Besides, she cherished her privacy. It gave her the opportunity to "self-medicate", away from the prying eyes of her Mother or her husband's satisfied look that said, "see, your no better than me". Or the disgust and disappointed look in her adopted daughter's face at the realization that the one woman she was supposed to count on was nothing more than a junkie.
It was never her intention, when she started taking Tylenol with codeine, and eventually, percocet, to become a drug-dependent pill head. Like millions of others, it just happened.
However, she had to admit, for numbing pain, dulling hopes and forgetting about that piece of her heart that was, conspicuously, missing, they worked wonders.
The fog they created in her mind, thirsting for the solace of forgetfulness, was easily granted by these little white pills. The heavy limbs, the extra sleep and the glorious lapses between conscious and unconscious thought were amazingly accessible through a simple sip of water followed by a swallow. She could ask for no more and, at the price they paid, expected nothing less. Regardless of the self-loathing at the junkie she'd become or any future physical concerns that could be associated with constant pain-killer abuse, she needed them to go on, to live.
"What's for dinner?", the kid asked, bounding down the stairs, despite her warnings, two at a time.
"Chinese ... and be careful, you'll kill yourself.", she said and hoped the kid would believe her concern.
"Again", the kid replied, ignoring her again. "I don't want Chinese".
"What can I tell ya ... then don't eat".
"Why didn't you cook?", the kids voice climbed a couple of octaves, in hopes her husband would hear. "You haven't cooked all week".
"Didn't feel like it", she said, barely containing the resentment and rage that welled up inside her at the thought of this spoiled, disrespectful 12 year old, who actually expected her to move and, can you imagine, cook.
This kid had the best of everything. The finest clothes, the best education and, most important, at least, one loving, caring parent that she, totally, took for granted. How dare she try and make her feel guilty ... feel anything?
"You don't have to get nasty", the kid said, her voice climbing even higher as she loudly stomped her way back upstairs, two at a time.
"And you don't have to be such a bitch", she wished she could say, but thought instead.
She knew if she had said it out loud, there was a change that her husband would hear and start arguing, yet again, naturally choosing the kid's side.
She also knew, she'd scream if she had to listen to, "She's just a kid ... cut her some slack", one more time.
She lit another cigarette, rocked in her chair and sighed. The smoke filled her lungs, it's toxins invisible, but deadly, much like her life. And, just like the animosity that surrounded everyone in her family. She couldn't remember the exact moment everything changed, but she, certainly, knew why it changed.
The phone rang it's mandatory two times before the answering machine, acting as a screener for all those people she had long ago left behind, picked up. Acting on it's own, yet again, her anticipation rose along with her hopes. Maybe this time it would really be Mary. Maybe, she had found a way to call or maybe, had someone call for her. Time stopped at the sound of the beep.
"Hello ... hello... pick up the phone. Alright, later Dude". It was only her husband's business partner.
She never learned and knew she never would, even though, there would be no phone call.
It had been four months and if Mary hadn't called yet, than there was no reason to hope that she ever would or ever could, for that matter.
The motion of the rocker soothed her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember.
Waking up at the crack of dawn, preparing breakfast, getting them ready for school, and than filling the day with all those little tasks most people find mundane, but she relished. Cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry. There was a pride to be felt in doing these things well, with love, for her family.
After they came home from school, she gave them a snack, something small, and helped them, the best she could, with their homework. Then dinner, some T.V or video games, a shower and bed.
Once in a while, Mary would fall asleep on her queen size bed, entrenched in her husband's large arms. Safe and secure, she looked like a doll wrapped in the big down comforter.
The therapist once told her, Mary had said, it was the safest place in the whole wide world.
She smiled at the thought and the truth it represented. There was a time, locked in her husband's arms, she knew no harm would ever befall her.
They had both been wrong.
END OF PART 2 - PART 3 COMING SOON!
No comments:
Post a Comment