I sat in the kitchen in my blue/white robe sipping my coffee at a glacial
pace. I'd found I wasn't particularly fond of the stuff after my taste buds
grew back but it gave me an excuse to hang around the kitchen every
morning. As pathetic as it was watching my son perform his daily ritual
with the toaster was about the only time I interacted with him, if it could
be call interaction. I picked at the edge of a corner of the Formica. There
was a little pile of the stuff I'd already pealed off sitting in the middle
of the table. ^I'm *really* pathetic.^
I shot another furtive glance at the stairs. I wasn't exactly sure how Alexander would react if he knew I was hanging around to watch him. The only problem was that he was and hour late. I knew I should do the motherly thing and go upstairs and kick him out of bed, but I'd never done it before. ^It's a wonder he even goes to school.^ I thought ruefully. ^I certainly wasn't going to make him go.^
However I was trying to be his mother. I tugged on a bang. ^I should go upstairs and at least make sure he's not sick.^ Taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to breath in some courage I set my half full mug on the ruined table and unfolded my legs from underneath me. I noted absently that there was a crease from the wood chair edge on my ankle. The banister was covered in a flaking white paint, like everything in this house it was neglected and falling apart, several balustrades were missing or broken off. I didn't even know how or when. The steps beneath me were covered in a fading floral pattern or some sort of reddish design. Years of dirt and feet had worn it till it was hard to tell which and I couldn't even remember if the house had come with carpeting or if Anthony had taken it upon himself to 'fixup' the house as he had halfheartedly from time to time and carpeted the stairs. ^The evidence is pretty damning Bethany my girl. Yes, drugs do make you lose time.^
I gave my bang another tug as I stood outside his door shifting from one bare foot to another trying to decide that 'yes now that I'm here I might as well go in'. With some surprise I noted that Alexander's door though riddled with scratches and scars like all the others in the house hung solidly on it's hinges and didn't even squeak as I pushed it open. As I shut it I discovered the inside contained three sets of locks. ^What reason would a boy have for needing so many locks?^ I shuddered at the implications and turned haunted eyes to the bundle of checker quilts on the bed across from me.
I tore my eyes away settling my gaze on the floor. Shame filled me. The people I had let into our house, the man I had married, god damn it! What kind of mother was I? The empty Cheetos bags and dirty socks surrounding my feet filled my vision. ^I couldn't even keep a clean house.^ Tears leaked out of my eyes and rolled down my nose. It took me several minutes full of fist clenching silent recrimination to pull myself together. Sniffing I clumsily drug my sleeve across my eyes.
^This isn't about me. This is about him. You're supposed to be checking to see if he's sick. Remember?^ My inner thoughts were scathing as I threw off my guilt. Steeling myself I traveled the length of the room to my son's bed careful not to step anywhere where the floor wasn't semi-visible for fear of breaking something. I stopped at the side of his bed hand hovering over the covers where I guessed his head was.
"Alexander? Alexander are you sick?" I heard a muffled groan come from underneath the quilts. I pulled back his cover with a yank, "What-" I faltered when my son blinked up at me from under sleep tousled hair. His eyes were a familiar red on black. "-did you say?" I finished weakly
I shot another furtive glance at the stairs. I wasn't exactly sure how Alexander would react if he knew I was hanging around to watch him. The only problem was that he was and hour late. I knew I should do the motherly thing and go upstairs and kick him out of bed, but I'd never done it before. ^It's a wonder he even goes to school.^ I thought ruefully. ^I certainly wasn't going to make him go.^
However I was trying to be his mother. I tugged on a bang. ^I should go upstairs and at least make sure he's not sick.^ Taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to breath in some courage I set my half full mug on the ruined table and unfolded my legs from underneath me. I noted absently that there was a crease from the wood chair edge on my ankle. The banister was covered in a flaking white paint, like everything in this house it was neglected and falling apart, several balustrades were missing or broken off. I didn't even know how or when. The steps beneath me were covered in a fading floral pattern or some sort of reddish design. Years of dirt and feet had worn it till it was hard to tell which and I couldn't even remember if the house had come with carpeting or if Anthony had taken it upon himself to 'fixup' the house as he had halfheartedly from time to time and carpeted the stairs. ^The evidence is pretty damning Bethany my girl. Yes, drugs do make you lose time.^
I gave my bang another tug as I stood outside his door shifting from one bare foot to another trying to decide that 'yes now that I'm here I might as well go in'. With some surprise I noted that Alexander's door though riddled with scratches and scars like all the others in the house hung solidly on it's hinges and didn't even squeak as I pushed it open. As I shut it I discovered the inside contained three sets of locks. ^What reason would a boy have for needing so many locks?^ I shuddered at the implications and turned haunted eyes to the bundle of checker quilts on the bed across from me.
I tore my eyes away settling my gaze on the floor. Shame filled me. The people I had let into our house, the man I had married, god damn it! What kind of mother was I? The empty Cheetos bags and dirty socks surrounding my feet filled my vision. ^I couldn't even keep a clean house.^ Tears leaked out of my eyes and rolled down my nose. It took me several minutes full of fist clenching silent recrimination to pull myself together. Sniffing I clumsily drug my sleeve across my eyes.
^This isn't about me. This is about him. You're supposed to be checking to see if he's sick. Remember?^ My inner thoughts were scathing as I threw off my guilt. Steeling myself I traveled the length of the room to my son's bed careful not to step anywhere where the floor wasn't semi-visible for fear of breaking something. I stopped at the side of his bed hand hovering over the covers where I guessed his head was.
"Alexander? Alexander are you sick?" I heard a muffled groan come from underneath the quilts. I pulled back his cover with a yank, "What-" I faltered when my son blinked up at me from under sleep tousled hair. His eyes were a familiar red on black. "-did you say?" I finished weakly