A Good Mother

With her dog barking just behind her, and still a little drunk from last night, Sarah Driscoll slammed her front door shut.

“Fuck you, asshole!” She screamed. She stepped away then turned back around and opened it again. “Limp dick is for old men!” She slammed the door again, then growled and huffed to her bedroom to answer her ringing cell phone.

She yelled into the phone, “What Denny?”

“Wow. What a way to say hello to your favorite sister.”

“Shut up. What do you want?” Sarah, still in her underwear and tank top, walked to the kitchen. Her husky, Whiskey, was happily in tow.

“The witch is coming into town.”

“Christ. When?” She poured a glass of water then reached up to her medicine cabinet. Her scrawny chicken legs did their best to hold her up but faltered; her belly, not the twenty-year-old belly she once had, scraped the kitchen counter on the way down. “Ow!”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. When’s she coming?” She opened the bottle of Tylenol and tapped out three of the white saviors and put them in her mouth. She bit each in half (a habit she picked up as a kid) and briefly tasted their dullness before washing them down with the water.

“Next week and guess whose turn it is to watch her?”

“No, Denny. There’s no way-”

“First of all, I’m your fucking older sister, so you have to do what I say. Secondly, it’s your turn.”

“That’s bullshit! I just bitch-sat her during Christmas.”

“For the first week; then she stayed with us the following. You went skiing, ‘member?”

Sarah looked down at Whiskey, who was still wagging his tail as if he didn’t just get kicked out of bed by a dog-hating-one-night-stand-limp-dick of a man. “Goddamn it.”

“Goddamn it, is right.” Denise said.

“I’m supposed to get my period then too.” She took another big swig of water and put a thumb to her temple.

“Lucky, Mom.”

“Lucky me.”

“Are you hung over?”

“I might have gone out last night.”

“And you might have brought home another guy?”

Sarah walked back to her bedroom and plopped down onto her bed. Two cats jumped up and crawled under the covers. “I might have.”

“Holy shit, Sarah. You revisiting the high school days? What is that? Four guys in a month?”

“What can I say? They like the forty-two-year-old vag.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, I’m your sister and you love me.”

“You are. I do.”

“Love me enough to lend me money?”

“Jesus, Sarah, again?”

“The restaurant’s been slow, tips have been awful too. I’m just a little behind.”

Denise’s exaggerated sigh was answer enough for Sarah, “Never mind.”

“No, no. How much?”

“Just forget it.” Sarah looked out at her patio sliding glass door. A flock of crows was far off cawing at something. “I already miss you and the kids.”

"We haven’t moved yet.”

“I hate that you’re moving.” The cawing grew louder.

“I know you do; you remind me every time we talk.”

“Well, I do.” The cawing was loud enough to warrant an investigation. Sarah stood up and walked to the patio sliding glass door.

“Tell me about the guy. I assume you didn’t like this one either?”

The crows were some hundred yards away, circling a mid-winter skeleton of a tree. They took turns dive bombing a hawk perched at the top.

“He didn’t like Whiskey.”

“And the guy before that smoked pot. And the guy before that was a waiter like you are.”

The hawk unfurled its wings and with a heavy take off flew in her apartment’s direction, buzzing the patio; the crows gave chase. Sarah motioned to turn back to her bed when a loud bang and glass crack made her jump backwards. Whiskey jumped too.

“What was that?” Denise asked.

“A crow just kamekazi-ed my window.” She went to the sliding glass door to see a jet-black crow, wings unfurled, and neck in an unnatural position. “God, I hate birds.”

#

“Are you drunk, Mary?”

“I’m your mother and don’t have to answer that.” Her words clumsily garbled together.

It was 12:30 AM, and Sarah had walked in the door to see her seventy-four-year-old mother (who with years of drinking and smoking looked ninety-two) swaying in the kitchen. Sarah was thankful she didn’t inherit the beak of a nose that her mother had; the thick black mole on the left side made it even uglier.

“Your place is a disaster. Always a mess. Clutter everywhere, shoes thrown every which way.” Mary couldn’t stop wavering.

“Shut up.” Sarah responded, noting a glass with melted ice and two open bottles of white wine on the counter, one empty.

Sarah set down her dinner and a drugstore bag and stormed over to the bottle and held it up. “This is a forty-dollar bottle of wine, Mary!” Whiskey had been at her side the moment she walked in, “Pet me.” his tail said.

Mary squinted at the bottle and said, “I’d be remiss if I didn't tell you that it was a waste of money.” Mary wobbled at a slant to the couch and with no grace fell into.

“You’re slurring.”

“And you’re a slut.” Mary rolled to her side and shut her eyes; actually, she didn’t shut them, the alcohol in her system wouldn’t let her keep them open. “I saw the condoms.”

“You’re going through my shit now?”

“There’s only one bathroom. Used condoms all over the place.”

Sarah rushed to the bathroom and looked at the waste basket. Half the items had been emptied on to the floor and at the bottom was a used condom. “Fucking bitch.” When she squatted down to pick up the mess her all-too-tight black waitress pants split down the back. She growled and huffed.

