Page 10 of Born into Madness
“I’m sure it’ll be a blast. The last one we had Deirdre spent thirty minutes bitching about how we never let her pick the movie during our monthly movie night. It was fucking awesome watching her desperately try to squeeze out some fake tears.”
“Just think about how much it means to your mom,” I tell her as I start walking backwards.
“That’s the only reason I put up with this.” She grins when she adds, “She’s lucky she’s such a great mom and I love her. She’s put up with enough shit from me, so it’s the least I can do.”
“What are you talking about? You and I were perfect growing up.”
Sav smiles big enough to show off the dimple in her right cheek. “Like the time we ordered fake tattoos and thought it’d be a great idea to put them on our faces?”
I hold up my hand. “I swear I didn’t know they’d last so long.”
We both laugh at the memory.
“I thought my mom was going to have a heart attack. I had to go to church withBig Tit Energywritten across my cheek. She refused to let me stay home.” Sav points a manicured nail at me.“I may never forgive you for that one, especially since I was a late bloomer and flat as a board at the time.”
I grin and give her a wink. “Big tit energy has nothing to do with cup size.” I give her another smile and a wave before turning around to climb the steps to the foreign language building. I’m still grinning at the memory of our not-so-rebellious days when I walk into my Russian class and take a seat in the middle. The room fills up quickly, but I ignore everyone as I get my stuff together and prepare to take notes. Aside from Sav, I mostly keep to myself. My heavy course load doesn’t allow for much free time, and I’ve always been more of an introvert and on the shy side.
When Professor Borzov comes in, he scans the room, stopping on me for a few awkward seconds before looking at the others. I keep my focus on my books, not wanting to know if his beady little eyes are still looking at me, and when he starts the lecture, I let out a sigh of relief and get to work.
The rest of the day passes quickly enough as I hustle from class to class, and by the time I’m walking out of my organic chemistry lab, I’m exhausted and wishing I hadn’t been cheated out of two hours of sleep this morning. I debate the fight it will cause if I bail out of supper tonight, but quickly decide the fallout won’t be worth it.
Knowing there’s no way around it, I decide to get it over and done with. Stopping off at my dorm room, I toss my books onto my bed and run a quick brush through my unruly hair. Not only is it red, but there’s also a shit ton of it. Supposedly I get it from my dad, but he died when I was two so I don’t have any memories of him. Billy, my stepdad, married my mom when I was six. Things went straight to hell for me after that, and if it weren’t for meeting Savanna, I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me. We were assigned to the same first grade class, and for some reason, she’d immediately taken a liking tome. She’d declared us best friends on the spot, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. The only good memories I have of my childhood are because of her.
Refusing to get bogged down in all the negative, I toss the brush aside and grab my bag, making sure I have my inhaler before I leave. Tonight’s going to be bad enough. I don’t need to add an emergency room trip to the mix. Shoving the stick of pepper spray Sav insists I carry into my pocket, I leave the dorm building and make my way off campus. It doesn’t take long to get to the subway, and once I’m on my way, I spend the ride making study cards for my organic chem class. By the time my stop arrives, I have the vital information down. I sometimes feel like my life is nothing but index cards in various colors, memorizing one fact after another until my head feels like it’s going to explode.
Stepping through the doors as soon as they open, I follow the crowd of people up the stairs, and once we’re on the sidewalk, I weave around an older couple and then a group of teenage boys. The apartment that’s been my home since I was born is only a fifteen-minute walk from the subway stop, and even though I have no desire to get there any faster, I find myself picking up my pace. The ground-floor apartment is within sight when I turn the corner, and the first thing I do is look around for my stepdad’s white truck. I don’t see it in the driveway or along the street, and it’s impossible to miss withBilly’s Plumbingwritten along the door and the trailer of equipment that’s always attached to the back.
The coast is clear, though, so I cross the street and knock on the door. I could use my key and walk in, but something stops me. Now that I no longer live here, it doesn’t feel like I should, or maybe it’s just that I really don’t want to be here. I hear the deadbolt turn right before my mom swings the door open.
“Why’d you knock?” are the first words out of her mouth.
“I forgot my keys,” I lie and then give her a quick hug.
My mom and I don’t look like mother and daughter at first glance. She’s taller, slimmer, with brunette hair and a mouth that’s perpetually set in a thin line. The only trait we share are our eyes. Vivid green and almond shaped, the one thing that made me doubt my suspicions that I’d been adopted.
“Come on in to the kitchen. Supper is almost done.” She turns her back and leads the way while I try not to cringe at the stink of secondhand smoke that permeates the house. When we step into the kitchen, she grabs the cigarette that she’s left burning in an ashtray, takes one last long drag of it before making a show of putting it out.
“Sorry,” I say, even though it’s completely fucked up that I feel the need to apologize for having asthma, something I probably got from growing up in a house filled with two smokers who insisted on keeping it all inside, because god forbid they step out onto the back porch for five minutes.
Ignoring my anger, I set my bag down and say, “It smells really good, Mom.”
“It’s just roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and corn. Nothing special.”
“Chicken?” I ask, trying my best to keep my tone light.
My mom bends over to get the roasted chicken out, and my heart deflates when I see that it is most definitely not something that’s made from tofu. My stomach lets out a pathetic whimper of a growl while I resign myself to a meal of potatoes and corn.
“What’s wrong with chicken?” she asks, reaching for a knife and fork.
“I’m a vegetarian, Mom. Have been since I was sixteen. Remember?”
Her heavy sigh makes it clear she remembers and just doesn’t care. “I thought for sure you’d grow out of that.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll just have some mashed potatoes and corn.”
She looks over at me. “I put chicken broth in the potatoes.”
Goddammit.
