It's Not Your Fault
Chapter 11
“Hi, may I take your order?”
I blinked at the cashier. “I’m sorry?”
“What would you like?” she repeated, smiling at me kindly. No, wait, that wasn’t a kind smile. That was a fake smile. Haha, I have you now, cashier lady! Well, I’m not gonna fall for your fake kindness. Two can play this game.
“Yeah, can I get a snack wrap, crispy, with honey mustard?” Damn. I was supposed to say something witty and harsh. What happened? Hey, wait…is that my mom?
I saw my mother enter the store. Store? No, wait…restaurant…fast food place…where was I? Oh, I see. McDonald’s. Huh, that’s weird. I don’t usually eat here.
My mom walked over to a man sweeping under a table. Her voice carried across the near-empty room. “Excuse me, sir…” The man looked up. “Where can I find a bathroom?” He wordlessly pointed to a sign in the corner marked ‘Restrooms -->’.
“Thanks.” My mom gave the man a tiny smile. Another fake one, I noticed. I watched her walk towards the bathrooms, heels clicking loudly against the linoleum. Something pulled me with her. I stepped away from the girl behind the counter. She kept smiling, showing me her sparkling, perfect, white teeth. Oh, God. Is it just me, or is that pure evil in her eyes? I’m sure those canines are too sharp.
The clicking heels got fainter, and I hurried to catch up to them. My mom clicked into the ladies’ room. Ok, normal enough. But if it was so normal, why was my heart hammering so loudly in my chest? Wait, is that even possible? Isn’t this a dream? Yes, that’s it! This is a dream! That’s why my mom didn’t notice me! I mean, less than usual.
Wait. Even if this is a dream…why am I here?
My mom glanced around the bathroom nervously. She slowly worked her way down the row of stalls, pushing each door open. Her clacking heels were accompanied by a rhythmic thud that resounded every few seconds as the doors hit the sides of the stalls. When she was sure the coast was clear, she turned to one of the sinks along the wall.
As I watched with curious and frightened eyes, my mom reached into her brown leather purse and pulled out a tiny, unmarked bottle. Suddenly, I knew what was going on. I wasn’t in a dream.
I was in a nightmare.
I gasped, unable to breathe. I tried to look away, but I kept watching, kept seeing, as the woman in front of me, so familiar, uncapped that tiny bottle of what could only be called poison. I staggered backwards. Suddenly, my mom looked at me. The bottle was at her lips, the tiny pills glistening in the harsh bathroom lighting. Our eyes met for a second, just a split second. And in that second, even though it was just a nightmare, I saw everything—her pain, her suffering, her broken heart, her troubles, her minimal happiness, her love for those special few, and her borderline insanity—all reflected in those deep, gray-green eyes.
Then, everything went black.
I blinked at the cashier. “I’m sorry?”
“What would you like?” she repeated, smiling at me kindly. No, wait, that wasn’t a kind smile. That was a fake smile. Haha, I have you now, cashier lady! Well, I’m not gonna fall for your fake kindness. Two can play this game.
“Yeah, can I get a snack wrap, crispy, with honey mustard?” Damn. I was supposed to say something witty and harsh. What happened? Hey, wait…is that my mom?
I saw my mother enter the store. Store? No, wait…restaurant…fast food place…where was I? Oh, I see. McDonald’s. Huh, that’s weird. I don’t usually eat here.
My mom walked over to a man sweeping under a table. Her voice carried across the near-empty room. “Excuse me, sir…” The man looked up. “Where can I find a bathroom?” He wordlessly pointed to a sign in the corner marked ‘Restrooms -->’.
“Thanks.” My mom gave the man a tiny smile. Another fake one, I noticed. I watched her walk towards the bathrooms, heels clicking loudly against the linoleum. Something pulled me with her. I stepped away from the girl behind the counter. She kept smiling, showing me her sparkling, perfect, white teeth. Oh, God. Is it just me, or is that pure evil in her eyes? I’m sure those canines are too sharp.
The clicking heels got fainter, and I hurried to catch up to them. My mom clicked into the ladies’ room. Ok, normal enough. But if it was so normal, why was my heart hammering so loudly in my chest? Wait, is that even possible? Isn’t this a dream? Yes, that’s it! This is a dream! That’s why my mom didn’t notice me! I mean, less than usual.
Wait. Even if this is a dream…why am I here?
My mom glanced around the bathroom nervously. She slowly worked her way down the row of stalls, pushing each door open. Her clacking heels were accompanied by a rhythmic thud that resounded every few seconds as the doors hit the sides of the stalls. When she was sure the coast was clear, she turned to one of the sinks along the wall.
As I watched with curious and frightened eyes, my mom reached into her brown leather purse and pulled out a tiny, unmarked bottle. Suddenly, I knew what was going on. I wasn’t in a dream.
I was in a nightmare.
I gasped, unable to breathe. I tried to look away, but I kept watching, kept seeing, as the woman in front of me, so familiar, uncapped that tiny bottle of what could only be called poison. I staggered backwards. Suddenly, my mom looked at me. The bottle was at her lips, the tiny pills glistening in the harsh bathroom lighting. Our eyes met for a second, just a split second. And in that second, even though it was just a nightmare, I saw everything—her pain, her suffering, her broken heart, her troubles, her minimal happiness, her love for those special few, and her borderline insanity—all reflected in those deep, gray-green eyes.
Then, everything went black.