60. Lolly
sixty
Lolly
“Hey man,” I say as Jay comes over the car stereo system.
“How is everything?”
“The Richardsons told the police they weren’t interested in making a report and didn’t want to press charges,” I say with a breath of relief.
“Oh, man I’m so glad to hear it. That could have gone south so fucking fast.”
“No shit. If someone had broken into Mom’s in the middle of the night they probably wouldn’t live to tell about it.”
“I honestly can’t believe they recognized her in time. I’m so sorry that happened, Lolly. I really am.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“How’s the alarm system coming along? Have you been able to fix the perimeter issue you were having?”
“Yeah, I made some minor adjustments and it seems to be working. I’ll need to activate it tonight to make sure.”
“Your brain is so sexy.”
“Fuck off.”
“Love you too.”
I laugh as he ends the call, slowly pulling into the garage hoping the damn door isn’t creaking again.
I open the door slowly, wincing as it squeaks.
I do my best to keep my heavy footfalls light, waking Mom at this hour is a dangerous game.
I slide my combat boots off and make my way to the living room with careful steps.
The hardwood floors creak under my feet, long sighs of projected grief and stolen laughter.
I sag with relief when I round the corner to see that she’s still soundly sleeping in her recliner, her favorite flannel blanket pulled up under her chin and over her shoulders.
She looks peaceful in sleep, no visible lines of pain or fear marring her beautiful face. Her pale skin shines brightly in the glow from the streetlight, her wrinkles softened in sleep without daylight’s cruelty.
Her waking hours fall victim to time’s thievery. Her heart is just as beautiful as it ever was, but her brilliant mind is muted and eroding, making her best days my most gruelingly difficult ones.
I miss her. I miss her like I miss her warm apple pies on Sundays. I miss her like a lame bird misses flying. To mourn the absence of a presence is fucking remarkable.
She would be here if she could. She would have stayed had she been given a choice.
But that choice was taken from her years ago.
Her autonomy, her voice, her spirit. The beautiful mosaic that makes her who she is, slowly rearranged and drained of all color.
Her vivid reds now a pale grey, her warmth now a flicker of yellow in the dark.
As I watch her sleep, with a soft smile on her lips, a warmth seeps through a few jagged pieces, slowly caressing my chest. It’s still heavy, but I would grieve a thousand days in exchange for the ones we had. The ones we were given. And the ones to come.
An aching vice wraps around me, the way her arms used to. I still love her in the ways I can, the ways I know. My mangled heart is capable of only safe, measured sentiment now. Manufactured in the murky depths of what could have been.
My phone vibrates, pulling me from my thoughts.
Jinx: How did today go?
Me: Not bad, she’s sleeping now. Corina just left.
Jinx: Oh, thank fuck she passed your background check.
Me: Wasn’t at all impressed by her choice of prom date, but yeah, she did.
Jinx: God forbid a woman have a hobby.
Me: No harm in being thorough. She’s been great so far. She even offered to do some overnight shifts.
Jinx: Good, you need to get some rest. You look like shit.
Me: Never one to mince words.
Jinx: Love you, mean it. ??
Last week, I refurnished the guest bedroom for Corina. Guilt gnaws at me with just the thought of a night away, but Jinx is right. I need a break and some uninterrupted sleep. In a fucking bed.
Long nights on the couch have done a number on my back since I’m longer than the damn thing. I’ve tried every position imaginable and have even considered giving in and buying a whole ass bed. The aesthetics would be fucked, but it sounds heavenly.
I sigh, side-eying the couch like it was crafted with the sole purpose of being a literal pain in my ass.
I just can’t afford to sleep upstairs anymore.
The night she wandered into the neighbor’s house was terrifying.
Alternate outcomes still play through my mind weeks later, each of them more horrifying than the last.
Thank God for Corina. My cheeks heat at the reminder that I definitely invaded her privacy when I conducted that background check.
I used a hybrid data analysis and surveillance programming software I developed a few years ago and dug through her entire digital footprint.
Family too. Honestly, it’s no different than any other employer doing a background check on a potential new hire, right?
