My mother and I are close, but not entirely in the way you might be thinking. I loved her and she loved me, but our chemistry together was just about anything but “healthy”. Ever since my Dad’s death two years before, Ma had taken a horrible drinking habit. She loved me, like I said, but it wasn’t always happy between us.
She couldn’t go a single day without drinking at least a twelve pack and a half, and that’s before the liquor. Even when money was tight, she’d usually prioritize the drinking habit over extra food, which meant meals would sometimes be light. This also meant I had to get a job when I was a lot younger than most girls my age did – and you can probably imagine just how awkward as fuck that was to try explaining to a bunch of your Freshmen piers when they ask you why you never go out to the mall or the skate park with them because you’re always working, despite being only 15.
Look, she wasn’t abusive, not outright, not in my eyes at least. I knew she loved me like I said before and she would even try to comfort me when I was especially upset. I guess what I’m trying to say is that me and her were more like two sisters than mother and daughter, you know? If anything, on these moments where she’d try and cheer me up, the two of us would actually share her stash. There you go, at least she shared her bad habit, right?
But obviously, this wasn’t always the case. In fact, most of the time, it wasn’t the case. Most of the time, we either didn’t really say anything to one another, or it was when I’d done something wrong and which she’d rip me a new asshole. This led to fights, especially when money was at the center of the subject, and more than enough horrible things were said on both sides. It wasn’t just the standard angsty teenager stuff like, “Oh you’re such a bitch”, or “You’re ruining my life” banter either; no, try more like she’d shout, “Why’re you spending up all this money for gas, Grace?!” and I’d reply something like “The same reason you’re spending up all the money boozing off your ass.”
This would then escalate to name calling; she’d call me a “Lazy brat” and I’d fire back by calling her a “Slosh”, to which she’d then say something like “God, why can’t you be responsible with anything?” or even “Can you go even ONE day without fucking us in the ass?” to which I’d reply something along the lines of “Can YOU go a day without being the bitchiest fucking woman alive?”
I remember distinctly saying that last one to her. Word for word, too. I remember how that one started; all because I decided just once to use the money from my piss poor paychecks at McDonald’s to buy a nice pair of earrings. Unfortunately, it was also the same day we found out that the month’s rent was due in our apartment and Mama had already gone and bought an expensive dress for a little social gathering her office was holding that night. In other words, my “mistake” was timing, though to her, it was that I’d even dared spend money anyways when “We were already so far behind”, as she put it.
I brought up that she could, you know, spend less on the alcohol and/or maybe lay back a bit on the constant parties she went to (also a detriment on the finances, obviously). And instead of trying to get her head out of her own ass, she came back at me with “Oh, so because I had you, I can’t have a fucking life? I have to be shackled to you for the rest of my life because your father got me to spread my legs? Seriously, at least your father was good at fucking, unlike you, who just does it to be selfish.”
“Fuck you, can you, for one day, not be the bitchiest woman alive?!” I screamed back, flipping her both barrels.
“Get the hell out of my house then, bitch.” she screamed. “Maybe I’ll finally have money then, won’t I, without you going around, spending it all on worthless shit that makes you look like a fuckin’ skank anyway!” I remember storming out of the house then, tears burning in my eyes. I walked down the sidewalk to the corner store where I sat on the curb, put in my cheapo dollar earbuds, and started listening to the same 30 songs on my little MP3 player while letting my mind just let everything rage until it burnt itself out. I walked back home an hour later, just as the sunn was going down and the streetlamps were coming on.
That was one time out of at least two or three hundred (and that’s just what my mind’s somewhat kept track of). Granted, they didn’t always spiral that far, but when they did, I’d do that same routine; storm off to the corner store and listen to my MP3 until the sun went down. And when I’d come back home, things would have simmered down between us there, too. Another thing I’ll say is that, oftentimes, even if not immediately, she’d come into my room and actually sit down and apologize to me and sometimes even just sort of hang out with me; listen to music with me and even one time we did each other’s nails after a fight. It was a mess, and our nails looked shitty for a week afterward, but we laughed our asses off the entire time and it was fun, you know?
Another thing was that, at least not until that day, she wouldn’t ever get violent. I think there was at least one or two occasions where I decided to see if I could probably make her crack, make her give me a black eye or something so I could run to D.S.S. and turn her in or something. Of course, that was only when we’d really get into it, but either way, she never caved. She wouldn’t raise a hand to me, until that day.
