Silo Springs is a thriving city in general. This corner of town is long forgotten, and should remain that way. Nothing good happens inside these withering mobile homes. The fact I have to keep stopping by this way twists my stomach. My mother has some sick attachment. Or she enjoys making me suffer. Most likely the latter.
I yank open her screen door, nearly ripping the damn thing off its rusty hinges. One more piece of trash to add on the pile of this dump. My mother isn’t just letting herself waste away. This trailer is rotting from top to bottom.
Fresh stains on the carpet welcome me, but I barely pay attention. The fact I can take a breath without dry heaving is a small blessing. Whatever is causing a rancid odor is masked thanks to the air fresheners I bought earlier this week. I recall a time when she took pride in our home. Those days are long gone. The trailer I grew up in was a palace compared to this corroding heap.
After dropping the bags off in the kitchen, I go in search of my mother. I don’t have to look far. Her limp figure is sprawled out on the saggy couch. I make my way over, being sure to avoid stepping on decaying spots in the floor. My mom doesn’t stir with the noise I make. If I had to guess, she’s been knocked out for hours. I drag over the only available chair and sit down.
“Ma?” I give her shoulder a gentle nudge.
She doesn’t move. I watch silently for a moment, catching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The ticking bomb in my stomach fizzles out seeing the slight movement. I glance at the door, contemplating an easy exit. But guilt is a fickle bitch. I can’t leave without making sure she’ll wake up. What’s left of my conscience keeps me rooted to this seat.
I shake her a bit harder. “Ma, can you hear me?”
My mother groans, the sound rough and dry. She shifts and peels her eyes open. That cloudy gleam in her detached gaze tells me everything I need to know. She won’t remember this conversation tomorrow. I’m sure she got ahold of something strong. With a crooked smile, she shows off rotting, yellowed teeth.
“Hi, boy.” Her voice rattles with effort. She makes no attempt to sit up, not that I expect her to.
Bile threatens to bubble up my throat, but I swallow the acid down. “Glad you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her question is ludicrous. I blink at her while trying to gather a response that doesn’t resemble a bellow. Several deep breaths grant me the power to continue this shallow exchange.
“I can never be too sure,” I grind out.
A bony wrist flicks in my direction. “No need to worry yourself over me.”
Easy for her to say. I was shoved into the parent role at age fourteen. Why stop now? I scrub a palm over the stubble coating my jaw. “Yeah, well, you’re my responsibility.”
“That’s your own stupid fault.” She probably meant for those words to sting, but her tone is thinner than these weak ass walls.
“Never said it wasn’t,” I mutter.
“So, what do you need?”
I hitch a thumb behind me. “Brought you some food. Knew you were running low.”
My mother inhales too sharply and begins hacking. Her wet cough makes me flinch. She’s bound to snap a rib at this rate. Once she gets the fit under control, I release the breath trapped in my lungs. She shoots me a pathetic glare.
“Stop wasting your money on shit I don’t need. If you wanna help me out, leave cash on the table.”
I’ve given her more money than I care to admit. She immediately turns around looking for a score, shooting it up into hercollapsing veins. This woman can’t stay clean to save her life—quite literally.
Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and again, always getting the same results, but expecting something different. I’ve never considered myself a very stable man, but I know when to quit. I’m not playing this game with her.
“How about you eat something? I can make tomato soup.” That’s usually an easy sell because no chewing is required. But my mother’s bleary eyes narrow further and I already have my answer.
She gives a harsh jerk of her head. A clump of matted hair sticks to her forehead. Shiny blonde has long faded into a dull gray. “I’m not hungry.”
I hold up a hand. “Fine. Your choice.”
“Damn straight. Not sure why you’re always barging in here, trying to force shit on me.”
“I won’t apologize for trying to keep you alive,” I spit in return.
Her lazy gaze drifts to the drooping ceiling. “Well, good luck with all that. Feel free to show yourself out. You’re better off leaving me to rot.”
The burger I had for lunch curdles in my stomach. There are many days I’d agree with her. But leaving my mother to die isn’t an option I can manage, even if that’s what she’s trying to do. Her blatant dismissal leaves me with toxic thoughts and a daily dose of reality. Being in this dismal space is a black hole. Seconds and minutes get doused in molasses, sticking together without moving. It all ticks by so slowly I’d assume time is frozen.