“Oh my god, are you pregnant?” Mary’s roaring laughter immediately followed the question.

Sarah jumped up and returned to the living room; her mother still clearly drunk, held up the pregnancy test from the drugstore bag.

“Stop going through my stuff!” She lunged at her mother’s hand for the pregnancy kit, but her mother held on, laughing all the while. The two struggled for the box and finally Mary’s age caught up with her and she lost her grip; she fell back and lightly hit her head on the wall. She kept laughing.

“Stop laughing! Why are you laughing?”

She spoke in between gasps, “You? A mother?” She rolled on to her side on the floor. The old woman’s laugh dimmed, and her eyes slowly blinked. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.

Sarah grabbed the drugstore bag, her dinner, and the nearly empty bottle of wine. “I’d be a far better mother than you ever were.” And headed to her bedroom.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Mary started to drift.

“And you know that for a fact?” Sarah screamed back.

Mary’s breathing was heavy and her face red. She managed to say, “You killed a bird.”

Sarah turned back and asked, “What’d you say?”

“When you were a kid.” A deep slow breath in. “I gave you a bird.” A long breath out. “You killed it.”

Sarah leaned over her mom and scowled. “When? I don’t remember having a-” Her mother began to snore. “Mary.” Her mother didn’t move. She lightly kicked her. “Mother.” Still no response. Snoring only. “Fuck it.” Sarah walked to her bedroom and slammed the door. A moment later she came back out, turned off the kitchen light and grabbed a blanket from the couch. She threw the blanket in a jumbled bunch on top of her mom; it only covered her upper half.

Whiskey was standing at the ready on her bed, his tail still wagging, “Pet me.”

She walked over to him and grabbed his head and hugged him. “Who’s your Momma, huh? Who’s the best Momma ever, huh?”

Whiskey’s tail wagged, “You are! You are! You are!”

“I’d be a great mother.” She held Whiskey’s head to hers then grabbed the bottle of wine and took a big, long swig.

#

Sarah first began to show after three months. She couldn’t afford proper health insurance so she waited as long as she could before seeing a doctor. The doctor’s office was on the other side of the city, and without a car, she had to ask her sister for a ride. Truthfully, she couldn’t imagine anyone next to her other than her sister for this.

“Thanks for the ride.” Sarah pulled herself up into the sports utility vehicle, careful not to spill her tea. A co-worker at the restaurant was pregnant and was always giving out pregnancy advice to anyone within earshot; this brand of organic tea was claimed to help with womb health.

Denise was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and had her hair pulled back. Both of her arms were resting on the steering wheel, and she was fidgeting with her wedding ring. With her one blue eye and one green eye, she gave a half-smile. Sarah hated her sister’s smile, even when it was half of one; it was so much more beautiful than hers, and at forty-five it still looked twenty.

“Look at those wings on you; you flying us there?” Sarah played with the flab of her arms.

“Funny.” She responded, bringing her arms to her lap.

Sarah turned to the empty back seats, “I thought you were bringing Joey and Chrissy?”

“School, remember?”

“Oh, right.” She buckled herself in and let herself feel excited.

Denise pulled away from the curb, “I haven’t told them yet.”

Excitement lilting. “What? Why not?”

Denise shrugged when she lied and did so now, “I thought it’d be something you’d want to tell them yourself, as their aunt and all.”

“All the more reason to bring them.” Sarah didn’t want to fight with her sister, not today, so she kept her silence.

“School comes first, miss mother-to-be.” Sarah could handle sarcasm, it was her general go-to anyway, but Denise’s was different.

Her excitement gone; she let her silence break.

“You don’t think I can do this, do you?”

“Sarah...” Denise pulled out onto street traffic. It was Tuesday, early-morning, streets would be busy.

“No. Go ahead. Tell me what mom’s already told me. Better yet, just fucking laugh at me.” Sarah turned her head away towards her window.

“You don’t have the best track record of adulting, Sarah. What did you expect me to think?” Taking the streets was better than fighting LA freeway traffic.

“I expected you to be my sister and support me.”

“So not only do I have to support you financially, but I have to support you emotionally too?”

“You’re such a bitch, Denny.” Sarah kept her head away to hide the tears, not bothering to wipe them.

“And you’re fucking selfish.” She merged into the far lane. “You’ve always been.”

Sarah wiped her tears then clenched her fist. “Pull over. I’m getting out.”

“No, no. I’m here to support you. As your Uber driver too.”

“I said pull the fuck over!” Sarah darted her left hand at the wheel, grabbed it, and yanked it to the right. At forty-seven miles per hour, the car swerved, and fish tailed into the right lane. In an effort to control it, Denise pulled the wheel back to the left but with too much force; it veered across the two-lane street into on-coming traffic. The driver of a red ‘74 Firebird, with the grand phoenix’s golden wings flared on the hood, swerved as fast as he could to avoid the head-on collision, but not fast enough: he hit the driver-side headlight, sending both vehicles into a furious spin.