This particular fight was over the money, like I said before, but this time I actually hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t spent any money except on food and essentials. She started screaming at me right as I’d gotten through the door from the school bus about how I needed to stop spending money, and how I should just “eat what we have at home and quit wasting all the damn money”.
“Well maybe I would if you’d actually buy some!” I shouted back.
“The fuck do you mean? I buy groceries for your little ass all the time.” I stomped past her to the fridge and swung it open.
“Oh right, I forgot, we have plenty of Jack Daniels to eat here!” I started sifting through the bottles on the shelves. “Jesus Christ, Ma, I can’t even find the fuckin’ food here! It’s all just whiskey, whiskey, and more whiskey!” I looked at her and she just stared back at me, shaking. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, you just expect us to starve? I bought US groceries. US. as in both of us, so we could both eat, but I guess you’re just fuckin’ fine wasting away with your fucking drinks, aren’t you? Jack fuckin’ Daniels means more to you than trying to live, doesn’t it?”
She said nothing. “Doesn’t it?!” I repeated, almost screeching. “Answer me, do you or do you not give a shit about anything outside your goddamn alcohol?”
“Shut up.” she said coldly through gritted teeth. Her body shook more and more violently. I had her in a corner, and I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.
“Fuck you, answer me, bitch, what’s more important to you; your daughter or your liquor?”
“I said shut up, Grace!”
“And I said fuck you! God, if Dad could see you no–” Right as Dad came out of my mouth, I felt a sharp slap across my bottom lip, followed immediately by at least five or six more.
“How dare you.” she said, shuddering. “How fucking dare you use him against me!” I stood frozen, shocked. She’d done it. She hit me, more than once. The line had just been crossed, in spite of everything before.
Her face at that moment looked just as stunned as mine. It was like she’d woke from a trance and realized what’d just happened. Mixed with this shock, though, was a sense of disgust with me, like she couldn’t decided whether or not she’d actually done the right thing. Silence had the kitchen in a chokehold and the two of us were the ones suffocating in it. It was like if either one of us spoke or moved or did anything at all, we’d collapse somehow under our own weight.
I would inevitably be the one to fold in such a way by bringing my hand up to my stinging cheek and saying, as venomously as possible, “How dare you say that you love me? How dare you say that you loved him? You love nothing!” Her eyes went blank then. It was almost an immediate flip being switched; one second, she’s still teetering on the brink of mania, and the next, she’s hollow inside.
“N-N-Nothing?” she said timidly, shallowly, in a voice that sounded a mix between a machine and a small child. It was completely devoid of emotion, yet frightened and anxious at the exact same time. I had her, and she knew it.
“That’s exactly right; you. Love. Nothing.” I got right in her face, my body now shaking with rage and spewed, “And I wish you hadn’t given birth to me, you fucking sloshed whore.” After this, I turned and left. I didn’t even bother grabbing my MP3 player this time, I was so livid. I stormed straight out of the house and down the street.
I was approaching the corner store and I considered going right on past it. To just keep walking and find some place else to stay for a while. I’d never tried that before, granted, but then, I’d never been hit before either. Even then, I knew that me and her weren’t going to be shaking hands as quickly as we had in the past. I wasn’t sure when exactly, but I figured it’d be at least a couple of months or so before the two of us could go back on our “normal” terms.
Well, as it happened, force of habit kicked in and I ended up stopping at the corner store to blow off steam. Hell, I might just camp out the night here, I halfway seriously thought. I knew, though, that that was about as unreasonable as the idea to just straight up run away was. I couldn’t, no matter how enraged with her I was. How hurt I was because of her…
I loved her.
I came up to the corner store and actually walked inside. I didn’t usually do that, either; less of a chance at spending money, and therefore incurring another fight, but I didn’t care this time. I didn’t have my music, and lines in the sand had been crossed.
The place was just about as dingy and its shelves as derelict, as devoid, as you’d expect from any shitty roadside convenience store, with its biggest claim to fame being its cheap prices of cigarettes and beer. And funny enough, no, Mama wouldn’t buy from this place, either. “Not quality enough”, I guess. There was a younger looking guy working behind the counter, about 17 or 18 at the time, I’d say; too young to even smoke or drink, who regarded me with a nod when I came in. I nodded back before scouring the candy shelves for the cheapest candy bar or bag of gummies or chips or some shit like that.
“Hey, uh… you know where any of the “cheesy poofs” are?” I asked the kid at the counter.
