Blazed (42 page)

“But I'm so tired,” I say. “I want to go back to sleep.”

“Please,” she begs. “You're leaving so soon. This is the last time I get to be with you here. Just come with me. One last drive through the country like the old days. And we can listen to whatever you want to. Don't you remember those really nice times when me and you were gonna never leave each other and just be mom and son forever, together?”

The way she's looking at me is weirding me out. I'm breathless for a moment. I feel really anxious.

“Please,” she begs again.

I know I shouldn't. I got a long day in front of me, but it's her. It's my mother and I'm leaving and all she wants is this one last drive. Drives that I always loved to take with her too. And I go, “Okay, Mom.”

She nods and goes, “The last drive. Doesn't that have the most beautiful ring to it too?”

“Just let me get dressed, okay?”

“Sure,” she says. “I'll be downstairs waiting.”

• • •

And we leave the city. That Youth Lagoon song “Montana” plays on my phone, since she said I could play whatever.

The sky right now, it looks so different to me. It looks like it's daytime, but the stars and the moon are still kind of hovering a little bit and the roads are empty for the most part.

The fields and the houses we fly by look so dreamy.

My mother, she's holding that same thermos she always does, and I know it's filled with red wine because I can smell
it on her and I can see the red lines it's left on her lips and I wonder if she's even slept.

I wonder how many bottles she's drunk already.

As we climb over this hill, she accelerates the car really fast. We're probably doing, like, eighty miles an hour as she begins to talk about the very best ballet performance she gave in New York once. . . . Her best one ever, she's saying.

She goes, “There were two thousand people there. It was
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. I was the lead, of course. Your father was in the front row. He'd sent me the most beautiful bouquet of flowers before the performance, and all the other girls were so interested and jealous. We were so much in love. He was my man. My beautiful man. And boy, I nailed it that night. I've never felt more alive in my life. Before that night or any time after. The standing ovation was deafening. My ears were ringing, and I had tears in my eyes as I took my final bow. Everyone loved me back then, and everyone knew I was about to become the best ballet dancer in New York City.”

Tears begin to fall down her face. Slowly, the car veers into the other lane.

“Mom,” I go. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” she whispers, looking at me with a pair of the most haunting eyes I've ever seen from her, and I've seen so many.

“Look at the road, Mom,” I say. “Please just pay attention.”

She giggles and then slides back into the proper lane.

“Maybe I should drive now, Mom. How about that?”

“No!” she snaps. “No! You don't want to drive anymore, remember? You're leaving. There's no driving left for you to do.”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “Let's just go back home.”

“In a little bit, my boy. In a little bit we'll be home.”

I sigh and try to remain calm, even though my stomach is in knots.

And she goes, “When you were born, you were my everything. Deep down I knew that my old life was never going to come back to me. I knew, Jaime, and you were my savior.”

I bite my bottom lip.

“I love the ballet.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“And it was taken from me for good. Taken!”

“Mom.”

“And I love you, my sweet boy, just like I love the ballet.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“And I can't let you be taken away from me for good. I'll just die. I know this.”

Prolly like two miles in front of us, coming at us in the other lane, is a semi truck.

“You are my last link to the happiest time of my life,” she says. “The last link.”

“I love you, Mom. We will still be a family. Still be together.”

“Oh, I know,” she goes. “Me and you will be. We'll always be together now. Forever.”

She takes another drink and unties her coat.

I turn white.

She's wearing her ballet dress.

Holy shit.

She looks at me now and says, “We are always going to be together, Jaime. Just me and my beautiful boy.”

Then she veers the car back into the other lane.

I start yelling for her to quit it. I scream for her to stop, just please stop, just please let me drive and take us back home.

But she shakes her head and her smile grows and she grabs my phone and turns up the volume all the way.

This is what she wanted anyway. This was her plan.

And in front of us, the semi keeps coming hard. I'm sure it's honking and I'm sure the driver is wondering what the fuck is going on. And I'm sure he's getting really nervous.

Then all of a sudden, my mother cranks the volume down and she looks at me. Her eyes say it all. This is her peace. This is what she needs to happen and this is how she gets to have me no matter what, all to herself again.

And she says, “Just me and my boy and my favorite dress. I love my ballet dress. I love my sweet boy.”

And the strangest thing happens next. With the semi less than a hundred feet from us, this beautiful calm just washes over me. This light shines into the car. I'm going with
her. I have no choice now and it's fine. I'll let her have what she wants. For the last eight days, I had the best life a boy can ever have. I loved a girl. I got to hold her hand and listen to my favorite bands with her. I got to look at her and sing her a song. It was perfect. I had my taste of perfect and I'm okay with this now.

When she holds her hand out to me, I take a deep breath and look into her eyes. They look so angelic and then everything gets blurry cos it's time. The fog swarms in and the haze blows everywhere and I take her hand and I squeeze it and I nod and she goes, “Are you ready?”

I whisper, “I am, Mom.”

The semi is twenty feet from us now, and I close my eyes one last time as I brace myself for impact. Brace myself for the end.

Images of me and Kristen laughing and dancing in the basement to that Naked and Famous song “Punching in a Dream,” of me and my father standing near the ocean talking about
Vertigo
and my mother, of me and Eddie and Brandon writing songs and skateboarding together, of me and Savannah getting stoned and listening to Portugal. The Man, of me and James fucking Morgan talking about what it means to actually live life, smash through my head.

And finally, an image of Dominique and me standing at the top of the train station holding hands, listening to Youth Lagoon, pounds through my head and that's the one I want. The last memory I see is the happiest moment
I've ever had, and I won't lose it now. I'll have that moment for eternity.

