It's strange how things don't go the way you expect. I had thought that when Joe and Iris found out I was a racer, it would be a huge deal, and that when my mom finally got to the end, I'd be ok. But the opposite turned out to be true.
Sure, they weren't thrilled about the racing, but when I told them it was for the hospital bills, they pretty much let it go. But then came the day I went to visit my mama, and she looked at me, and we both knew it was almost over.
A life. The life of a woman who confronted demons I couldn't even imagine and beat them. A woman who helped other people do what she'd done, who gave herself so that other people could find their own strength. A mother who'd raised me on her own, loved me enough for ten people, let alone two. Francine. The most beautiful woman in the world. How could there even be a world if she wasn't in it any more?
So I bolted. I let the speed take over, and I raced harder than I'd ever raced before. Who cared if I was safe? Who cared if I made it back? I sure didn't want to even think about a day breaking and a life ending. I just wanted to forget.
Iris, it turned out, cared a lot. She was furious. I didn't want to do what she said, but I knew she was right. I knew if I didn't say goodbye to Mama, I would never forgive myself. Sometimes, when you're not a kid any more, you have to choose between one horrible option and another horrible option.
I couldn't do it alone. I didn't have any friends in Central City—not any real ones—so I asked the only person I could ask. I asked my beautiful sister if she would come with me to say goodbye to our mother.
She said yes. Of course she said yes. I can't write about how it was. I can't talk about how Mama looked or what it was like to finally know that all of our years together and all of the months of taking care of her were finally ending, like the very last grains of sand in an hourglass. I just wanted to shake that hourglass until a few more grains of sand fell out, a few more minutes. But Mama was happy. The one thing I can bear to remember is the pride that was in her eyes. She was proud of me, and she was proud of my sister.
So we went outside, me and Iris. I couldn't think. I didn't even know what was going on until I realized we were beside the car, and I was crying. Finally. Crying so hard I was shaking and couldn't stop myself. Crying for all the months I hadn't cried because I'd been strong for my mama.
My sister came over, close, and she put her arms around me. She's not very big, just like Mama, but her arms felt just as strong and just as safe. Like I had when I was a little boy with my mother, I buried my face in her shoulder. You'd think I'd have felt embarrassed or something, but I didn't. Iris kept hold of me for a long time, and she rubbed my neck the exact same way my mother always had. Maybe things like that are hereditary; I don't know. But it felt exactly right.
"I'm sorry." I pulled away when I had control of myself, feeling bad that I'd asked my sister to come with me and then put her through something that intense.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Wally. I'm just glad you let me come."
I got into the car after her, and I didn't pay much attention to where she was driving until she pulled into the parking lot of an ice cream place with a pink sign. "Dad used to bring Barry and me here on bad days," she said. I didn't argue, and she ordered me something called an ultimate sundae. The thing was so huge it was practically the size of my head, and when I saw it, I laughed, for the first time all day. Iris smiled at me, and it was nice. Good, in spite of everything, to eat way too much ice cream across the table from my big sister.
Joe and Iris were at Mama's service three days later, but they didn't intrude on anything. A lot of people came, ex-addicts, coworkers, nurses and doctors who'd cared for her—people who'd admired my mother's will to live. I only had enough emotional strength to make it through the day. I didn't pay attention to Joe or to my sister, except to thank them for coming the way I thanked everyone else.
"Wally, why don't you come to our house?" Once the graveside prayer was finished, the sun was beginning to go down, and Iris put a hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. "I'm tired. I think I'll go home and get to bed early," I lied.
"Okay," she answered. "Whatever you want." Joe nodded, but I didn't react. I waited until their car was gone to leave because they knew where I was staying, and I didn't want them to see, in the dwindling light, that I was heading the opposite direction.
I needed speed. I needed to feel everything except the road melt away. I was angry, sad, and lonely, so I channeled my feelings into the race, and I won big. It wasn't my biggest night ever, but it was close.
The guy who paid me gave me a weird look. "Man, that was a lot of crazy, even for you. I thought you were going to flip your car about five times." I shrugged. It just didn't feel like it mattered.
When I finally got into bed, it was the early hours of the morning, and I closed my eyes and tried to make myself imagine that my mother wasn't gone; she was just in the hospital, like she'd been for so long, waiting for me to come and see her.
But it didn't work. I was just a kid who'd lost his mama, who felt achingly alone in an ugly, scary world.
