The room was enveloped in silence with the exception of the people that walked by outside. I began my revision of the household, starting with the fridge. A half empty gallon of expired milk, a carton of eggs, tubaware with god knows what leftovers, and of course about six quarts of Bush, the nectar of the poor. I figured as much.
I knocked on the bedroom door. No answer. I knocked a second time out of courtesy and let myself in. The stench of beer assaulted my nostrils immediately. The small television was set on the news but with no audio. This room too was dim as all the curtains were drawn here as well.
I looked towards the bed to see my mother laying there, asleep. Wrapped in the tangled blankets. The bed surrounded with dozens of empty quarts, wrapping around like an army of toy soldiers. Here we go again with another of mother's drinking binges.
"Mom, I'm here. How you feeling, everything ok?" I asked awakening my mom from her drunken sleep.
"Mijo, when did you get here? I didn't hear the door." She never does whenever she's in this state.
"I just came by to see if you needed anything mom. You eat yet? Want me to make you something to eat?"
"That's ok baby boy, I'm not hungry. But do you think you can go to the store and buy me another beer? I need it for the cruda."
"Another beer mom? You still have some in the fridge."
"Yea, but I'm gonna need a couple for tonight. You know how I get at night with the shakes."
I pretended not to hear this last request as I continued to look around the room. Newspapers thrown all over the place. Yup, that's my mom, drunk off her ass but she still tries to keep up with current events.
"I'm gonna clean up a bit mom, ok?" I told my mom who must have still been waiting for an answer in regards to the beer judging by the expression she gave me.
I began the routine of cleaning up the mess. Grabbing a black trash bag from the kitchen, where I noted the sink filled with dirty dishes. I wondered how so many dishes can get used when I know for a fact my mother doesn't eat when she's drinking. I started walking around the house picking up the dozens of empty beer cans and quarts. How much money could I get if I were to sell all these cans?
I heard my mother make her way into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Followed by splattering sounds which meant my mother was throwing whatever she had left in her stomach into the toilet bowl. Disgusting. Upon coming out of the restroom, my mom made her way into the living room where I was opening up the windows to let some fresh air into the place. I turned to her and got a whiff of toothpaste. Well, at least she had the decency to brush her teeth after hurdling her guts in the bathroom.
"How long you been drinking Ma?" I asked.
"About a week son" she replied. Great, that meant at least two weeks, if not more.
"I've been calling you but you never answer. You had me worried."
"My phone got cut off again, motherfuckers!"
"What do you mean? I gave you money to pay your phone last week mom." Damn, she must have spent it all on beer, again.
"I'm sleepy son. Imma go into my room and take a nap, ok? I love you." she stuttered.
"Yea mom, I love you too."
She staggered off into her room while I continued tidying up the place. This was all too routine by now. It's been this way as long as I can remember. Back from when I was a little boy. I've come to live with the fact that my mother is an alcoholic. Which probably wouldn't be as bad if it weren't for the fact that she's also a single parent. That's right, I was raised by a drunk. It's no wonder why I love to drink as well. Even though I always promised I would never touch that wretched liquid that caused my family so much heartache.
Don't get me wrong. My mother can be a great mother, that is when she's sober. And she goes long times without drinking a thing. And in moments like those, I realize why I say my mom is my best friend. But when she does slip, boy does she hit rock bottom. I remember falling asleep in class because I had stayed up all night tending my mother who swore she was dying due to the withdrawals. Nights I had to stay up and hide all the knives because mother decided life was just too much at the time and wanted out. Nights where I tended to my mother just so she wouldn't go wake my baby sister to do it in my place. No not her. Leave her out of this. And countless days like today, where I come over to clean and try to get my mom to eat something, anything.
Growing up without a father has made me love my mom that much more. Because regardless of her illness, I feel she's done the best she can. She's fed us, clothed us, kept a roof over our head, and yes, put us through some fucked up shit also. But she is my mom, the only one I have. And that's why I can't do what my older brother and my younger sister have done. Which is out grow her and leave her behind. No I just can't. Yes, I would love to know more of the world. Leave this dust bowl of a city behind. But, something in me tells me that will never happen. Not as long as mother needs me by her side.
And so I continue cleaning. Checking off items on my mental list. Sweep. Check. Mop. Check. Dishes. Check. Shoot myself. No check. Upon finishing my mother's chores, I write her a little note to leave on her dresser (Along with $30).
Mom, came by to see how you were. Cleaned up
a little (Especially the fridge) I threw out some of
the older newspaper, hope you don't mind. Here's $30
So you can get yourself whatever you need. I'll give
you a call later, answer this time please. I love you
lots!!! Call me if you need anything. The # is on the fridge.
Miguel Perez
I kiss my mother on her cheek before leaving. Getting one last look at her. Please God, watch over my mother. Please don't let tonight be the night she chokes on her own vomit. Keep her safe and alive for another day. Because who knows, maybe tomorrow is the day she might decide to quit drinking. Maybe tomorrow is the day my mother will come back to me. Oh, who am I kidding? Maybe tomorrow will never come. Maybe tomorrow will just be another day in this endless cycle of watching my mom kill herself.
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