Page 11 of Born into Madness
“I’ll have corn,” I say, too pissed to look at her. I should’ve stayed on campus. I could’ve gotten some takeout from my favorite Mexican place. The thought of a plate full of black bean tacos nearly makes me cry. I’d been too busy with classes and skipped lunch, and a huge plate of food was the only reason I’d talked my ass into coming here tonight. Now I get to sit down and suck back a cob of corn while I inhale secondhand smoke and endure my mom’s cold stare. Wonderful.
“Stop being dramatic, Cindy,” she says, handing me a plate. “There’s a salad in the fridge you can have.” Unable to resist, she adds, “It’s always surprised me that you never seem to lose weight, even though you eat like a damn rabbit.”
I ignore the jab and get my cob of corn, grab the prepackaged salad and some French dressing before sitting down at the table. When my mom’s filled her plate, she joins me and starts eating. Nothing breaks the silence for several minutes but the sound of our chewing until she finally asks about my classes.
“They’re going well,” I tell her. “It’s hard, but I’m keeping up with everything.”
After taking a drink, she points her fork at me. “Good. Don’t let your grades slip. It’s costing us a fortune to send you there.”
“I told you I’d pay you back.”
The soft grunt makes it obvious she’s not holding her breath on that one.
“I will,” I insist. “Besides, I’m thinking about maybe becoming a vet tech instead of doing the whole vet-track thing.”
The loud clatter of my mom dropping her fork momentarily stuns me, but then she starts yelling, and I slowly start to feel the familiar sense of dread creep up my spine.
“Of course you’re quitting,” she says, and the spite in her voice surprises me, even though it really shouldn’t. “Billy and I saved up for this because you wanted to follow your little friend to the best goddamn university in the city, and you promised us it was so you could make something of yourself.”
“Being a vet tech is nothing to be ashamed of,” I say, forcing the words from my parched throat. “I’ll have all my core classes done after this year, and then I can enroll in a two-year vet tech program.” When she doesn’t say anything, I add, “I think I’d be happier doing that.”
“Happy?” My mom spits the word out like the foreign concept it is to her. “Life isn’t just about being happy, Cindy. You think I liked having my husband die on me? You think I liked struggling as a single mom? You think I liked how hard I had to work to save up enough money to send you to this damn school?”
My chest tightens, and while my mom continues to rant about her shitty life, I look at my plate.Fork in my hand, hard chair beneath me, feet on tile.I mentally map out things I can feel, grounding myself in this moment and forcing air into my lungs as the anxiety settles deep within me like a weighted blanket I can’t get out from.
“Oh, Jesus,” she groans. “Is it drama time? The Cindy Theatrics Show about to start?”
I raise my eyes to her. “How can you be so cruel?” Letting out a harsh laugh, I squeeze the fork tighter, wanting to feel something solid in my hand as I force the words from my trembling lips. “You think my life has been happy? A dead dad and then a mom who turned into an alcoholic when she married an abusive asshole of a man and brought him into our home. You think that wasfunfor me, Mom?”
“You ungrateful ass.” She stands, going to the counter to grab her pack of cigarettes, no longer caring that it’ll make itimpossible for me to breathe. “We’ve been sober for a year,” she says. “How dare you bring that up to me.”
“I’m glad you got your shit together, Mom, I really am, but just because you’re sober now doesn’t mean it erased the hell you two put me through.”
She lights her cigarette and takes a deep pull. “Your problem is that you never just let things go.”
Disgusted, I push back my chair and stand. Ignoring the cloud of smoke that’s filling the air and slowly drifting towards me. “I don’t let things go?” It takes me a second to continue. Anger courses through me as a familiar tightening hits my chest. It’s the early stages, and I’m not sure yet if it’s the start of an asthma or panic attack. Right now I’m too pissed to care. Either one will hit me full force soon enough, but right now I have something to say, and it won’t wait.
“I’m so sorry that I can’t let things go, Mom.” I let out a harsh laugh. “I guess a stronger person could just forgive and forget years of abuse and neglect. How thoughtless of me to not let all that go the second you two put down the goddamn bottle.”
“You watch your tone when you speak to me.” Another angry pull and then she’s stabbing the butt out in the filthy ashtray in front of her. “We did the best we could, and you were always taken care of.”
“Only because Grace took care of me when you couldn’t.”
My mom scoffs and reaches for another cigarette. “Ah, yes, your precious Grace. The perfect mother.”
“I never said she was perfect, but she is kind, and without her I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. She’s the one who taught me how to put a tampon in for crying out loud. You were passed out, and I had no one else to help me.” I take a shaky breath. “And she always let me sleep over when I didn’t feel safe being here with you andhim.”
My mom shakes her head, not wanting to hear what I have to say. She always shuts down as soon as I bring my stepdad into the mix. For some reason the fact that he was not just a drunk but a violent one is something I’m never allowed to bring up. I wasn’t allowed to talk about it then, and I’m sure as hell not allowed to talk about it now.
“You need to leave the past in the past,” my mom says. “You need to move on.”
“I’m glad you quit drinking, Mom, I really am, but just because you’re not tipping the bottle back anymore doesn’t mean everything just magically goes away. Also, I’m pretty sure the twelve-step program has something in there about making amends. I’m still waiting for my goddamn apology.”
The look on my mom’s face makes it clear it’s never once occurred to her that I might deserve an apology, that I might need an honest acknowledgment that my childhood was fucked right the hell up because of her and Billy’s actions. I wasn’t lying about being happy she’s given up drinking, but I’m not about to pretend that I didn’t live through hell from the time I was six until I made my escape at eighteen. Over a decade of living with two drunks, one of whom traumatized me on a deep level, yeah, that’s not something you forget just because they’re no longer chugging drinks.
“I can’t do this,” I tell her, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “I’ll call you next week, Mom.”
She doesn’t say anything, just takes another deep drag and watches me leave. Once I’m outside, I stop. Gripping the railing tightly, I close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
