, but you forget her name immediately. Everyone tries to play nice, but you reek of booze and Dad just spent the night in jail. Nice family.
    “So, you posted bail?” you ask her. “Yes.”
    “Thanks. You must be a good friend.”
    She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, we, um, work together.”
    Screwing, in other words. “Ah,” you say. “Henry, I should go, and let you.. .” “Sure,” he says, “sure.”
    She goes. He closes the door behind her.
    “Well,” Dad says, “excuse me, I gotta visit the little boy’s room.”
    It’s only when you hear the bathroom door close behind him that you remember.
    “Oh no. Oh shit.” Bernadette groans.
    You wait, hear the toilet flushing, and then he’s back, standing in front of you.
    You force yourself to meet his eyes.
    “What’s that?” he says, and waves a hand toward the hallway.
    “Nothing,” you say. “Nothing?”
    “Just...a joke.” “A joke.”
    “I was just being stupid, Dad. We had a couple of drinks and.. .”
    You see his chin quivering and his shoulders slumping. You stop talking. You feel Bernadette beside you, breathing fast.
    “Well,” he says. “You’re just like your mother, aren’t you?”
    You blink and swallow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” “Too late,” he says. “Too late.”
    He takes two steps, sinks into a chair.
    This is the worst moment ever.Your dad, no matter what, the dad you love,