Locked (3 page)

“That’s alright, baby. Just talking to you is enough. I miss you.” Goddamn, I do. I really do.

Hannah sighs. “I miss you too.”

“When are you coming home next?” Thanksgiving is in a few weeks. I know she will be home visiting her family. She will have to see me too, right?

Another sigh. “I will be home around Thanksgiving.”

“Great. I get to see you then.” I can’t help that my voice hitches with excitement.

“We’ll see, Caydon.” Wow. Didn’t see that coming. It’s the fucking holidays and she doesn’t want to see her boyfriend?

“What the fuck does that mean, Hannah? It’s fucking Thanksgiving.” I pound my fist against the steering wheel.

“I know. I know, Caydon. You know Daddy has my schedule planned out before I come home.” I hear the regret in Hannah’s voice.

“Hannah, I don’t give a fuck what
Daddy
has planned for you. I haven’t seen my girl in months!” I yell into the phone. The stress of our relationship is getting to me.

Hannah’s voice quivers. “Caydon, please calm down. You’re different now. No need to freak out. I will talk to Daddy. Okay?”

I can hear, in her voice, that she is about to cry. It makes me feel good. I want her to cry. I want her to feel the frustration that I have felt the past two years. “Yeah, talk to Daddy. Tell him that you are going to make time to see your fucking boyfriend while you’re home. Don’t you want to see me, Hannah?” Yep, she’s crying now and I fucking love it. I know I should feel bad for making her cry. I can’t. I’ve put up with too much shit from
Daddy
. If Hannah really wants to be with me, she will tell
Daddy
to fuck off.

“Of course, I do.”

“Then fucking act like it! Tell your dad that you are coming to see me. I’ve had enough of the bullshit, Hannah. I need you. I want to see you long enough to fucking lick and suck everything on your body. Understood?”

She’s calming down. “Understood. Caydon? I really have to go. I will call you in a few days to let you know when you can expect to see me. Until then, please don’t do anything stupid.”

Yeah…Hannah…thanks for penciling me into your schedule.
“Yeah, whatever.”

“I have to go.” I hear the phone click and she’s gone.

Hannah doesn’t say that she loves me.

And I don’t get the chance to tell her that I love her.

I slam both of my fists against the dashboard. “Fuck!”

I wish I had never called her.

* * *

She hasn’t been to work in weeks. The day starts with vodka in her cup. By mid-afternoon, she naps. If she doesn’t, she’ll fall asleep anyway. Meals have been replaced with wine and a chaser of vodka or some other clear liquid.

Her once pretty skin has a slight hue of yellow in it. Basic upkeep of hygiene is forgotten.

All of the household responsibilities are now on me.

‘
Good friends’ have gone missing because she passes out before she can get to the bar.

By now, she thinks she may have the flu or some other illness. When the doctor says she can’t be fixed unless she detoxes, she wants a second opinion.

Her liver is no longer functioning and toxins are not being removed from her blood stream. Her kidneys are shutting down. The slight hue of yellow has deepened and has spread to her eyes.

She is beyond demanding and irrational. I can’t reason with her. I’ve asked my grandparents for help but they are disgusted by her behavior.

It’s a matter of time before Death comes knocking at her door. Sometimes, I pray for it to happen quickly. Other times, I pray for her to be cured. I don’t know if that makes me a good or bad person.

I think of going back home to my dad, leaving all of this behind. Leaving her behind. After all, she didn’t deliver on her promise to me. Why should I be loyal to her?

It’s too late now. I’m all that she has.

I grasp at a few vague memories of happier times so I will have something nice to say, anything to say, at her funeral. I’ve worked on her eulogy for weeks now and she’s not even dead. But she will be. I guess she’s been dying for a long time.

There are days that I sit alone, on the beach, and cry it out. Today is one of those days. I’ve allowed myself the allotted time of fifteen minutes a week to feel sorry for myself. Then I get my shit together and go back to our condominium.

Today, I walk a little slower. I know it’s selfish. She’s waiting for me. But I don’t care. I allow myself the luxury of a few minutes of peace.