I look up when Mom stirs, a small snore escaping her lips. She looks so peaceful now that I find myself wishing it could last, bypassing the inevitable. No waking to any form of suffering, pain, or fear. I cover her bare feet with the edge of her blanket and quietly make my way to the kitchen.
I spot a note that Corina left on the refrigerator; a trend she and I have quickly made a habit.
“Out of briefs, gave last Aricept, prescription should be ready at pharmacy, -C.” I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth as I roll my eyes, a trip to the local pharmacy not on my list of shit to do tonight.
Cor is off this weekend for the first time so it’s only fair that I take a turn making the drugstore trip. I’m not bothered by small talk or traffic, I just worry about leaving Mom alone. My stomach turns with unease.
I pull in a deep breath. Okay, there’s a damn good chance I can be in and out of there with a smile and swipe of my credit card. It’s going to be fine.
What if she wakes up afraid?
What if she panics?
Can I make it back here in time?
I grab my cell phone out of my back pocket and pull up the surveillance app that’s connected to the cameras and alarm system I installed a few months back.
I locate the feed from the living room and with a few minor adjustments I have the camera focused on Mom.
I set the perimeter alarm to three feet around her recliner.
The system is set to send an alarm notification to my phone within seconds of her stirring.
I’ve tested it multiple times since installation and was able to work out the minor kinks without much difficulty, but I need to run the perimeter calculations in real time.
The audio system capabilities I added on allow me to speak directly to her through the speakers I mounted in the living room, kitchen, and main entryway.
She rarely goes upstairs anymore, her knees decided years ago that she preferred the lower floor.
It’s funny how our bodies can dictate both where we are and who we are.
Never questioning why, just running amuck and allowing chaos to ensue.
I test the speakers again. The audio is flawless. The perimeter alarm is live. The unsettled feeling in my gut begins to calm.
I still need to check the locking mechanism. I quietly walk to the front door and initiate the system. “Ca-chunk,” I wince as the lock clicks into place, but when I turn around I find her still unbothered, sleeping soundly. My shoulders relax as a small smile stretches across my face.
I felt like the installation of the locking system was an invasion of her privacy, but I don’t know of an alternative at this point. I want to keep her home. To keep her with me. I’ll sacrifice whatever I need to as long as it buys us more time.
I huff in resignation and grab the keys to the black G-Wagon I have parked in the garage.
The car is flashy as fuck, but when I saw her on the lot I knew she had to be mine.
I used to judge the shit out of people who drove luxury vehicles and wore designer clothes and then found myself doing the same damn thing.
My bad. I feel fucking good in them. Hell, I look good in them.
I love the pieces despite their price tags.
Capitalism is a disease, but fashion is art, and art is expensive.
I will die on that hill. Each stitch is intentional, clearly constructed with purpose, the fabrics chosen with meticulous scrutiny.
Designer whore? Maybe. Ashamed? Not even a little.
I shrug on my favorite black leather jacket, covering my mesh top, and let myself out through the garage door. I start the car after adjusting the radio to ensure it isn’t blaring loud music.
A nervous hum skates across my skin so I glance at Mom’s feed one last time before I pull out of the driveway and into the star-kissed night.
The five-minute drive to the pharmacy feels infinitely further tonight.
Time’s dragging like a limp dick so I turn the music up hoping for a distraction.
My attention drifts as I spot a couple walking hand-in-hand on the sidewalk downtown.
Memories of that night Bailey left the club with me in my wings, glitter, and all my glory play in my mind.
He’d been brave that night, but I didn’t know it then.
I didn’t realize then that each step he took in sync with mine, was a step toward a destination he’d never thought to travel.
I round the corner of the final block before the pharmacy and find a parking spot directly out front.
Not bad.
The lights inside are on but the place appears empty, the sideways-leaning Open sign suspicious.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, “Stop holding onto someone who let you go,” I say sternly before swinging the car door open and stomping across the parking lot. My boots are loud on the gravel-covered pavement, accentuating the quiet night.
I roll my eyes in contempt, already certain I hate whoever the hell is working tonight. Probably some old fucker who wants to tell me about his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
I’m imagining the entire scene when I’m startled—jumping in surprise when a high-pitched bell sounds as the door opens. Christ on a fucking cracker, Lolly. The fuck is wrong with you?