“Oh, uh…” He craned his neck around and said, “Um… Well, it looks like you’ll be out of luck on that.”
“Oh. Okay, um… What about the marshmallow chocolate bars?”
He scoffed and said, “Not likely. Stoned motherfuckers come in and raid that shit as soon as we get ‘em.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, should’ve seen the last box of ‘em we had, those idiots cleared the box before the day was out.”
“Damn…” I sighed. “Okay then I guess a bag of barbecue chips it is then.” He made a sharp breathing noise, indicating they were out of those too. “Are you serious, what do you have?” He looked at me awkwardly for a second before holding up a finger and ducking behind the counter.
A second later, he popped back up with a box full of barbecue flavored pork rinds. I looked at him and he had this cartoonishly nervous grin on his face. “We have these.” he said. I chuckled.
“Well, chips, pork rinds, same difference I guess.” He laughed and asked if I was just getting the bag of pork rinds. I swiped a 16 oz can of Coke and placed it on the counter and he rang me up.
“That’ll be $8.50.” My eyes went wide for a moment.
That much for a drink and chips? Jesus.
Very, very briefly, my mind cycled back to Ma’s tantrums. I quickly shook my head though and paid before taking my snacks and going out to the curb. They may not have been what I was wanting, but I’ll admit, the pork rinds and Coke were doing the trick as far as calming me down a bit. About a minute or two later, the door opened behind me and the kid came out.
“Hey, you mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Uh… I mean, no, but, don’t you have to be like, inside the store or something?”
“Nah, on break.”
“Oh. Wait, who’s running the store then?” He shrugged and started looking around the parking lot.
“Nobody’s around anyways. Trust me, everything’s fine.”
“Okay.” I said, chuckling. He then took out a cigarette and lit up. After the first drag, he looked at me and tilted the pack to me. “Oh uh…” I hesitated for a moment before replying “Sure.” I took one and he lit it for me. I took a single drag and immediately started coughing.
“First time, eh?” he asked, chuckling. I chuckled nervously in response. “Eh, you’ll get used to it by the second or third puff, trust me.”
“You smoke a lot?”
“Not really, only two a day now. Trying to quit early.” I raised my eyebrow at him. “Started smoking a couple years back, my Daddy died of cancer from it, so now I’m trying to quit while I still have the chance, you know?” I nodded.
“How long you been working here?” I asked after a moment of unsure silence.
“About a year. About the same time you’ve been sitting your pretty little tail down on the curb there.”
“Oh, uh, you…”
“Uh huh. Always wondered what was goin’ on, how come you never bought anything.”
“Oh, nothing, just uh…”
“Things?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Same for today, I take it?” I nodded and repeated my reply. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Um… Not really, heh heh…”
“I understand, sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.”
“You go to school around here?”
“Nah, had to drop out after the old man went.” He pointed at the store and added, “It’s his place, here, by the way.”
“Oh nice. And you work it by yourself now? You own it?”
“Oh God no, I just work here, just like the other shit suckers that hardly get paid and hardly show up.” I couldn’t help but giggle at this.
“Were you and him close?”
“Who, me and my old man?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” he began before pausing for a moment, scratching his chin. “Sorta.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, us two didn’t always get along much. We were too much alike, you know?”
“Yeah.” I replied absently.
“He and I, though, for as much as we rode each other’s nerves, we always had each other’s backs whenever we could, however we could. That’s what family does, right? You try to kill each other all the time till one of you falls on your ass, then you pick ‘em up again.”
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.” Another moment of silence passed between us as we each took turns simultaneously dragging from our cigarettes.
“Of course,” he started again, startling me a bit. “Sometimes I wonder…”
“Huh?”
“If he’s still here, I mean.”
“Your dad?”
“Yeah, sometimes I think he hasn’t gone away yet.”
“What do you mean? Like an angel or something?”
“Maybe. Course, I think of it more like a sort of shadow, you know what I mean?”
“A ghost?”
“No, not a ghost, a shadow. Like I can feel him, I feel like he’s with me, but I can’t actually see or feel him. It’s weird, I know.”
Shadow…
“Maybe he is here with me, who knows?” he said, chuckling while shrugging. “I just know I’ve felt it ever since he died.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh. In fact, I could feel it even before then, too.”
“How?”
“The night he died, I was right there with him, right by his bedside. I remember sometime two nights ago, he and I had gotten heated at each other over some shit and I’d never gotten over it. Not until I felt it when his car was side-swiped into a telephone pole.”
