The Legitimate Heir

Staring out the window while my parents yell at one another, the check will bounce for the light bills. Outside, the late afternoon sun slants low and tired through the glass, casting long, anxious shadows across the living room carpet. The light feels thin, dusty—like even the day is exhausted by the shouting.

My mother roars at my father, with baby Oliver in her hands, “How did you spend the money?”
He shouts back, “I just needed a few drinks. You try working 12 hrs, 6 days in a row and tell me you don’t need a drink?”
She looks at him with disappointment, head down she whispers, “How will we pay the bills this month?”

Then I hear it—the sharp, metallic clack-clunk of the mail slot snapping shut.
I see the Mailman approaching, I run and collect the mail.
There is a heavy packet from the University of Alabama. Heavy. I got in. I don’t need to open it.

Holding it, my hands feel suddenly steady. The envelope is thick, substantial, cool against my palms. For a moment, the noise in the room seems to fade behind the weight of what I’m holding—not just paper, but a door. And I’m standing on the threshold.

I walk back; the shouting is louder. It will be silent soon—once I’m Away.
I will be going to college. 1st in my family. Oh to be 1st.