NICKY’S MOTHER SITS IN THE KITCHEN, TRYING NOT TO UNDERSTAND, EVEN AS SHE UNDERSTANDS, HER DAUGHTER’S NEED TO STAY BUSY AND AWAY FROM THE DARK SECRETS OF THEIR HOME.
My mother hid her emotions every day.
Now, instead of the gratification she’d received from her work, she picked up my father from the front lawn after he’d passed out, or helped him as he stumbled out of his truck, or undressed him and put him to bed, and sometimes wiped his ass when he’d made a mess of himself.
She drove to the store to get his bottles of whiskey so he wouldn’t drive drunk to get them.
Mom could’ve hidden his keys but that would have meant taking his verbal and sometimes physical abuse.
Perhaps she considered disabling his truck in some way, but that would have meant he couldn’t get to work and his livelihood might be threatened.
Maybe this one of her silent gifts, making sure our college education was secure.
Like a doctor prescribing painkillers, she doled out his shots and managed his life.
Sometimes late at night, Dad’s friends called my mom to get him from the bar because he couldn’t drive. Jenise and I would ride with her, often around midnight, shrinking in the back seat under our blanket, trying to stay invisible.
“Going out?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, doing some charity work,” I said. “One of the guys on the Goliaths is coming to pick me up. Jenise leave already?”
“She had something she needed to check on at school. One of the Goliaths players is taking you? Isn’t that a little unusual?” She asked with raised eyebrows.
I think it is, but I don’t know what to do with it yet.
“No, it’s just that I was the person who submitted the cheer team plan. We started talking and because his dad was in the military, we hit it off.” I took a breath. “He’s easy to talk with.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Is he single?”
“Is he single? That’s a weird question. Why?”
“Just curious,” she said.
“Yes, he’s single,” I said.
“How old is he?”
“Almost twenty-five,” I said.
“And you know this because . . .”
“Because I follow the team, mom. When I look at the press guide it has their birthdays. He’s trying to help us with our college applications, that’s all. A twenty-five-year-old man isn’t interested in seventeen-year-old-girls.”
“No?” she probed.
“No, that’s disgusting.” But not “yuck” like my first response when I talked with Tara.
“Don’t you think you have enough to do?” she asked.
Like my father, I self-medicated, but instead of using alcohol, I stuffed my schedule with as many activities as I could to avoid my home life. My medication was to stay busy and away from anything too emotional. By not letting anyone in, I could stay numb and protected.
More hurt? I wasn’t about to take any chances. I’d cried enough growing up and my invisible suitcase was heavy and full of anxiety.
“I’ve got plenty of time in my schedule, Mom. Anyway, it’s summer.”
1. WHAT ARE SOME OF THE THINGS YOU OR YOUR SIBLINGS DID TO AVOID THE “PROBLEM” IN YOUR HOUSE?
2. WERE YOU EVER ABLE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH THE ADDICTED PERSON?
3. WERE YOU EVER ABLE TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH YOUR SIBLINGS? PARENTS? RELATIVES?
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MAY
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