Hallelujah
Bob.
My mom had never been the drinker -- that was my dad. She used to say that we only needed one alcoholic in this family, but she'd laugh after that, and I shrugged off the remark.
Now, though, in the past two weeks that my dad had left us, she'd been spending nights at bars rather than her night shift at work. I was surprised she was still employed. When she wasn't drunk, she was overly emotional, venting and crying on my shoulder. I didn't say anything, but I wanted to scream at her that I had feelings too. I wasn't Dr. Fucking Phil.
One Saturday morning, I woke to a sudden burst of light. Groaning, I pried my eyes open to see my mother -- showered, dressed, combed hair -- opening the blinds and turning on the lights.
"Rise and shine, Mr. Sleepyhead! I have some news,"
It was the first time I'd seen her genuinely smile, look or act normal in weeks. I pulled myself out of bed, half nervous as to what this "news" was.
In the kitchen she'd made chocolate-chip pancakes, my favorite. I sat down, staring at a stack drizzled in maple syrup and butter and a huge glass of milk. She smelled like perfume, setting down the silverware for me.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
She sat across from me, watching tentively. I took a big bite so as not to hurt her feelings.
"What's going on?" I finally asked.
"Oh, right, the news. Bob...I think there's bad...karma here. A bad aura. Bad vibes. Bad --:"
"I get it,"
She laughed nervously, sighed. "I want to move to the east coast," She said suddenly.
I dropped my fork on instinct, letting it clatter against my plate. "You want to what?"
"Move. I was thinking New York, or New Jersey. Connecticut's a little too fancy for us..."
"Mom, you can't be serious." I almost wanted to start laughing. She was officially going crazy.
"Bobby, I am," She said softly, reaching over to grasp my cold hands. I stared at her, bewildered. "I want a clean slate."
"You can't get a clean slate here?"
She shook her head.
The ironic thing was that though I hadn't spoken to Delilah in a little over a week, she was the first thing that entered my mind. I wasn't leaving her here. I wasn't leaving her, vulnerable and alone, with Shane, for the rest of her life.
"I can't go," I said quietly.
My mom laughed. "Yes, you are, kiddo." She stood, clearing my half-eaten plate. She turned around, fierce, hands on hips.
"Start packing."
Now, though, in the past two weeks that my dad had left us, she'd been spending nights at bars rather than her night shift at work. I was surprised she was still employed. When she wasn't drunk, she was overly emotional, venting and crying on my shoulder. I didn't say anything, but I wanted to scream at her that I had feelings too. I wasn't Dr. Fucking Phil.
One Saturday morning, I woke to a sudden burst of light. Groaning, I pried my eyes open to see my mother -- showered, dressed, combed hair -- opening the blinds and turning on the lights.
"Rise and shine, Mr. Sleepyhead! I have some news,"
It was the first time I'd seen her genuinely smile, look or act normal in weeks. I pulled myself out of bed, half nervous as to what this "news" was.
In the kitchen she'd made chocolate-chip pancakes, my favorite. I sat down, staring at a stack drizzled in maple syrup and butter and a huge glass of milk. She smelled like perfume, setting down the silverware for me.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
She sat across from me, watching tentively. I took a big bite so as not to hurt her feelings.
"What's going on?" I finally asked.
"Oh, right, the news. Bob...I think there's bad...karma here. A bad aura. Bad vibes. Bad --:"
"I get it,"
She laughed nervously, sighed. "I want to move to the east coast," She said suddenly.
I dropped my fork on instinct, letting it clatter against my plate. "You want to what?"
"Move. I was thinking New York, or New Jersey. Connecticut's a little too fancy for us..."
"Mom, you can't be serious." I almost wanted to start laughing. She was officially going crazy.
"Bobby, I am," She said softly, reaching over to grasp my cold hands. I stared at her, bewildered. "I want a clean slate."
"You can't get a clean slate here?"
She shook her head.
The ironic thing was that though I hadn't spoken to Delilah in a little over a week, she was the first thing that entered my mind. I wasn't leaving her here. I wasn't leaving her, vulnerable and alone, with Shane, for the rest of her life.
"I can't go," I said quietly.
My mom laughed. "Yes, you are, kiddo." She stood, clearing my half-eaten plate. She turned around, fierce, hands on hips.
"Start packing."