“Felt it?” I cocked my eyebrows at him. He looked down, dragged his cigarette and sighed.
“Yeah… Yeah, I uh… I actually felt what happened. And I mean I actually felt the same thing my Dad did when the car crushed him.” My stomach reflexively went inward hearing this. “I couldn’t explain it, I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I remember one second, everything’s just fine and dandy, and the next, my guts are being smashed in from each side. Mama rushed me to the ER, but, of course, nothing was wrong with me. It was there, then, that me and her found out about Dad’s death, with a police officer finding us there to tell us.”
I stood speechless for a moment. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? He went on, “Ever since then, I’ve felt him, everywhere I go, always attached to me.”
“Why, though?” I asked stupidly. It was honestly the first and only thing that came to mind for me. He shrugged.
“Dunno honestly. I guess though, some people are just connected like that. They feel it when the other person is gone or in pain, and they try to be there for ‘em, even if you don’t always want ‘em to be.”
“Do you?” I asked. “Want him to be, I mean.” He shrugged for the millionth time.
“Sometimes it’s nice. Sometimes though, I wish he weren’t that close to me.” He dragged his cigarette again, taking his biggest hit up to that point. I flicked mine out. I reckoned by then smoking just wasn’t for me.
“Hey, uh, what’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Huh… Oh, uh, Grace.”
“I’m Bryce.”
I smiled and said “Nice to meet you, Bryce.” He was about to take another drag before he stopped, eyeing me puzzled. “Something wrong?”
“I could ask you the same thing?”
I frowned, “What do you mean?”
“You’re starting to look pale.”
“Pale?”
“Here,” He waved me over to look at my reflection in the glass. My eyes went wide. My skin was bleached almost albino. Almost on some sort of cue, I started feeling woozy. My head was both heavy and light at the same time. After a second, I felt my eyelids starting to flutter and my balance swayed. I was gonna fall out, and just before my eyes closed and I fell over, I heard Bryce asking “Grace?! Grace, you alright?!”
I was out like a busted lightbulb then. The world was black and I felt like I had just been disconnected from it the way a computer chip was when unplugged. I wasn’t sure when or really if I would wake up again, but sure enough, I did and it was to the steady beep of an E.K.G. monitor. When I came to, the nurse and Bryce were standing at either side of the bed I was in. “What the hell, where am I? What–”
“Calm down, hon.” said the nurse, giving me a dimply smile.
“You blacked out, hard, that’s what happened, sweetheart.” said Bryce.
“Blacked out?” My head still felt so fuzzy. My brain was essentially a jelly mold inside of a hard, brittle skull, sloshing around and mushed and fuzzy. My vision was also nothing more than a bunch of clouds. I could just barely make out Bryce’s face at all.
“Uh huh, sure did. I’m surprised you didn’t go and split your head open, as hard as you cracked it against the ground.”
“B-But why?” He shrugged.
“Don’t ask me. I was waiting for you to tell ME.”
“I-I… I don’t know, I just remember feeling fine and then…”
(“I was fine one second…”)
“And then…”
(“And the next my guts are being smashed in…”)
“Yes?” Bryce asked. I looked at him, spooked. “What, what’s up?” I didn’t answer this. Instead, I rustled out of the bed and started for the door.
“Yo wait, sweetheart, where’re you goin’?”
“I have to go.”
“Wait!” cried the nurse. “We don’t know yet if you’ve–” But I was already well out of the door. My balance was still next to nonexistent, so my walk made me look like a drunk zombie, shuffling down the hall. I stopped when I felt Bryce’s hand on my shoulder.
“Hey now, hold up, what’s going on?” I jerked my shoulder away and tried to keep going. He continued following me. “Look, can you stop for a second, please, and talk to me?” I stopped, sighing.
“Look… I… I don’t know, okay, I just… I just have a bad feeling something’s happened at home.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just told you, I don’t know. But whatever it is, I need to make sure my mother’s okay.” I turned and started hobbling for the exit again.
“Well hey listen, maybe I could give you a ride back? Cause, I can’t just let you walk all the way home when you can barely even stand.” I stopped again and sighed. He was right.
“Fine.” He took my hand over his shoulder and walked me to his car.
“You live just down the road from the corner store, right?” I nodded numbly. He backed out of the hospital then and made a beeline for the neighborhood, passing the store.
