Page 62 of End It All

"Why?" she asked as tears streamed down her face.

Just like that, I crumbled. The anger was quickly replaced with more guilt and panic.

"I'll go get it right now." I was out of the apartment and racing down the eight flights of stairs before any thoughts registered. I found everything I tossed over and hurriedly picked it up.

"What the fuck man, you almost hit us," some random guy in the cramped space between the two apartment buildings said.

I didn't have the brain function to acknowledge him, instead I made sure to get everything. I checked every square inch knowing if I missed one thing she'd be devastated.

"Hey!"

I ignored him and headed back up to my moms place. She still stood there wiping at her tears.

"I got everything, Mom."

When there was no answer, the panic set in further. I moved closer to her like she was a bear that shouldn't be poked.

"Nothing broke."

Still no response. It could go two ways; either she'd be volatile or a broken mess that I'd be forced to fix. The first was always easiest to handle. A few slaps or bruised ribs was easy to ignore. Watching my mom break down and become a shell of herself was gut-wrenching. I closed my eyes and pulled her in for a hug. She was much smaller than the last time I visited. Seeing it was one thing, but feeling her bones was a whole other thing.

I want to get her out of this.

But there was no helping someone who didn't want help in the first place. It was a vicious cycle that I voluntarily put myself through each time. Besides, I couldn’t see her break.

I just couldn’t.

"Mom, we'll look for the tapes later," I suggested.

She tilted her head back, her lashes wet from crying. "I know I have them."

I nodded, knowing she was still pretending the fire never happened. Anything my mom deemed too much to handle, she conveniently forgot about. Anything outside of her bubble of imaginary happiness was thrown away, and that included me on many occasions.

I led her back over to the recliner before rushing back over and closing the window. The air was frigid, winter was no joke. While over there, I found a stack of bills and notices for shut offs.

"Mom, you haven't paid any of these?"

"The apartment takes care of it. Quincy, can you grab my blanket?"

I picked it up and shoved the letters in my back pocket. I tucked the thick blanket around her small frame and found a seat amongst all the junk. She instinctively reached for my head and I rested it on her lap. They were small gestures, tidbits of moments like this that always fed the delusion that I meant something to my mother. It's what kept me coming back time and time again. The abuse and neglect felt like small sufferings just to have the tiny inklings of love from my mother. She was all I had. And I needed to remember I was all she had. Without me, no one would come and check on her. And I didn't come see her enough.

The guilt was back with a vengeance turning my stomach upside down.

"I'll make sure to come by more often, Mom," I promised.

Her fingernails lightly scratched over my scalp as she began to hum. The years of smoking and living in shit holes hadn't destroyed her beautiful singing voice. She couldn't hold a note like she used to, but the way her voice filled me with warmthhad me clinging onto the moment, forgiving and forgetting everything like always.

The smell of cigarette smoke burned my nostrils as ashes rained down on me. I closed my eyes, and instead sank into the feeling of just being there.

The longer I sat surrounded by all the junk, the more I felt as if I was being sucked in. My legs were heavy and my breathing was slow. I cleared my throat a few times, hoping it would help but I knew it wouldn't work. I was suffocating with every passing breath.

I sat up, breaking the little connection we had and stared at my mom. I wanted to ask if she was hungry or cold. I had on a full winter coat and I was freezing in the small apartment.

"Mom—" I licked my lips, faced with the reality that no matter how I pleaded with her, she was never going to change. "I'll take care of the bills and I'll talk to the landlord about fixing the heat in this place."

"I don't like strangers in here."

How could I ever forget? "I know, Mom, but you'll freeze to death in here. And your fridge, how long has it been broken?"