And none of this is fair. Nothing was ever fair in my life. Squeezing my hand so hard I think it's going to break, I open my eyes for the last time and look at my mother, and she looks so peaceful. This woman who's done nothing but battle her whole life is finally at peace, and this is good enough for me.

I just hope the papers get it right and I hope that Dominique will never find anyone better than me. And I hope . . .

BANG!

CRASH!

SMASH!

This is all over now.

This is the end.

I SHOOT UP STRAIGHT IN
bed and can barely breathe. I'm covered in sweat. I'm panicked. Looking around my room, I'm still here, though. Still in my room, and my mother, she's sitting next to the door, crying, wearing a brown trench coat and pink sweatpants.

I feel so sick seeing her in the coat and sweatpants.

“How long have you been in here?” I ask.

“Long enough,” she says.

“I'm not taking that drive with you. No way.”

“What drive?” she asks.

“The one,” I start to say.

Pause.

Looking around the room again, this here, this is real life. Not a dream.

And I say, “Sorry, never mind.” Then, “Have you slept yet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Come on, Mom. Just cos I'm leaving doesn't mean I don't care.”

“Sure it does. But I'll answer. No, I haven't.”

“How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“A couple hours, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Cos this is all I get now. These last few hours with you.”

“That's not true,” I snap.

She stands up. She's as shaky as I've ever seen her. That Lewee Regal song, “Broken Ever Thus,” quickly smashes through my head as she says, “Sure it is. Once you leave, my life is over.”

“Don't say that,” I go.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stares at me and says, “There's nothing left to say besides that.”

“Mom,” I go, reaching out for her.

But the doorbell rings and she says, “That's your father. It's time to go, my boy.”

She stands up and walks out of the room.

Hold it together, I tell myself. Just hold it together and everything will be okay.

Oh, those lies we try and fool ourselves with. The responsibility that will never stop even for a lie.

I get dressed and go downstairs. My father, he has half the truck loaded already.

My mother, she's in the kitchen and I watch her swallow an Oxy.

When my father comes back to the front door to grab more boxes, he goes, “You look exhausted, son. Did you sleep last night?”

Looking over at my mother, I go, “I did. I had to. She's still here.”

“Huh?” he goes.

“Nothing,” I say, as my mother looks over at me and smiles.

It's the same creepy smile from my dream.

It shakes me.

And when my father turns around with that last load, my mother goes, “I hope you do so well there.”

“Me too.”

“I'm gonna be sorry that I miss all of that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says.

I go to the door and help load the rest of my shit into the truck.

When we're finished, my father locks the back of the truck. My mother is standing in the doorway. We both watch her swallow something and wash it down with water, and my father says, “Go do what you need to do. I'll be waiting in the truck.”

“Yeah,” I go.

I walk up to my mother.

“I didn't do anything wrong,” she sniffs. “I saved you when you were a baby boy, and I made sure you had a great life.”

“Okay,” I say. “But I can also have a great life there.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she goes. “I'm so lost now. I don't know what to do.”

“The dance school,” I go, spitting out the first thing I can think of, even though I know it won't do shit.

“Whatever,” she says, crying again. “I have nothing without you. Life won't matter without you.”

“You'll be just fine,” I say. “This will all be fine.”

“But it won't,” she goes. “So just go. Stop worrying about me. I'll do what I need to do.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I'll never be a problem for anyone again,” she says.

“Jaime,” my father goes.

I turn around.

“We should get going now.”

“All right.”

I look back at my mother and say, “I'll call you when we stop for the night.”

“Don't,” she goes.

“Why not?”

“I won't be able to answer.”

“Mom,” I go.

And she says, “I didn't do anything that wrong. I helped you become who you are. I'm a great mom.”

“You are,” I say.

“Were,” she says.

“What?”

She stares at me and goes, “Nothing.”

She goes, “Have the best life ever, my boy. I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Jaime,” my father goes again.

“Coming,” I say.

Before I turn back around, I look at my mother again, her face in her hands, sobbing, her with no sleep, her, the most gorgeous person in the world even though she's completely lost.

I try to hug her again, but she pushes me away and says, “Just go, please. If you aren't gonna live here, just leave and let me be.”

Nodding, I say, “Okay.”

Turning around, I walk to the passenger side of the truck and get in.

We pull away.

As we turn out of the driveway, I look in the passenger-side mirror and watch my mother crying.

It really might be the last time I see her.

It's the worst I've ever fucking felt.

Two blocks later we hit a red light and it just floors me. I can't go. I just cannot go with my father and live in San Francisco. I can't leave my mother like this. She never abandoned me.

Fuck the suicide attempt.

She took me in the middle of the night and saved me.

I can't leave.

Never.

Until it's on her terms, not mine.

I just can't.

My mother, she said to me one time a few months ago, while she was totally blacked and I know she doesn't
remember, but she said to me, she went, “You should get the hell away from me someday soon. I'll only destroy you after I'm done destroying myself. So just go. Leave me. It'll be the best thing for you.”

I never said anything about it to her.

You don't ruffle that kinda feather, especially when you're aware that the person who said that has no recollection of it.

So I let it pass.

I never thought I'd ever have the chance to leave her either.

But now, knowing what I'm doing, I can't leave. I just can't.

What I wanted to say to my mother that night was, “If I leave, you will die. That's the truth. You will really kill yourself. And there's no way I can live with myself knowing that you only did it because I left.”