Visiting Mom

  It was that day again. Once a year it comes and I have to make an effort. It's always the same. It is also the week I drink in the morning and continue all day long. They call it Mothers Day. I call it visiting the devil.

Here I am staring at her apartment through the rain. The flowers I got her are three day old tulips and they are suffering. Panic and depression are surging through my veins and my head is spinning because of the double shots I got at a bar called "Hanks". I know I can't stand here forever but my legs won't move. I finally found the courage and walked over to her door. It had a small roof that extended to the steps, so I could stand there not getting anymore wet then I already was. I stood there staring at the intercom where her name was taped for apartment 14.

“Should I enter?” I asked myself aloud. “I could just walk away.”

I stood there contemplating my choices. I had to pee so bad yet still I thought about walking to the bus. If I peed my pants at least I didn’t have to see my mom. I wouldn’t even hide the pee stain as I walked. It would be like a medal of honor. I would brandish it proudly. 

“Screw it,” I said. “I’ll just wait a bit longer. Maybe there would be a volcanic eruption or something and I would be killed outright. I would die with a smile on my face.

People would wonder or chastise me when I spoke of the past with my mother. I grew up in the eighties without a father and no brothers or sisters. It would take a lot of alcohol for me to even speak of her. One day I was at a bar with my friends Carl and Howard. We were sitting at a round table in the back. All the voices made it difficult to hear each other, but we tried.

"Look at the girls here! my God!" Carl said as he sipped his stout. He was quite the nerd with his long hair tied into a ponytail. Thank God he didn't have his croc's on.

"I know," Howard responded. " It is a Friday; and the college is in session."

He was the opposite, sporting thick glasses with a shaved head. He reminded me of Urkel from that one TV show. I don't think he ever had a girlfriend.

"Should we have one more?" I asked.

"Yeah and some more shots!" Carl yelled as the crescendo of loudness increased. He chugged the last of his Lager and slammed the glass on the table. I thought maybe he had enough but I said nothing. After all, we did walk there. A waitress came up to us when she saw Carl's glass empty.

"Can I get you another round?" She asked.

"Yes please," I responded. "And three shots of Milady Whiskey." She wrote it down and walked away. Howard watched her slide across the floor. His mouth was agape and I swear I saw drool.

"Howard; Come on. She’s like 25. You’re what? 40?”

“I can look,” He said, turning to me with a smile. His glasses even seemed a bit foggy.

The waitress brought us our drinks and I lit a new cigarette. Carl waved the fresh new smoke away from his face.

“How did you get such a bad habit?” He asked. He fake coughed and began drinking his beer.

“I was an early smoker,” I said. “I think I was 14?”

“I bet when your mom found out, you got it good,” Howard said through a clenched smile.

“With the way my mom treated me, I should have been drinking whiskey and smoking crack by then.”

“Come on she wasn’t that bad. Was she?:” Carl asked. The alcohol spread through my veins warming me and making me vulnerable. “Tell us, what did she do that was so bad?” I sat back pulling up the worst memories. A smile crossed my face.

“Okay, okay I’ll let you into my young world,” I replied. “Hold onto your chairs guys.” They sat back focused on me.

“My mother was horrible. She was the worst and the worst part was, I didn’t realize it till I was older and I heard the merry stories of people I had come across. WHen they asked me about mine, I usually said she died in childbirth, because she probably did. At least on the inside. “

I lit another cigarette and put out the old one which clung to life by a fraction.

“My mother was 16 when she had me. I was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and weighed an even 7 pounds. My father was a man who I only knew as Jerry and supposedly he was in his thirties. When my mom told him of the pregnancy, he did a magic trick and disappeared. My mother raised me with my grandmother, who chain smoked and drank her high balls at noon.”

I hesitated thinking maybe I lost my friends concentration. Instead apon looking up, I saw their eyes staring at me. ALl noise in the bar vanished. We were in a bubble.

“When I was a toddler, it seems I was a tough one. At least that’s what I can discern. I only ever saw one photo of me and I was crying in it. It wasn’t even like being on Santa's lap. I was just standing there in the kitchen. I can still remember the beatings I got that young. I had a lot of trouble learning not to poop in my diaper but instead to try the toilet. Now I was young; very young, but I remember her words and actions. At first it was a slap on the ass and being told I’m disgusting but in years it was a pinch on my arm and a lot of cussing. It took me a long time to potty train. My body would shake as I was going.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Carl said. “She didn’t do that, did she?” (I looked at him seriously and he sighed.

“Is that it?” Howard asked. I smirked.

“Let me see,” I said. “ How about not being able to join any sports because she said I wouldn’t be any good or getting beaten because I got a C in History. As I went through high school, I hid my smoking that I had started when I was thirteen. I wasn’t allowed to go to prom because, well I don’t know and yearbooks or class rings were also not allowed. I was sixteen and had to hide bruises on my body from people at school. Once the bitch fed me bread with butter on it for dinner!” I said loudly. “And we had a pantry full of food!”

I had to take a breath and relax. My face was boiling hot and my nerves frayed.

“So how did you get into college?” Howard asked. “ I mean you said she didn’t help at all.”

“Well, I had a teacher, Mr. Kline, who liked me because he liked my paper on Neanderthals. He helped me fill out paperwork and apply to schools. I had to run home and get the mail before she got it. I think she had an idea though. At one point she asked me if Mr. Kline was molesting me and nearly called the police. I waited and waited, working through the summer at a coffee house. Then I threw my clothes in a bag and snuck out. I loved college plus I met my best friends.” I said raising my beer to Carl and Howard. They raised their beers and I heard over their gulping over the crowd.

I shook the memory out of my head as I stood in front of her door. I knew she was as mean as she always was and still blamed me for her lack of a childhood. The flowers I held even looked depressed knowing they would probably be thrown in her garbage. I looked up to the sky and said a prayer before entering. Then I entered what I call hell.

It was two floors to her apartment which usually took ten seconds but it seemed like a lifetime. The elevator doors opened and I walked out. Her door in the distance seemed to pulsate as I approached. I knocked.

“Mom!” I yelled near the door. “Mom!” There was no answer. I knocked harder. Still no answer. I decided to try the knob and the door opened. It creaked as though it was crying. Hesitantly, I walked inside.

The living room was dusty and dark. I walked to the window pulling open the curtains for light. It was then I saw her. She was sitting in her chair, a drink spilled where she dropped it. She was staring at me, her breathing labored. Then I caught her smell, as if she sat there for days. Something  had happened. Her eyes were bulged, as if happy to have her rescue.

“What happened mom?” I asked. I knelt down near her. Drool ran from her mouth as she tried to speak.

“Str-str-stroke,” She said in a very light whisper. I moved her gray hair away from her eyes. She glared into my eyes. My mouth, which was seriously frowning, slowly turned to a smile. She breathed faster and faster. I just stared at her frozen face.

I hesitated. “Nice seeing you mom. See you next year.” I stood up and walked away whistling. With a quick pitch, I threw the flowers in the garbage. I was free at last.