Im sitting in front of my mother in the cheap casino cafe that my family has dined in countless times before.
I am telling her half of what I want to say because I understand her nature. She will never level with me on the whole truth. She will never reckon with her nature as I have. Reality is too heavy for her. Her actions haunt her like ghosts, and she is ever a child with her head beneath her blankets, tuning out the terror.
I know she sees those ghosts reflected in my eyes, hovering just behind her head.
I'm sick. Just a head cold, or a flu. Its not the worst I've dealt with of course. I feel worse some days with no virus in my system, no sore throat or runny nose. Just the ever present nameless illness that wracks my body day in and day out. I think to myself that I would take these headaches and feverish chills and aches over some of my worst "normal" symptoms.
I sick and thinking of my mother in the cafe. We were talking about mothers. I was explaining to her that her youngest daughter; her last baby, who is growing tall, and smart, and angry, sees her mother - my mother - as the center of her world. Her affection and approval the most valuable resource she knows.
"I know," my mother tells me. "You always want your mother. My mother wasn't the most caring but sometimes when im sick I still think, 'man I wish I had my mom.'"
She says this with tears in her eyes and I cant stomach it, so I look at the table, I nod my head. "Yeah, I know." I dont mean to choke on the words but I do.
Its not the first time she's told me that. She carries that wound with her. It bleeds and seeps like it's fresh. I know that. She carries all her wounds with her, and if they were visible on her skin she would be glossy red all over.
Im sick, and I'm thinking of my mother, and I dont think I can recall wishing for her ever. I dont think I ever knew her comfort, I dont crave it. I don't crave it from anybody.
I am sick and I think of my mother and I am relieved beyond expression that I am alone. Nobody is here. Nobody will stroke my hair, or make my tea, or tell me to sleep. Nobody will run to the store for tissues or soup. Nobody will remember when I last took medicine. Nobody will press their hand or their lips to my forehead to check my temperature. I promise I am glad to be alone.
I was getting sick before. Weaker every day. Muscles in my hands locking up and going numb, paralyzed for minutes like stone. My vision cloudy and unfocused. My lungs too weak to support my speech or a long walk. My legs collapsing beneath my own weight.
I am sick, reacting to the drugs. My heart pounding out of my ribs, my brain drowning in static, my legs and my chest and my throat weak like clay. I feel myself dying in our bed. He's in the other room high as a kite. Last time I got sick in front of him he told me I scared him sober. Told me it was a waste of a joint. Thats okay, I'll do it alone this time.
Its about an hour, or maybe 2, or maybe 3, til the episode subsides. I lose count just focused on willing myself to breathe. I am embarrassed that this is happening and I dont want him to see me like this, but I do wish someone was here. I wish someone would tell me my heart is pounding too fast. I wish someone would tell me my hands are ice cold. I wish someone would breathe with me, and hold me tight to them so I dont fall apart. I wish someone would call an ambulance and tell me not to be scared, to hold my hand and tell me it'll all be alright.
Not for him, not my mother, not anybody I know. Maybe not anybody in this lifetime. I wish all the same, just for a moment, and then I am glad to be alone again.
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