Distorted

When Christian had dropped me off at my house, I was a little disappointed that he didn't stay over. With my mom at work, we'd have the house to ourselves for the afternoon. Even when she came home late, she wouldn't know anyone was here. She would just get a bottle of vodka from the cabinet, a glass, and her pack of cigarettes, and retreat to her room.

The first thing I saw when I walked through the front door was an open bottle of wine on the table. That was her morning routine before heading off to work. Once I was out of her hair for the morning, she would drink until she felt buzzed, then get behind the wheel.

Awesome role model, huh?

She used to be. I used to look up to her. I used to envy her. I wanted to want to be her. Then my dad left and she completely fell apart. She started drinking heavily, and on more than one occasion she would call me from God knew where to come and get her. I was fifteen at the time, wasn't able to drive, so I had to have our neighbor drive me.

My mom was less than happy when I showed up with another person to pick her up. She actually started screaming at me in front of Mrs. Levine, yelling about how she called me to come and not some stranger. I reminded her that Mrs. Levine was a good friend of hers and had been for years.

The yelling continued in the car, when we got into the house, and into my bedroom. I had finally had enough and shut the door in her face, making sure to lock it. Then I turned off the light and sat in the dark for what seemed like hours.

I was brought back to the present by the ringing of my phone. I answered it quickly.

"Hello?"

"Kendall? It's Dallas Alder. How are you?"

"Hi," I said, picking up the bottle and placing it back in the cabinet. I leaned against the counter, listening to the shuffle of papers on the other end of the line. "I'm okay. How are you? I'm sorry if the session freaked you out."

"I'm a Psychiatrist, it's my job to keep calm under any circumstance."

"You've had worse cases than me?" I heard myself say.

"I've had worse patients than you," she said softly. "Now, about next week. What time would you like to come by?"

I didn't know. I wasn't even thinking about that. I wasn't even sure what was in store for me for the rest of the week. I just knew that the dreams were going to get worse. I hesitated before answering.

"I don't know," I said, "let me check the calender."

While I cradled the phone on my shoulder, something I hated doing because it didn't work well, I rummaged through the junk drawer that was beside the fridge. I yanked it out, figuring that would take less time, and watched every piece of crap we'd ever collected fall to the floor.

"Can you hold on?" I asked.

I dropped to my hands and knees and started to clean up. Before I stood up, having gotten everything back in order, I noticed something white under the oven. Curiously I crawled toward it and picked it up. It was a folded piece of paper. I opened it and had to hold something to keep steady. It was only a few words, but they were enough to shake my entire foundation.

Your son has been adopted. It's taken care of like I promised it would be. Now you don't have to see us anymore. My daughter will never know you. Goodbye.