Page 61 of End It All

Mom didn't meet my gaze. "Berry."

"The pawn shop owner?"

"It's his job, Quincy, he knows what he's doing."

I'd warned him and every single pawn and thrift store within a two mile radius to not sell to my mom. Apparently there needed to be a revisit.

"He lied."

She shook her head. "No, he wouldn't. Remember when I collected those VHS tapes, and now look how much they cost. I could be rich and free of this place."

Her wishful thoughts once upon a time used to burrow deep into my head. I used to think the trash she chose to clutter our house with was worth something.

"The VHS tapes were?—"

"I should look for them. Now is the time to have them." She was pushing up from her chair and her cigarette dropped to the ground. I quickly snatched it up and put it out.

"Mom."

She muttered under her breath as she moved trash bags filled with who knew what to the side looking for tapes that didn't exist. I watched her, feeling just as helpless as I did when I was ten and our place had caught on fire because she couldn't be bothered to put out her cigarette. The very tapes she was desperately searching for went up in smoke years ago.

Another five minutes passed and her agitation grew. She went from putting things to the side neatly to throwing them. "Where are they!" Her shout was closer to a screech.

I closed my eyes, shoving down the panic that began to rise. "Mom, remember they aren't here anymore."

She ignored me and continued to look. I stood back up, wishing I'd been able to ignore the guilt and stayed away for a few more months, maybe a couple of years.

I moved toward the kitchen, not surprised at the lack of food. The cupboards were full of trash, china cups, and broken plates. Why didn't she just get rid of the stuff? I'd asked myself that question time and time again. I'd given up. Once upon time as I watched my mother trade the food stamps the state gave us for more useless shit, I had tried to fix her. But there was no fixing what was wrong. And she didn’t want the help. Not from me, not from a doctor.

The fridge was no better. A single bottle of water and a few dolls that looked possessed stared back at me.

"Get out of there. You will devalue them." Mom slammed the fridge closed.

"Mom, why isn't your fridge working? And food needs to be in there." I looked her up and down, really taking in the sunken cheeks and bony arms. "When's the last time you ate?"

She waved me off like I was insane. "Instead of questioning me, be useful and help me look for the tapes."

"They aren't here."

"Useless. You've never wanted to see your mother be great. Just like that worthless father of yours. Always wanting me to stay cooped up and down on my luck."

My nails carved out moon crescents into my flesh as I tried to keep my composure.

"Mom, you know I want what's best for you. I've tried plenty of times to get you into a nicer place but you always come back here."

She rolled her eyes. "Pretty cages are still a cage."

The urge to shout at her, to shake her, and wake her up to the reality she refused to acknowledge was an urge that burned through my veins. "Mom?—"

"If you're not going to help, I don't know why you're even here."

"Fine!" She wanted help so badly. I grabbed the first thing I saw and marched over to the window. Shoving everything to the side, I tossed it out. I grabbed more and threw it to the street below as anger covered me from head to toe.

"Quincy! Quincy!" Her voice cracked as she climbed over mountains of shit to get to me.

"You can't find anything because of all this shit."

I knew it was coming even as I held halloween costumes that my mother had no use for. Her hand slapped across my cheek, leaving a fiery handprint behind. The left side of my faceblossomed with pain. It cleared away some of the anger, but erased none of the despair that took root.