It took Sarah a full two minutes, post-spin, before she could gather her whereabouts. She surprised even herself when she reached down to touch the bump still growing inside her; there was no pain, and she let a moment pass with her hand on it. Sarah turned to see her sister, slumped at the wheel, bleeding from her scalp, her seat belt still intact.

“Denny.” Sarah tried to unbuckle herself, but the button wasn’t giving. “Denny, are you okay?” She ripped at the seat belt lock, “Why won’t this fucking thing work?” She rattled it over and over again. It finally unclicked. She moved the strap to her side and reached over to her sister. “Denise?”

Denise did not respond or move, nor would she ever again.

#

Just shy of nine months pregnant, Sarah looked to be splitting at the seams. She stood naked and sideways in front of her mirror and with a tape measure, measured her belly.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m huge.” She threw the tape measure on the ground and held up her engorged breasts. “Better enjoy these while I have ‘em.”

She got dressed and walked to the kitchen and began to make herself a pickle and peanut butter sandwich, which she learned was supposed to be really good for the baby; Whiskey really liked it too. She thumbed through her mail as she ate at the counter, discarding the red “Past Due” and “Bill Due Immediately” envelopes into the trash. She glanced at her calendar on the fridge. “Baby hatches!” was written in dark red on October 31st.

“One more day.” She looked down at her stomach and patted it.

A knock came at the door; she quickly chewed and swallowed her bite. Her mood was chipper and didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. Her mother, a living statue, was at the door.

Sarah stood in the doorway waiting for her to say something. When she wouldn’t, she finally interjected, “What, Mary? What do you want?”

“I’ve come to tell you that I’m moving with Tim and the kids to Oklahoma.” Mary’s tone was unwavering and stoic.

Sarah took another bite of her sandwich and replied, “Something tells me there’s a catch; so, what’s the catch?”

Her mother sighed. “There’s no catch other than being as far from you as possible.”

Sarah’s eyebrows moved close together, “Jesus, are you drunk again?”

“I’ve been sober ever since-” Mary looked down.

“Alright Mary, I don’t need any of your guilt right now, so put the crocodile tears-”

“It should’ve been you.”

Sarah stopped.

“It should have been you.” Mary slowed the words down. She looked up from behind her tears and stared directly at Sarah. “You and that creature inside you.”

Sarah tried to hide the welling in her eyes but didn’t; the pregnancy made her less capable of hiding her weaknesses, “Why do you hate me, Mom? What did I ever do to you other than-”

“Being born. That’s exactly what you did to me. You started taking and taking from the second you opened your mouth to breath. You were a cunt of a little girl then and you’re a cunt of a woman now, taking and taking, always taking. You’ve taken money. You’ve taken time. You’ve taken love. And now you’ve taken Denise away from everyone.” Mary’s tears were heavy and large.

“You’ve taken for the last time, Sarah.” Mary turned and walked away.

Her mother using words like that wasn’t that uncommon, even the walking away part was familiar. What was foreign was the hole she was feeling. It had always been there actually, just heavily subdued with alcohol and ignorance, sex and ego. But now, right now, it was so prominent and obvious and gaping. And it was growing. And she was being engulfed in it. Sarah didn’t know what to do except cry and cry uncontrollably. She cried for her sister, she cried for her mother, but mostly she cried for herself.

Sarah woke up in her bed hours later. She turned and looked at her date clock. It read, “12:01 AM, October 31st”. There was wetness between her legs. She turned the light on to her bed soaked with blood.

“No, no, no, no, no.” She jumped up and ran to the living room where the October moon shown through casting dizzying shadows across the floor. She grabbed her purse and sandals, and then keeled over at a sharp pain in her belly. “No! No! No!” She forced herself up again and lunged forward, but the pain was too much. It doubled her over and, in the darkness and crisscrossed shadows, she tripped over one of her tossed shoes. Her head crashed through the glass coffee table and her temple thudded against one of the table’s wooden legs. Everything went black.

The contractions attacking her entire body woke her a moment later. She could barely see through the blood gushing from her head and when she could, everything was blurry and spinning. She was woozy and couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. She managed to position herself onto her back and it was there she let instincts kick in. She pushed. And pushed. Whiskey, growled and barked between her legs. She screamed more. Pushed more. After it came out, Sarah slouched her entire body and tilted her head up to look at her child. Whiskey kept barking.

A bloodied, sinewed, and veined sac lay between her legs, and inside, a curled and unmoving creature. It jolted awake and began to struggle and thrash violently. A talon pierced through, followed by immediate squawking, cawing, and screeching. It ripped through the sack with fury, and when it was out, it clumsily stood. It was an immense golden raven, grotesque and disfigured; its crooked sharp beak had a mole on the left side. Covered in bloody viscera, it looked around the room with one blue eye and one green eye, then stopped when it saw Sarah. It blinked lifelessly and cocked its head from one side to another.

As Sarah raised her arms to her child, it gave a little caw and then lunged at her breasts.

The creature tore at her soft tissue, nursing, feeding, eating. Blood and milk splattered and flowed freely, pooling underneath her. She half-smiled and embraced the bird, “You, see? I am a good mother.”