Say When

T H I R T E E N

I took the stairs slowly. Sure not to spill the water or trip and send the pills tumbling in every direction. I didn't climb the stairs with the same disdain that I usually did. Something about receiving that email yesterday had made the world feel different. Or maybe it felt the same and I just felt different in it.

There was finally a piece of it that I could claim for my own. I felt safe to imagine a future that didn't revolve around the corners of this house. A career, a house of my own, traveling, marriage. Was it hard to get a passport? Marriage. Where did I want to live? Marriage. I tried to send the word away but it kept snapping back to the forefront.

I'd never thought about connecting myself to someone for a lifetime before. Didn't think I wanted it after seeing my parents' pathetic attempt at a union. But things were possible. Life with Jax was possible.

I entertained thoughts of ceremonies and dresses as I entered my Mother's room. She was sitting up in bed. Legs swung off the side. Back hunched over. But she was up. Holding herself steady with her hands planted on either side of her. I stopped in my tracks.

I wanted to get her attention but I realized that I didn't know what to call her. Mom. Mother. Ma. Catherine. I hadn't addressed her directly since I was small. Before I realized that she was not like other moms so there was no use in calling her such.

"Bring it here." She motioned a hand toward me and I stuttered in my step before I walked over to her. I placed the pills in her hand. She threw them back quickly and reached for the glass. She took in two gulps and shoved the glass toward me. I turned to walk away but stopped. I turned back to her.

"Are you okay?" I asked her. The machine hummed and vibrated. She snorted and shook her head.

"I don't know what 'okay' feels like." It wasn't much. But it was communication. It screwed with my brain. Her sitting up. Talking. She seemed human for once. I didn't know what to say so I stayed silent. Standing there halfway to the doorway but held in place.

"I feel better than I did yesterday. That's all I can say." She coughed a rough cough that shook her tiny body to pieces. I stretched the water back out to her but she waved it away.

"That's good. To feel better." I said in a quiet tone that matched hers. She nodded. Her afro of curls shifting slightly as she did.

"I heard your Dad fussing at you." She kept her eyes trained on the TV. "Good Times" was on. I rubbed my damp hands on my jeans.

"I'm sorry I missed your medicine yesterday."

"I'm not. I'm loopy on those things. If I wanted to zone out I'd hit a pipe again." The coughing again. It sounded violent but she barely seemed to notice.

"He's always fussing at some damn body. Needs to mind his own fucking business," She mumbled and reached for the lotion that was on her little crowded nightstand.

This was still a bit surreal. I can count on my hands the number of times I've heard her speak full sentences. The last time was over a year ago when I accused her of faking a swallow of her pills. She called me stupid and told me to get the fuck out.

"He just worries." I picked up the lotion and handed it to her. She struggled to push down the pump but eventually got a glob of white cream in her palm. She rubbed it over her arms.

"He's only worried about himself. He ain't no saint." She concentrated on applying the lotion over the dry skin on her elbows. It seemed like it took all her attention and energy to focus on the task. But even still, it was more than she'd done in years.

I'd walked by the room sometimes to see her nurse giving her sponge baths. Painting her nails. Doing her hair. But she'd reclaimed this task. How many more tasks was she willing to reclaim? Is mothering on that list? I waited for her to say more but nothing came. Her rant was over.