Father Or Foster

Something was off. Lucy knew the minute she walked through the door. The lights were off, though thin slivers of light slid through the cracks in the closed blinds. The acrid and stale smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. That was the first sign. Lucy set her bookbag down on the kitchen counter and noticed the mess of kitchen items spilled and scattered across it. The second sign. Slowly she stepped lightly towards the living room where she could hear the television playing an old movie from the 1950s. The third sign.

Rounding the corner, she picked up the sharp smell of hard liquor and immediately after noticed the bottles that lay scattered across the living room floor, coffee table, and couch. Some were empty and some still had small amounts of liquor sitting in them, though most of it had spilled out onto the surfaces upon which they rested. Sign number four, she counted mentally. Reluctantly, she approached the couch. She already felt a large sense of unease settle in her gut. It made her want to run, find a place to hide, and close her eyes tight as she pretended her problem did not exist.

As the front of the couch came further into view she saw the pale, unnourished, scantily clad form lying upon it. No more signs. The evidence lay before her. Lucy’s mother was lying in what appeared to be the most uncomfortable position with a cigarette caught between two fingers as her hand hung off the edge of the couch. A trail of dried vomit ran from her mouth, down the front of the couch, and into a large puddle on the floor.

Lucy’s own breath quickened at the sight. She could feel the heart in her chest pounding, almost as if it were forcefully encouraging her to run and hide from the scene. Swallowing back the anxious feeling within, Lucy leaned forward, using her hand to gently push her mother’s shoulder. “Mom?” she called softly. Her mother neither answered nor moved. “Mom? Mom? Mom?” Each time Lucy’s voice grew louder and more urgent, and her hand mirrored that urgency as it continued pushing, then shaking her mother’s shoulder. Finally, her mom moved, swatting at Lucy’s hand with her own, which still donned the cigarette like a ring of ruin.

The warmth of the cigarette graced Lucy’s hand momentarily, but it was no longer hot enough to burn. As her mother’s hand flopped back over the edge of the couch, the small lighted stick dropped into the puddle of spew, extinguishing for good and becoming completely useless. Anxiety turned to unforgiving fear whose cold claws grasped at her heart refusing to let go. The outcomes of her mother’s addictions had never been this bad before.

I need help. I need help, Lucy thought, trying to focus despite the panic filling her mind. An ambulance. I need to call for an ambulance. She rushed back to the kitchen, pulling her phone out of her book bag, and dialing the three emergency numbers she had memorized as a child. No, she paused. If I call for an ambulance, they will surely alert the police, and…and…heaven help me! Will they take my mom away? What will happen to me? She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. It wasn’t something she could think about now. Now, she had to call for help. Now she had to save her mom.

She tapped the screen, sending the call, and listened to the ominous ring of the telephone on the other line. It felt as if the phone rang for an eternity before someone finally answered, and even when they did, Lucy was so filled with panic and worry, she couldn’t recall the conversation. Her own conscious slowed unable to focus on what was going on around her, while real life sped past.

~ ~ ~

Ambulance doors clonked shut forcing her conscious back into focus. She was sitting inside the emergency vehicle. Her mother lay unconscious on the gurney while paramedics worked frantically around her. Lucy shut her eyes tight, rubbing her open palms in trepidation. In her mind, she heard her mother’s soothing voice, “deep breaths now, in…out…in…out. Focus now Little Light, all is well.” It was what her mother used to say to her whenever she was upset as a child. Throughout the years it had become her coping mechanism in life.

The ambulance came to an abrupt stop, and everyone rushed out of the vehicle and into the E.R., pulling the gurney along with them. Lucy followed for as long as possible but had to stop when they wheeled her mother into an emergency room and the door clicked shut in her face. She swallowed back tears and took a deep breath before sitting on a nearby chair. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. Focus Lucy. Focus. Her mother’s voice filled her mind again, “deep breaths now, in…out…in…out. Focus now Little Light, all is well.” Her breath deepened. All is well. All will be well.

