Mama No More

I wish I could say I was excited to see her.

It has been a while, five years and eight months to be exact. She left when I was seven, when I had just started to remember things and figure out who I wanted to be when I grew up and stopped in and out of my life. She always came when I was optimistic but, really, it could not have been a worse time because I was open to the world and its opportunities and how Fate played into it all; thinking maybe this was the time it would be different.

After being put into foster care, I felt like life just wasn't on my side; that Fate had something against me. Having a bipolar mom that was in and out of the house does something to a seven year old and it was that "something" that made me want to be better. I took it as it was and made it into something deserved but, here she was, standing before me at the front door of my foster parents asking me to dinner. I, like many children do, took pity on my mom and took her up on the offer.

She jumped like a toddler and a huge smile ripped onto her face, showing her crooked, yellowing teeth. "Yay! Come on," she slurred, "show me the best bar in town, let's get a drink!"

She grabbed my hand and pulled me from the door. I reached behind me and shut it to prevent the cold air from flowing inside.

"I'm twenty," figures she wouldn't know, "I'm not legal yet."

"I bet I can get you in," she bumped her shoulder against mine and opened the passenger door for me, "M'lady," she gestured inside.

Although uncomfortable and worried I would hurt her feelings to reject her invitation to dinner, I sat onto the stained seat in her red Corolla. The door slammed and she slid across the hood of the car to entertain me. It absolutely reeked of tobacco and some kind of drug that smelled wretched. I knew she was an addict reaching to any length to find a drug to keep her sane enough from her bipolar disorder. I accepted her as who she was because I understood that addicts are addicts because they keep trying to find that high that makes them feel different than how they are sober.

"Where to, miss?" She referenced a line from Titanic, thinking I was still going through my preteen romantic drama phase. Time, to her, was irrelevant but it meant everything to me.

"Go down that way," I pointed to the left, "I'll navigate."

She backed up the car and drove in that same way she did when I was little: swerving as if the road lines were as jagged as her mind and too fast for my liking.

"So..." she spoke inquisitively, "How have you been? How's school?"

"Good," I spoke shortly, soon realizing that that wouldn't be good enough to satisfy her. "I'm getting into education. I want to get into teaching."

"Oh! That's awesome! You've always been so smart. I'm sure you'll do great."

Hollow support.

"Any boyfriends?" She looked over at me with a smile, "Or girlfriends?"

"No, no boyfriends or girlfriends. I'm trying to focus on getting my life together before I get into that."

"Well, don't wait too long! I'd love a little grand kid." She's always loved kids. She was a PTA parent before she skipped out on me and always signed up for the field trips. Those were my favorite memories. "A little chubby baby. I like them fat."

"It's coming up on the left. You can park on the street."

She slid into a spot across from the front door and cut the engine. We exited and she held the door for me when we walked into the pub. It was dead around this hour, mostly picking up at night due to the college kids itching for a drink after their classes.

"Hi, table for two?" The hostess questioned.

"Yes, please! Could we get a booth?" She brushed her hair back, showing me the huge smile on her face that seemed to hurt. She seemed proud of herself when we were sat in a booth because they were always the best seats in the restaurant. "Thank you so much!"

We sat and opened the menus. It was mostly bar food, containing mozzarella sticks, nachos, and wings. She, of course, went straight to the alcohol section.

"Hi! How are we doing today?" The waiter asked and we answered with melancholy responses, "My name is Richard and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

"We'll both have vodka cranberries and a water for her," she winked at me.

"Of course," he sketched into his book, "Could I see your ID, miss?"

I went to tell him that I wasn't old enough but my mom interrupted.

"Why do you need to see her ID? I'm her mother."

She wasn't. She really wasn't.

"It's just our policy, ma'am."

She looked at me like he had two heads and laughed. "Policy? What kind of policy says that you can't serve a drink to my daughter?"

"Mom, it's fine."

"We have a lot of underage college students come in here and we just have to be careful with who we serve."

"I can assure you she is of age. Just give her the drink." She was getting louder.

"And I would be happy to do so once I've seen her ID." He smiled at me.

"You know what? We're leaving." She grabbed her purse and stood.

"Mom-"

"Come on, Macy. We don't have to eat in this shit hole that won't even serve you a drink," she looked back at poor Richard. "You know, you should be ashamed of yourself for prying on my daughter's private information, Richard. I bet they called you Dick in high school because you're acting like one."

"Mom! Go!" I shouted at her and pointed toward the door.

Finally, she walked out the door but not without flipping the middle finger at the rest of the pub.

"We don't need that place. That place sucks." She went around to the driver's side but I stood still. "Get in the car, Mace."

"No."

"Macy, get in the car, baby."

"No, I'm not getting back in the car with you."

For the first time in all those years, she wasn't smiling at me. Her eyes were holding in a kind of hurt that I've only experienced before she hit a low.

"Why?" She rounded back to me, "Why not?"

"Because you're doing it again! You're snapping at people you don't know, you're asking me about my life like you even cared in the first place, you're wanting to be around me again like you weren't the one that left!"

She took a breathe. "I know what I did all of those years ago but I changed now. I'm better."

"You said that the last time. I can't do this anymore, mom," I wish my voice hadn't broke but now I was feeling the pressure of it all with tears starting to form in the corner of my eyes that look just like hers. "When are you going to leave again, huh?"

"I'm not going to leave this time."

"But you will. You act like you haven't been coming to see me every few years when you're better but you'll be gone in a month. You do this every single time! I don't know why I thought it would be different."

"I'll make it different. I'll be different. You want to eat here? We can go back inside."

"You're not getting it," I ran my hand through my hair hoping it would brush the stress away but it never does. "I'm going home."

"Let me drive you."

"No! Just," and this was probably the worst thing I child could say to their parent, "Just leave me alone."

She finally stopped and I turned to walk down the street. I want her in my life but she would have to change so much that it wouldn't be her anymore. I want her to get help, I truly do, but she can't keep coming to me because its unhealthy for the both of us.

I heard her car start up behind me, signalling that the show was over and the pub can go back to their regularly scheduled programming. I'm not worried about her. I'm sure I'll see her again in a few years.