By the time I get to my front door, I feel a little bit more relaxed. Now, I can go in and take care of her.

I enter her bedroom, knowing I will find her lying in bed, completely out of her mind.

She’s quiet today. I touch her shoulder. Still nothing.

The yellow tinge of her skin is now a shade of bluish gray. I tilt her head toward me and notice that her lips are the same shade of blue.

She appears to be sleeping without the normal rise and fall of her chest. I study her for a few moments. She’s at peace. And I know it’s finally happened.

My mother is gone.

I climb into bed with her and wrap my arms around her. Silently, I let the tears fall. I snuggle in as close as I can, knowing this is the last chance I will have to embrace her. It’s the last chance to tell her all of the things I’ve always wanted to share with her but couldn’t because she was so drunk. It’s the only mother-daughter talk we’ll ever have again.

Through each stabbing pain, I tell her everything. Through every tear, I give all of what I have in me. My secrets. My hopes. My dreams.

“
Mommy, I’m so sorry. You weren’t the perfect mother. But you were all I had. You deserved a better death.”
Floods of tears gush down my cheek. “When I was younger, I wished you were dead. Maybe God heard me. Does it work that way, Mom? He answers awful prayers only after you see the suffering of the request? That’s just crazy talk, right?”

I wipe the wetness from my face. “I should have never left Daddy. At least, Grandma was there looking out for me. Not like here. No one was looking out for me.” For a second, I feel sorry for myself.

My thoughts are erratic and coming quickly.

“
Maybe that’s how it works. I was born to look after you. It was my job.”

As I whimper and wail, I let out the anger that I’ve locked away from her. “The job was hard…really hard. I’ve watched your so-called best friends abandon you in your darkest hours. I’ve watched your parents stand by and watch you…me…struggle.” Someone had to be the strong one. “Sometimes, I had wished I was drunk so I wouldn’t see things so clearly. At first, I thought you were selfish. I’ve blamed you for your alcoholism. The truth is, you were the tortured one. You were ill. Sick.”

“
I promise I will not be like you. I will find the light. I will not stay in this darkness. I will make something of myself. I will be strong. I will leave you and this horrible disease in the past.” I sob through each promise I make.

I lay my head down on her chest, pretending I’m a child again. It feels good to be tranquil, even if it is for a moment.

When I’m done, the pillow beside her is drenched in my tears. I’ve purged myself, unlocking all of the doors in my heart.

My hands caress her hair. I fix her nightgown so she looks presentable for when they come and get her. I want them to know that even though I’m the only one left, she was cared for. “I love you, Mommy.”

The half hour I promised I’d give myself is up. Reluctantly, I slither from the bed and look back at her. I close the door. Once more, the door has been locked. My heart is locked.

Before I make the call, I wash my tears away in the bathroom sink. I take a deep breath and walk down the hall. I pick up the phone and dial just like I practiced in my head.

“
911 what is your emergency?”

“
My name is Reece. I live at 113 Palm Tree Lane. My mother is dead.”

* * *

Dad said everything would feel familiar once I returned. It doesn’t. I pretend I remember everything so I don’t hurt his feelings.

Everything is overwhelming to me…my dad’s house…the small town. I hardly know this place. The only positive is that it allows me to concentrate on school. There are no friends or familiar faces distracting me from my focus.

I thought about staying in Florida but there was no way I could afford living there on my own. Plus, there are too many memories. And memories are just distractions.

It’s Friday night. Most people my age are out at bars hooting it up. Not me. I’m sitting at my desk cramming for an exam. Dad walks in my room and sits on the edge of my bed. Swinging my desk chair around to see him, I hit my knee on my desk. I scream in pain and frustration. My dad’s strong hand is immediately on my knee trying to rub the pain out. My knee stops throbbing.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“It was my fault. I startled you.” My dad’s eyes are sad.

I take a good look at him. He’s a young, handsome, big guy with a kind heart. However, he is also a reminder of everything that is wrong in my life.

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m fine. Everything okay?” I ask.

Looking around my room, he says, “Man, I remember this room when it was a nursery. Seems like yesterday that you were born.”