“Here.” I said, pointing to my house. “Stop the car, let me out.” He did and I got out as fast I could and hobbled up to the front door of the house. At the door, I knocked furiously. “Mama!” I shouted, “Mama, it’s me, Grace, you home? Open up.”
Nothing.
I felt the doorknob, finding that it was unlocked. Now I knew something was definitely up. She’d never allow the front door to be left unlocked like that. I twisted and opened the door. “Mama!” Silence.
The house was dark. No light, in any of the rooms, appeared to have been turned on. I went around, looking inside every room for her. She wasn’t in any of them; not even her and Dad’s room. Finally, I came across my room, which, incidentally enough, was the only room whose door was closed.
I threw the door open and immediately screamed. On the bed, illuminated only by the pale rays of the morning sun bleeding from the window, my mother laid sprawled out across my bed in her babydoll nightie. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling, glazed, while her mouth hung open numbly.
“Mama!” I cried, flinging myself on the bed. I started shaking her as rough as I possibly could. Her skin was cold and waxy, her limbs feeling stiff. My heart punched harder and harder in my chest, prompting me to push harder and harder on hers in doing compressions. Mama! Oh God, Mama, please no! Please no, no, God, please no!
I was so lost in what was happening that I didn’t even hear it when Bryce came in the room until I heard him cry out, “Oh shit! Oh my God!”
I turned around and screamed, “Get the ambulance on the phone, hurry!” He ran out then and dialed for help while I continued fruitlessly hammering on my mother’s chest. As I was doing this though, I knew already she was long gone. I’d felt it already…
I kept going until the paramedics arrived only about a minute later and had to pry me away from her to take over. A lot happened after that, in a short amount of time, too. I was taken outside, where I sat bawling on my front steps. In seconds, every single thing I’d said to my mother, every scathing remark, every insult, every malicious thought, all rushed to the forefront of my mind to taunt me. At one point, Bryce came over and embraced me close to him. I normally wasn’t one to be touched, not even by Mama, but I had neither strength nor will to fight him this time.
“It’s okay.” he said a few times, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart.” And I did, for at least the next ten minutes until they brought her body out of the house. I turned away, burying my face in his chest. I couldn’t bear to see her like that a second time. The last thing I saw from her was her right arm, which dangled off the side of the stretcher like it was still trying to reach for something.
Reaching for me…
We were told then that she’d died about 8 to 10 hours before; before I’d even gone to the hospital. She’d overdosed on painkillers and Jack. When I heard that, part of me snapped in half and I couldn’t help but start laughing hysterically. How fitting; she gave her life to Jack Daniels, and she gave her life FOR it as well. Bad joke, but that’s the only way I knew to comprehend it at the time.
There was no funeral. She had no other family and I sure as hell couldn’t afford it. It wasn’t like she’d kept any money around in case of this sort of thing either. Instead, her body was donated to the science centers. Probably wasn’t what she would’ve wanted, but then again, I’m sure she would’ve wanted one last kind word from her daughter before she went. Not only that, but I don’t think she’d intended for her body to be found, either. Not like that.
Who knows how long she’d have stayed there if I had not “sensed it”, I guess you could say? But then, would she have done it at all if I’d just stayed?
These questions have haunted me for the last four and a half years. Bryce ended up taking me in after that, letting me stay with him in his flat with his mom. They were extra sweet to me and Bryce was like the older brother I’d never had. Overall, life went on after the first two years following that day. Therapy add support from Bryce and his mom proved to be extremely helpful for me when it came to coping.
Of course, not everything ended up healing for me. It never went away – or should I say, she didn’t. Like I said, by the third year, I’d basically started to come back more or less to my old self and had “recovered”, sort of. But that was also when I started noticing what Bryce was talking about when he was talking about his dad “always being with him”. I can’t really explain it, but I can feel her there. I know it’s her. But I can’t see her, or feel her touch or anything like that. I just feel her close to me, attached to me in a way, everywhere I go.
Oftentimes I’ve thought of the way her hand reached out to me that morning from the gurney. Sometimes, I hear her calling out to me, crying, “Grace! Oh God, Grace, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me. Please, baby doll, don’t go!” I can’t help but cry myself to sleep when I think about this.
I can’t stand to think about it, but I can’t do anything about it, either. I can’t make her go away. She is a shadow, just like Bryce said, forever attached to me. Whether I want it or not, and I don’t, my mother and I are attached. Her soul is forever connected to me, and I will forever feel both her and her pain.
Me and my mother will always be close…
Far too close.