want to crack her fucking face in, but tonight I’d come dangerously close to laying her ass out. She’d withheld my money for months, and I could get past her sending just fifty dollars since I left. But dismissing my pain…my never-ending nightmares was beneath even her.
What to do?
I had no car and nowhere to go. There was no way I’d ask Ragee to drive down to come and get me. It was close to midnight, and I couldn’t inconvenience him so soon after I did a few weeks ago for Brick’s funeral. And Raj wasn’t rich with endless means of gas money. Dude was a starving artist, a big man filled with talent and passion. He was no millionaire, not even financially stable.
My eyes trailed over to the duffle bag I dropped when I came inside. It made me wonder why I came home. My mother was right. I preferred staying away. I’d never said it to her, but this was always the last place I wanted to be.
Going to my Aunt Sonya’s wasn’t an option. Renata just told me how she’d been fussing about the army of people in her little trailer. I couldn’t blame her. There was no bed or sofa space in there. The best they could give me was a spot on the floor. I didn’t want to do that either. Sitting down on the couch that once belonged to my Margaret, I wondered what she would do.
My mother had gone back to Paul. I doubted even my grandmother would have predicted this. He may have stopped coming around, but Paul never left my shadows, my memories, my nightmares. This couldn’t be happening. I never understood that woman. Maybe my ideas of parenting to protect were wrong. Or maybe, like my Margaret Maureen said, Dorothy McNabb wasn’t born with the maternal gene, just the reproductive parts.
“Shit. I wish you were still here…” I groaned, sinking to the carpeted floor.
It smelled like her. My mother got most of my grandmother’s furniture after she passed, even her bedroom set. I wanted that, but my mother called rank. Her living room furniture, dining room and kitchen tables, china cabinet, and dishes. And no matter how much the furniture carried the scent of my Margaret, this home held the spirit of my mother.
My eyes traveled over to the TV stand where, beneath it, in the storage cabinets, were my Margaret’s old photo albums. I spent the next couple of hours flipping through them, feeling comforted and sad at the same damn time. It was a needed escape from my present torment. These pictures were her at so many phases of her life that seemed too short for my needs. Her childhood and high school graduation pictures made me jealous of not having her youth, only her later years. I could live, eat, and sleep in that woman’s chest and be just as content as normal humans. There were pictures of her at different jobs she held. My Margaret sported the same fake smile.
Boy, what I would give to see even your scary frown…
Hearing a car pull up, I dropped the last photo album and sprung to my feet for the window. My pulse rocketed on the way. And even after I sighed, relieved it was the neighbor and not Paul, I was still shaken. When he came, I wanted to be alert, prepared. I wanted to be on guard so he wouldn’t think he could still make me do disgusting things I didn’t want to do. I wouldn’t try to play sleep or comatose. I’d fucking fight tonight.
In the meantime, I decided I’d spent enough time yearning for something I would never have again, and packed away the photo albums. Then I was thirsty. After pouring myself Mommy’s powered tea special, I went to my phone for the time. That’s all I could check it for. No one was probably up at close to three in the morning.
Of course, some time after gulping down the entire glass, I had to pee. Cautiously, I went into the bathroom to relieve myself. Everything seemed the same in there. No signs of a man living here other than an extra towel and washcloth. I bet it was for him. My mother had never been short of a man wanting to fuck her, so why go back to Paul? I questioned that as I washed and dried my hands. When I passed by her closed door, I could hear the television playing. Mommy