As my dad takes a trip down memory lane, I attempt to block out his words. Most people like to hear stories of when they were growing up. Those people, most likely, had normal childhoods. I didn’t. Therefore, I don’t care to listen to my baby stories.

I cock my eyebrow in hopes that he gets the message that I’m done with this topic. He does. “Are you going out tonight?”

He’s kidding me, right? Who the hell am I supposed to go out with? “No. I have to study.”

“Maria called. She said she has been trying to text you but you are not answering her. She wants you to go out with her tonight.” My dad’s eyes light up.

I don’t mean to crush him. But I have no intention of going out with my cousin. Hence, the reason my cousin’s texts have gone unanswered. “Oh. I…um…have a bunch of things to do for school.”

For as long as I can remember, I don’t recall my dad ever getting pissed. Now, I think I can actually see the steam coming from his ears. “You’re going out with Maria and her friends.”

How dare he order me to go out!

I’m a twenty-one year old woman. Yeah, I live under his roof but I will not be forced to go out.

After thinking it over for a moment, I laugh.

“What are you laughing at?”

He probably thinks I’m crazy. “Have you ever heard of a dad punishing his daughter for not going out?” I continue to giggle.

My dad chuckles a little but his face appears sad again. “You just reminded me of your mom. She managed to find the humor in everything.”

“Are we talking about the same person? Because the person I remember couldn’t get out of bed to take a shower, let alone find anything humorous,” I quip back.

My dad rubs his eyes and then pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that, Reece. I didn’t know she was that bad.”

It’s not his fault. I’m just bitter that I was robbed of my adolescence. My mom was an alcoholic and I was stuck taking care of her. Part of it is my fault. When I was ten years old, my mom came to visit me at my grandmother’s house. She was so freaking cool and young. I wanted my mom in my life. I begged my dad and grandmother to let me go live with her in Florida. At first, my dad fought me on the idea. Eventually, he gave in because my mom convinced him that she was mature enough to take care of a kid and that she deserved time with me.

My mom and dad had me when they were fifteen years old. My dad’s mom recognized that neither one of my parents could raise a baby on their own. Although my dad lived in the house with my grandmother, she basically took care of me until I was ten years old.

My mom didn’t have much to do with me after she had me. When she was seventeen, her parents moved to Florida and she went with them. Mom came home twice a year to see me. Her last visit home, she planted the idea of me going to Florida with her when she left.

As a ten-year old kid without a mom, the idea wasn’t horrible. I was having a rough time at school with some kids. Plus, I loved interacting with my mom on her visits home. We did fun things. Mom would do my hair and makeup. We did girly activities. I definitely was persuaded by the lack of feminine influence in my life.

On top of that, my dad was a twenty-five-year-old single guy. Occasionally, he allowed his girlfriends to meet me. I would get attached to them and then he’d break up with them. I’d never admit it to him, but it sucked. My hopes would rise and then fall with each entry and exit of a new girlfriend.

At first, being in Florida with my mom was great. We lived in a little apartment by the ocean. My grandparents lived nearby and would visit quite often. During the week, my mom was the perfect parent. On the weekends, I was shipped off to my grandparents so she could go out and party with her friends.

Eventually, the partying did get out of hand. It didn’t matter if it was a weekday or weekend night. My grandparents grew tired of watching me five nights a week, as did my mom. Her parents wanted my mom to ship me back home to my dad. My mom refused.

As time went on, I began preparing meals and cleaning for my mom. Most of the time, I came home to an empty apartment. When she was home, I was cleaning up alcohol-induced vomit or kicking guys out. Kicking the guys out was harder when I became a teenager. When mom passed out and couldn’t fulfill their desires, they tried to turn to me. The bastards never had a chance. My dad never taught me to curl my hair, but he taught me to fight. Not one of my mom’s ‘boyfriends’ left without a black eye or swollen lip.

After I graduated high school, I nixed going to college so I could take care of my mom. I was able to take a few online courses here and there before the situation became out of control. By the time I noticed my mom was going under, it was too late. My mom was malnourished and her liver was shot. She was gone by the time I was twenty years old.