A Breath Worth Taking

Oftentimes, I walk around with an invisible mask on my face. To the eye, I appear innocent, sweet, and kind. My smile might melt your heart. Men may walk past me and look back at their shoulders as they pass by. I have an aura that people tend to gravitate to, pheromones that can cause a deadly addiction.

However, when my mask comes off, I can become your worst enemy. Nonetheless, my hands will always remain clean.

It all started at a young age, I can’t remember it all due to trauma. But, I remember what matters, what got me here in the first place. At the age of six, my mother woke me up for my first day of first grade. It was a warm, sunny day in Southern California. The palm trees were reaching the sky and the sun was already beaming through the window that morning. As most six year olds would be, I was excited to go to school that day. Ecstatic to meet my new teacher, see my friends that I haven’t seen for almost two months. School was like an amusement park, with recess and fun activities during class. Yet, the school staff and my classmates had no idea, being there was also an escape from home.

Being at home with mom all summer was rough. She was a single mother and had me at nineteen years old. Our sperm donor, my “dad” abandoned us after being discharged from the hospital when I was born. My mom refuses to talk about him, she said he was a lost cause and not important enough to begin wasting her breath. I would say she did decently for the first five years of my life, but when she lost her job at the end of the school year, everything quickly began to decline. She was able to get a new job right away, but it wasn’t enough to pay our bills, so she then got a second job. I’m not complaining, she did what she had to do, provide for me, feed me, and keep a roof over my head. I only had her on her days off, which were Mondays and Tuesdays. Other days, I’d be with my grandma. She’d work from 4:00am to 12:30pm, start her graveyard shift a couple hours later, then pick me up from Grandma’s sometimes as late as midnight.

The days she had off were quiet, then loud. She’d sleep for half of the day, then wake up restless and turn to a bottle of whiskey. Sometimes, I believe she loved the dark, musky smelling bottles more than she loved me. Her breath told me every night when she would kiss me with sorrow before bed. The trace of her foul scent would travel like a stamp miles away.

I picked up the stress and sadness from her actions. I was a sponge who soaked up all her negative aspects. Not to say, all of her positive features too. During school I hid my emotions so I could be worry free for just a few hours. The sound of the breeze whistling through the leaves, the kids playing outside, and the bells from school were all what kept me sane. The moment I’d get home, everything was back to normal.

School was just across the street from home, so I was used to walking home and looking forward to seeing mom so I could tell her all about my first day before she’d head off to work. The first day was always the busiest, cars were lined up to pick up kids, buses were crowding the exit to departure. The cross guards were waiting at the crosswalks to guide us down the street and keep us safe. That particular day, I was very anxious to get home.

I approached the crosswalk and the cross guard gently smiled at me, then stood in front of me with her neon vest and giant red stop sign until it was time to go. As soon as the last car passed, she raised her hand to the side and lifted the stop sign up. She started to direct me across the street and I was ready to start walking. One step after the other, I went and my backpack kept tapping my booty after each step I took. I couldn’t wait to take it off.

Right when I reached the other side of the sidewalk, I began to gallop to our apartment courtyard. The entrance was inviting with an arched exterior, and all kinds of green foliage along the pathway. It was my favorite part of walking home. I turned to the right to get to our unit and unlocked the door with my single gold key. When I entered it was dark, cold, and soundless. I thought to myself, “Mom should be getting ready for work already, isn’t she going to be late if she’s still asleep?” I slid my backpack off my little shoulders and headed towards the bedroom to see that no one was there. “Mommy…?” I quickly ran out to the kitchen and saw a small sticky note on the counter next to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (my favorite).

The note read, “Mommy had to leave to work early today, Grandma will be by in a few minutes to pick you up. Enjoy your sandwich and you can tell me all about your day later.” I put the note down and my lips slowly dragged down my face, my eyebrows lifted and my eyes shifted to the side. Although she was not there, I couldn’t hate my mom, she was working hard. I took my sandwich to the round wooden dining table and sat down.

