Brady remembered the moment as if it were yesterday. He was only three years old, but his prodigious mind and amazing memory had etched that conversation into his brain; even now, years later, it hurt.

“Look, Nan, I get it but we’re stuck with him. I tried to tell you deciding to keep him was a bad idea.” Bradford Junior, father of the small boy called Brady, was knocking back his sixth, maybe seventh, beer stretched out on the dilapidated couch in the shabby hotel room, his stockinged feet propped up on a saggy coffee table. He wasn’t aware that his son, just a toddler, was curled up under the chipped desk playing with a tiny Matchbox fire truck he had found in a corner of the room, left by some other child.

Nan, his mother, was sitting on the bed, her back against the wall and her feet stretched out in front of her. She had a beer in her hand, and a line of bottles on the bedside table. She took a long pull from the Bud and looked across the room at her husband and shook her head.

“Oh come on, Bradford. That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it. We never talked about any of it until I was too far along to get rid of him, so here he is. Besides, you gotta admit he isn’t much trouble. Kid hardly says much of anything, just stares a lot and always seems to be judging us.”

“That’s stupid. He’s three years old.” Bradford set down the beer bottle and picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords. “Whatever, we got an issue because Marco says we can’t drag him to the bar with us again tonight. He’s afraid somebody will report a minor being there and shut him down.”

“So what’s the solution, big shot?” Her words were slurred, and her eyes were at half mast. She desperately needed a nap before their gig, and it was already three p.m.

Bradford looked over at the desk and saw Brady staring at him from under the desk. “Hey kiddo. What we gonna do with you, eh?”

Brady, as usual, said nothing. Oh, he could have. He was already talking at a seven year old level, and unbeknownst to his parents could even read, but he had learned pretty early in life that staying quiet when his parents were drinking from those bottles was in his best interest. He pretended he hadn’t heard the conversation, but he had heard it all before. He knew he was a problem for them. He knew they hadn’t ever really wanted him. It was just a fact of his life.

Nan yawned. “We’ll just lock him in here. I mean, what could happen? I’ll leave him a juice box and some crackers and put the TV on that kid channel and he’ll be fine. Won’t you, Brady?” You can stay and watch TV and if you get tired just go to sleep with Bud-Bud.”

Brady crawled out from under the desk and nodded at his mother. This was new. He had never actually been left on his own, but he figured at least he wouldn’t have to sit in that dark, loud, icky bar and if he had his stuffed bunny, Bud-Bud, he’d be fine. He wouldn’t have to listen to his mommy and daddy screaming at each other, either.

“Books?” He walked over to his mother and she glanced down at him.

“They’re over there in the blue bag. Mommy’s going to take a nap now, so you be quiet, you hear?”

Brady nodded. His dad was already asleep on the couch, his mouth hanging open. He knew they’d be asleep for a while, so he got out his books and curled up under the desk again.

Such was a normal life for Brady.