3. Elena
Icome home to find the front door open and my mom passed out on the couch, a lit cigarette in her hand. If I’d been any later, she would’ve burned the fucking house down with her inside.
Maybe we would have both been better off with that outcome.
Sighing I pinch the cigarette from between her fingers and butt it out, giving her arm a gentle shake. She needs to eat, something she probably hasn’t done all day.
“Leave me alone.” She rolls over, putting her back to me. Not wanting the hassle, I pick up a throw blanket off the chair and cover her, before locking the door and turning out the light. Hopefully, she’ll sleep her bender off and when she has a clear mind, I can talk to her about sobering up… again.
Fingers crossed that this is the time she agrees. Then all I have to do is figure out how to come up with the money to send her to the center. I’d sell my body if it meant she never picks up another drink again. I’m afraid she’s one step away from turning to something harder—drugs. She’s already smoking pot.
I head to the kitchen and open the bag, pulling out Mama’s food and placing it in the refrigerator before sitting down to eat my own. I take a few bites of the burger and cold fries before my stomach churns. The grease is making me feel sick instead of satisfying my hunger.
I wrap the remaining food up and put it in the refrigerator. Maybe I’ll eat it later or Mama can tomorrow. When I’m done, I make my way down the hallway to my bedroom. All I want is a shower and sleep, in that order.
I empty my pockets, pulling out the cash I made in tips, adding it to the stash in my underwear drawer. Not Fort Knox, but it’s kept my money safe since I’ve started working. The business card catches my attention, but I drop it on top of my dresser, then pull out some underwear and a nightgown, before heading back out to the bathroom.
The once white walls are stained yellow from nicotine, and the pictures all hang crooked. Any picture of my father has long been removed. She claims it was too hard to see the love of her life’s face every day.
I undress, dropping everything to the floor, and lean over to turn the shower on. The water blasts out of the head and I turn the knob, sticking my hand in to test the temperature. Changing my mind at the last second, I switch it to fill the tub. My muscles are so tense, soaking in a hot bath sounds better right now.
Once the tub is almost full, I turn the faucet off and step into the hot water. I hold back the yelp as the scalding heat hits my bare legs. After a moment, I’m able to slowly lower the rest of my body down into it, moaning as my aches melt away.
Resting my head back on the porcelain tub, I close my eyes and let my mind calm from the day. Edward’s conversation with me still lingers in my thoughts. All I can do is try to figure out what his angle is and what’s on that site he wanted me to check out.
I end up obsessing to the point I give up trying to relax and pull the plug, letting the water swirl in its own little tornado funnel as it goes down the drain.
I’ve barely dried off when I hear a thud from the living room.
Mama.
I wrap the threadbare towel around my body, holding it securely at my breasts as I rush out to check on her.
“Mama, are you okay?” I yell.
“I’m fine. Where’s my beer and cigarettes? Did you take them?” She glares at me as she pushes herself up from the floor.
“No.” I stop at the entrance to the living room as she stumbles into the kitchen, grumbling under her breath the entire way.
She’s always complaining about how I ruined her life. Some days I wish my dad would never have left and instead, dropped me on the doorstep of an orphanage somewhere. Maybe then my mother would be happy and I wouldn’t so feel unwanted.
“Mama, I brought you some food. I put it in the fridge, so why don’t you eat it? I can warm it up if you want me to.” I try to coax her to sit down, as I grip my towel tightly, so it doesn’t fall.
“What you can do is give me my damn ciggies and beer. I know your ass took them. If I want something to fucking eat, I can get it myself. I’m not a damn invalid!” she yells, spittle flying from her mouth as she glares at me.
“Mama, I know you can. I was just trying to help,” I plead with her, my vision blurring from the tears welling in my eyes.
She staggers over to me, grasping the counter to stay upright until she’s standing right in front of me. Her breath is rancid, and she’s sweating out the alcohol profusely. My stomach churns, but I don’t move.
“The only thing I need you to do is leave. I don’t want you around. It should’ve been you and not my sweet husband. If you weren’t such a sniveling, disobedient brat, he’d still be here. So the only thing I want, Lenny, is for you to give me the money you owe me for all the years I’ve taken care of you. Then you can move the fuck out.” She breaks into a coughing fit, but her words already do their damage.
Turning slowly, I make my way out of the kitchen and back to my bedroom. She’s still drunk, and it’s the alcohol talking. She doesn’t mean a word of what she’s saying. That’s what I keep telling myself. Maybe I’m the delusional one?
When I’m in the safety of my room, behind the closed door, I let the tears fall. I lean back on the wall before sliding down to the floor, the towel being the only barrier between me and the old, stained carpet.
I can’t hold it back anymore, finally allowing myself to break down. Drinking makes her such a cruel person, and every bit of hatred she has for me bleeds from her pores. Sadly, she’s drunk more than sober these days, so this heartless person has become her norm.
I’m giving myself five minutes to cry it out, allowing her words to affect me, then I’m standing and wiping them away.
Five minutes turn to ten, but then I do exactly what I said I was going to do. I make my way over to my dresser and once again pull out a nightgown and some underwear. My mother’s antics caused me to leave the ones I already had in the bathroom, and I’m not willing to risk running into her again. I will get them tomorrow.
All I want to do is crawl into bed and go to sleep, ready for the day to be over.
My alarm blares, pulling me out of a deep sleep.
Why didn’t I turn it off? That’s right, Mama had me flustered last night, and I forgot. Throwing the blanket off, I sit up and run my toes through the carpet. I’ve done it since I was a kid, but now it’s not as plush as it once was. The long-ago sensation of digging my toes in a fluffy cloud is now gone. It’s more like concrete, with my toes getting stuck with each stroke they make.
Standing, I quickly dress, wanting to make it to the laundromat before it gets too crowded. There’s nothing worse than having to fight for a machine or being stuck there all day. Last time that happened, I was sandwiched between a chatty woman with six kids running around like wild banshees and a grungy looking older man, who kept sneaking glances at my underwear. Honestly, I was afraid he was going to try and steal some of them when my back was turned.
I make sure I’ve collected all the dirty clothes from my room, putting them in the basket before stopping by the bathroom and getting my discarded uniform from last night.
Mama’s snores drift down the hallway, letting me know she’s both alive and still here. Making a U-turn, I head back to her bedroom, checking if she has anything that needs to be washed.
I cringe when I find nothing. Where are her clothes? Have I been so oblivious to notice she hasn’t changed her clothing all week?
Her room reeks and I set my basket down on her bed long enough to open the windows so it can air out. Somehow, I think it’s going to take more than that to get the stench out.
I do a quick run through of the house. Mama doesn’t even stir.
For a moment, I look down on her sleeping form, watching the small rise and fall of her chest and shoulders as she breathes, and I wonder what life would’ve been like for her if Dad never left. Even more so, what would it have been like if I were never born? Would they still be together? Would he have been such a bad man? Most of all, would Mama have turned into the person she’s become?
I stop myself and shake off the what-ifs. Life is about the present and what’s to come, not what may have been. I can’t live like that, and neither can Mama. She just hasn’t realized it.
I get the laundry detergent and fabric softener from the closet, putting both in my basket. I need to hurry. A storm is supposed to be rolling through and I don’t want to be caught walking in it. I set the basket down and rush back to grab the umbrella from where it hangs on the hook in the pantry, then head back to the living room.
Stepping out the door, I sigh. Please let today be a good one. Let Mama see the light and want to change. For her words to be kind and not hateful.
It never hurts to send up a silent prayer. Does it?