KNOCK! KNOCK! I heard a couple of loud thuds on the door. “Sweetie! June, it’s Grandma,” said my grandma from outside the front door. “Hm? That was fast. Mom really wasn’t kidding when she said Grandma was going to be here in a few minutes,” I said questionably in my head. Not to mention, I didn’t even get to take a bite of my sandwich yet. After all, she did only live a couple minutes down the road.

The next morning I was surprised to see my grandma leaning over me, rubbing my shoulder to wake me up for school. This was the first time my mom hadn’t picked me up. That being the case, Grandma took me to school that morning and I didn’t ask any questions on the way there. I was speechless and couldn’t find the words to say, or the courage to ask; “Where’s Mommy…?” Only because I was afraid of what the answer would be. Would my grandma have had an explanation for that? My mind was running laps that morning.

RRINNGGGG! The same familiar sound that I’d hear for the next twelve years of my life woke me up from a daze. My teacher escorted us outside to leave for the day and I was sluggish. Taking my time, I made my way to the crosswalk stunned to see my mom waiting on the other end. My eyes widened and immediately lit up.

As soon as the cross guard raised the stop sign, I ran across the road towards my mom. Her arms were wide open for me and at last, I felt wanted.

When we made it home, she flicked the light switch on and sat down on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. My enthusiasm instantly lowered and my tiny heart was beating outside my chest, I knew something was coming.

“Honey Bun, please come sit down next to Mommy,” my mother said tenderly. I fixed myself next to her and for some reason started to choke, anticipating what she was going to say. “Junie, I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up last night. It was a long day for me and Mommy got stuck at work for a couple extra hours. Instead of risking waking you up late to go home, it was better to have you stay the night at Grandma’s. Now, there’s someone I want you to meet this weekend. Your dad—he… he happened to show up at my work yesterday.” “MY DAD?,” I said voicelessly, pondering on what’s to happen next. I thought he was a lost cause.

Four years from then and my ears couldn’t help but be open to my mom getting beaten by my dad on the other side of the room. Ever since he stepped into our lives, it’s been chaos. One day, he twisted her hair into a knot between his fists and dragged her across the shaggy carpet into the room. God knows what happened after that. I loathe him with every inch of my soul. I wished he would just die or somehow disappear. Mommy said he would support us, but he has done nothing but abuse her almost daily. She stopped working, which was nice, but as soon as my dad got home, she would hide back into her shell. She is most definitely not herself anymore. I completely lost my mom and it’s all because of that malicious, self-absorbed motherfucker. Despite her not being physically present before, she was still my mom. She drank to absorb the mental weight she had been experiencing. However, there were always better days ahead when she wasn’t under the influence.

There were many instances when he would get angry over stupid shit. Some scenes replay in my head like a rerun of a TV show. Like this particular time I can’t seem to forget, “Bitch! Didn’t I tell you to wash my work clothes separately from my regular clothes?!,” he yelled from the laundry closet. Mom replied, “Sorry. There weren't enough clothes to wash separately. It would’ve been a waste of water.” “Fuck does it matter?! You don’t pay the bills in this place! Dare to do that shit again you useless whore.” Mom would never say anything back, she did anything she could to prevent a batter.

Today, after years of witnessing my dad abuse my mother, we are laying him beneath the surface due to an undiagnosed death. As I sit in front of my vanity mirror to get dolled up for today's event, memories flood into my dome of all the heartache my mother and I have endured. It is more or less, a celebration for us two.

We planned to meet at the funeral home parking lot. Upon arrival, I catch her leaning against her car looking down at her cellphone. She’s wearing long, wide, black slacks, and a sheer long sleeve blouse. She looks a bit distressed but relieved at the same time. When I walked up to her she greeted me and her lips mildly curled, “Hi, Hun. You look gorgeous in that dark flowy dress. Are you ready for today?” I responded, “Mom, is that even a question? You know—.” She quickly interrupted, “Junie. Let’s just embrace today, okay?” I looked into her eyes, pressed my lips together, smirking, and lifted my sunglasses above my eyes, “You’re right Ma. You wasted your breath long enough. Why should he have wasted his?”