Perfect

I sighed and walked through my house door. I looked over to find my mother passed out on the couch with a bottle of wine tipping in her hand. I quietly rushed over after shutting the door and quietly pulled it from her sleeping grasp before placing it beside her and sighing.

She lay in her bathrobe and nothing else, the silk fabric hung off her shoulders exposing her naked breast, and her soft snores echoed through the empty house. I sighed before pulling a blanket off the couch and covering her with it.

“Mother,” I sighed before walking upstairs to my bedroom.

Once there I laid on my bed and played music to fill the quietness. My thoughts drifted off. How did she get like this? She was never perfect but she used to pretend like it, she still does but before she even pretended with me. I believed she was perfect.

My mind drifted off to some earlier memories of my past.

”Smile sweetheart, boys like that,” My mother ordered my 12 year old self.

We were currently at lunch on a mother daughter outing while my father worked on a set down the block. I was bored and she decided to take me here since she was done filming for the day anyway; we both were.

A man walked up; he looked to be about 40 and seemed very nervous.

“Excuse me,” he smiled at my mother who looked up politely.

“Yes,” she smiled.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he said.

“It’s no problem,” I said to make him feel better and my mother shot me a look and I knew I was in trouble.

“I just wanted your autograph,” he said pushing a pen and paper into her hand.

She smiled and quickly wrote on it; they exchanged a few words with me in silence and he left. I waited for my punishment for whatever crime I committed.

“Never speak to a man unless spoken to,” she frowned as she scolded.

My mother was very old fashioned; she was raised as she was raising me. To always serve a man; men were kings and women were their servants. Really I saw it as men were brats and women their slaves. I didn’t question her though just looked down.

“Sorry mother,” I muttered and she nodded.

“Now go back to your lunch,” she ordered grabbing her fork and going for her salad.

I hated salad, much rather have a burger like dad and I get but no “ladies eat healthy to look healthy” mom would say whenever I ordered food.

I loved my mom don’t get me wrong but if I didn’t have my dad I don’t know how I’d stand her.

I wiped the tear away at the memory. How I’d kill to have that woman back besides this one.

Ever since dad left she’s never been the same. Always drinking the day away and passing out. It’s been two years and she’s still depressed. I got myself up every day just to work so we can still live comfortable; don’t get me wrong my dad left money but bottles of wine and this house, these clothes, ours cars aren’t cheap. Someone still has to work in this home to keep up with the bills; my mom’s been retired since my dad has left so it’s up to me.

I wake up, work, clean, cook for her, make sure she’s still alive, help her stumble up the stairs to sleep, make sure if she does make a public appearance she’s sober enough to speak; that was my real life.

For some reason it brought me comfort knowing people thought my life was perfect. I claimed it too, I had nothing to complain about, and my life was great. Maybe if I believe it it’ll be true.