Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
After he walked out, I was left to my own devices and quickly learned how to fend for myself. Cereal became a staple not only for breakfast but dinner as well. Thankfully, I could always grab a hot lunch at school. While other kids complained about what the lunch lady was serving, I gobbled it down and couldn’t get enough.
When I was seven, I figured out how to drag the step stool to the sink and wash dishes. I discovered how to gather up the dirty clothes from our rooms and throw them into the washing machine. I ran the vacuum around our tiny one story and made sure everything was tidy and the bathroom clean. When I was older, I hopped on my bike and rode to the grocery store, using my backpack to bring home food.
Over time, I came to understand that Mama’s moods were cyclical. When she was involved with a man, everything was good. She was functional and able to hold it together. The longer the relationship lasted, the more cracks showed in her thin veneer until finally, she splintered apart, and they’d break up. Then she would spiral into a deep depression. This scenario played out countless times like a broken record until I could predict when her life—and mine—would fall to shit.
I shake those thoughts away and slide behind the wheel of my ancient silver Ford Fusion before shoving the key in the ignition and turning it. This is exactly why I hate thinking about Tony. All it does is dredge up crappy memories that are better left in the past.
When the small car sputters to life, I send up a silent prayer of thanks. The last thing I need is for my baby to break down. Every cent I earn from working at my uncle’s restaurant gets divided between a tiny savings account I started a few years ago and paying the bills.
Mama is currently between jobs and boyfriends. The last one decided her mood swings were too much to deal with and pulled a disappearing act. They’d been together for six rocky months. After he vanished from her life, she stopped showing up for work and after a couple of weeks, they fired her.
It was during my junior year of high school that I took an AP Psychology class and recognized her symptoms. I was able to convince her to set up an appointment with a psychologist. She’s tried a lot of different medications, and some have worked better than others, but nothing has been a cure-all.
There are times when I lay awake at night, wondering what she’ll do when I finally move out. The idea of leaving Mom to her own devices scares the shit out of me. Obviously, I won’t be able to go far, but at some point, I’ll need my own space.
Hell, maybe even a boyfriend.
As much as I would have loved to move into the dorms freshman year, the scholarship I received only covered the cost of tuition and books. Hitting Tony up for money was out of the question.
When I played soccer in middle school, my coaches urged me to try out for a competitive travel team. I knew it would be expensive and worked up the courage to ask if he would be willing to cover the cost. Even part of it. He told me that he’d just bought a new house and couldn’t afford it.
That was the first and last time I asked him for anything.
Unwilling to dwell on those ugly memories, I turn on the radio and crank up the music. It’s just earsplitting enough to blast him from my thoughts. By the time I pull into the driveway of our tiny ranch, I’ve refocused my mind on the work that needs to be accomplished before I can delve between the sheets and grab a couple hours of sleep.
A small lamp illuminates the living room as I slip inside the house. Even though it’s only ten o’clock, silence surrounds me, making it feel as if I’m the only one here. The locks click quietly into place as I beeline to the short hallway on the left where our bedrooms are located before tapping lightly on Mama’s closed door.
When there’s no response, I press my ear to the thin wood and listen for any sign of movement from within. A handful of seconds later, I turn the handle and push it open before peeking inside. I find her curled on her side and snoring lightly. My gaze combs the darkness, finding a few pill bottles on the nightstand.
It's tempting to wake her and make sure she called her therapist for an appointment, but there’s no point in doing it right now. The office is closed. It’ll have to be dealt with before I leave for school in the morning.