~ ~ ~

“Miss?” A gentle hand was placed lightly on Lucy’s shoulder, rousing her from an accidental sleep. Confused, she took a moment to become familiar with her surroundings. She was sitting in a mostly empty hallway. Not too far down the hall was a desk. A nurse sat there looking intently at the computer screen in front of her, speaking softly into the phone against her ear, while other lines continued ringing. In front of her stood a doctor. He had dark greying hair, wore a pair of black slacks, and a peach-colored button-up shirt, with a physician’s coat. Hanging around his neck was his stethoscope, which Lucy considered to be the official brand of any doctor.

“Uh…yes? Sorry.” Lucy said, sitting up from the chair she had slouched in while sleeping.

“No worries. I am sorry to wake you.” His voice was soothing, making her feel at ease. “May I ask your name, miss?”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy.” He nodded his head with a smile as if greeting her for the first time. “My name is Dr. Duemall, I have some updates on your mother’s condition. Do you have a father I can call?” Lucy shook her head; she hadn’t talked to her father since he had walked out on her mother and her four years ago. Now fifteen, she didn’t care to ever speak to him again. It was after he had left that her mom had started having problems. It had started as simple grief before escalating to substance abuse, absence from work, and now they sat in the emergency room. Her father had reached out years ago trying to explain. He had said it wasn’t his fault. That her mother had been the one to kick him out. But Lucy had not given him a chance to say much more. Deep down, she knew she was angry at both her parents for not working things out, but her mom had needed her. She couldn’t be angry with her mom.

“Is there another close family member I can call?” Dr. Duemall asked. Lucy shook her head again. “Ah…” Some form of understanding graced his face. “Well, allow me to make a quick call to one of my colleagues and then I will update you on what I can.” He waited for Lucy to nod her understanding, then gave her an encouraging, albeit somewhat pitiful smile before walking away.

A thick sticky pool of dread settled in Lucy’s stomach like a pit of tar as she watched the doctor walk away. He walked to the desk where the nurse was still talking on the phone. The nurse covered the mouthpiece as he whispered something to her, nodding his head in Lucy’s direction almost negligibly. What’s going on? Who’s he calling? She thought, feeling panic return to her mind.

It felt as if the wait had been forever. She stared perturbed at the wall in front of her, memorizing the patterns of the ugly striped wallpaper on the bottom half of the walls. Unable to do more than resign to patience, she began counting the stripes on the wallpaper, attempting to clear her mind. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… Finally, the nurse stood from the desk down the hallway and made her way over to Lucy. Mentally dropping her count of the stripes, she counted the nurse instead. One foreboding nurse. “Dr. Duemall will see you now.” The nurse said gesturing for Lucy to follow her down the hall. Reluctantly, she did.

The nurse showed her to an office not far from the desk the nurse had sat at. She knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for an answer before opening it and allowing Lucy to shuffle past her then letting the door go as she returned to her own desk. Dr. Duemall, was sitting at his desk. In a chair across from the desk was another man, and next to him was another empty chair presumably for Lucy. One empty chair. She counted mentally.

The second man was dressed in black slacks like the doctor, and a light blue button-up shirt with the top two buttons left undone, still appearing professional, but not quite as stiffly as Dr. Duemall. He was tall, somewhat young, and blonde. He smiled at Lucy as she entered as if trying too hard to seem friendly.

“Lucy.” Dr. Duemall said in greeting, grasping her attention. He gestured to the other young man in the room, “This is Henry, he is a colleague of mine. I would like to update you on your mother’s condition and the care she will need. Then I will give Henry some time to explain what will happen next.” He gestured for Lucy to take a seat next to Henry, and reluctantly she shuffled her way over to the empty chair.

Lucy listened horrified as the doctor explained her mother’s condition, she was experiencing symptoms of psychosis and would need further medical attention and monitoring. He went on to explain that Henry was a social worker she could trust. Henry took his turn, taking over to explain that he would help her find a safe and stable home until her mother recovered. With each word, Lucy’s stomach sunk deeper and deeper into the inner tar pit of dread.

Realization dawned on her. She had two choices: speak up and let them know she did have a father they could contact, which meant once again connecting with the man she had shut out of her life for the past four years—the man who had become like a stranger to her. Or, she could continue to say nothing and allow them to place her into an actual stranger’s home. She wanted to duck her face into her hands and sob. Hide from the world and hope it was all a bad dream she would wake up from soon. Will it hurt if I pinch myself? Heavens above, what is going to happen to me?