Page 81 of Off-Limits
“Like death warmed up, bub, but I’ll pull through. The doc said there is nothing they can do for me now. It’s a waiting game.”
Dread coils around my stomach, squeezing. Swallowing the melancholy bubbling on my tongue, I nod my head and find mum’s eyes glassy. She doesn’t say anything, just takes a sip of beer.
“What is the diagnosis?”
“I have cancer.”
I want to ask more questions, but I don’t know what else to say.
As cruel as it may sound, my dad made his bed, and now he has to lie in it, and I think that’s what frustrates me the most about people.
We treat our bodies like an amusement park, feeding it rubbish food, drinking alcohol, taking drugs, whatever the poison might be, and then when we get sick, we cry victim, and want everyone to stop what they are doing and help us.
That’s not how the real-world works, and by the look on my father’s face, he found out the hard way. Dad turns away from me and watches Home and Away, and when the ad comes on, I decide I’m done with the awkwardness.
“Well, I’ve got to head off, but I’ll come see you next week. I have some things I need to sort out and paint to pick up.”
“You still living that useless dream, Dottie? You know art doesn’t make money.”
“I don’t do it for the money, Dad, I do it because I enjoy it.”
He scoffs, and my mum elbows him. “Lewis, enough.”
He turns from the tele and gives her the crazy eyes he used to back when I was young, and just when I think he’s about to loop out, he just smiles at her then looks to me.
“Dottie, I need some more money. These damn quacks are milking us dry.”
“Lewis!” Mum hisses.
“Shut up, Mani. When I’m dead and gone, you’re going to have nothing, so the longer I’m alive, the better off you are.”
I watch my mother’s shoulders sag as she visibly deflates. Like the countless times when I was growing up.
“How much?”
“Five grand should get us through the next month or so.”
“This is the last time, Dad. I won’t be here when this money runs out, and I sure as shit won’t be sending you anymore.”
I see his jaw clench, but he gives me a solemn nod. I don’t believe he won’t ask for more, but I am drawing the line here. I can’t keep saving my mother from herself, or him. I know she loves my father, and him her, but they are toxic for each other, and when they need money next, it will be my mum asking and not him.
He always gets her to do his dirty work.
So, I do what I swore I wouldn’t do again. I get in my car, go and withdraw five grand, drive back to my parents, and hand it to my mother at the front door. A tear slides down her sad face as she accepts it.
“I’m so sorry, Dottie, that I couldn’t give you a better life. That I couldn’t save you from your own trauma. Please know that I will always love you no matter what, and - and know that I am proud of you.”
Tears fall down my face and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight. We cry for a few moments, allowing the past to fall away, while I acknowledge what she finally said after all these years.
She’s sorry, she loves me and she’s proud of me. That’s all I ever wanted from them, but then dad’s voice booms from inside, and mum wipes her face free of the tears.
“Go on, bub, we will see you soon, ok?”
“Yeah, ma, you will, and I love you, too,” I say, reaching inand squeezing her again before making my way down the stairs to my car.
Opening the door, I look up and see her still watching me. She offers me a small wave, but I can tell she’s still crying from here. I hesitate, the little girl inside of me wanting to rescue her, but then she shoos me away, smiling at me.
I swallow the uncertainty clouding my thoughts, but when my dad calls again, she quickly waves again and closes the door. I stand there for a few moments, feeling all tied up in the stomach.
