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“Tell me, Billie, what can I do to entice you over to my organization?” he asked as we neared the door.
“I don’t think it’s going to happen. I’m starting to get settled and all. I’m sorry.” I inched closer to the door, as if he’d be able to read the guilt on me at any second.
“I respect your wishes, but I won’t disappear completely. I don’t believe in taking no for an answer.” He took a step back, making a show of giving me space, and bowed his head.
I walked into my mother’s house—myhouse—a little while later, wondering what type of reception I’d get. She screamed and grabbed a pan off the counter.
“Who are you? Get out!”
I guess that was settled.
“Mom, what are you doing? It’s me,” I said.
She squinted, staring at me, pan still raised.
Recognition seemed to flash before she dropped the pan an inch. “You look familiar. Who are you?”
“It’s me. Billie.”
“Billie?” She lowered the pan slowly. “I don’t know why, but you looked so weird for a minute.”
“I cut my hair differently,” I said, giving her a lie to hang on to. I’d known being forgotten by my mother was going to hurt, but somehow it still felt like I’d been sucker-punched. She wasn’t perfect, but she’d loved me. Probably still did when she remembered me.
I pushed the door to my room open, to find it barren. “Where’s my stuff? My room is empty.”
She walked over, glancing at the room that held nothing but the metal frame where my bed used to be and a scarf I’d never liked hanging on the doorknob.
“Oh. I was clearing out a little. I didn’t think you were coming back for some reason.”
Clearing out? “Sold everything” was probably a truer statement. “Why didn’t you call me first?” I knew why, but that didn’t seem to stop the words from coming or the hurt from building up inside. It wasn’t her fault. It was the transition. Everything was disappearing, and I couldn’t stop it. It was like trying to stop water from flowing through my fingers.
My head spun and my stomach swirled. I left my room, the emptiness feeling claustrophobic, and dropped onto a kitchen chair.
“What’s the matter? With your new job you can buy some more stuff. You did get a new job, right?” She pushed a few greasy strands out of her face. She didn’t look like she’d showered in a week. I used to nudge her along, but now she was truly alone.
“Why do you look so bad?” she asked, her voice getting that edge. “You’ve got everything. You didn’t have a man steal your youth, abandoning you with a baby. You had a charmed life. Not like mine.”
I’d heard this one too many times to listen to it again. It wasn’t a big hit the first hundred times. But it wasn’t only that. I was beginning to feel like a ghost, and this place only reminded me of that. I’d come here for one purpose. I needed to do that and get out.
I gave her a hug, for tinkering purposes. Then I couldn’t seem to let go, holding on a little tighter and longer. How much longer did I have before she didn’t recognize me at all? Would I be completely gone?
“What’s wrong with you?” she said, pulling back.
I blinked several times, trying to keep the tears in check and not let go. I needed this to work. If I couldn’t get back, this was the best I could do for her.
“You know, you’re not that old. I bet if you stopped drinking, things might turn around. You might meet someone really nice and maybe even get a new home.”
“You think?” she asked, looking a little dazed.
I didn’t know if the tinkering was working or she’d already drunk too much.
“Yeah, I do. You know, I remember you telling me how you don’t even like alcohol.”
How would I take care of her when she didn’t know me? This had to work. Had to.
“I’ve got to go. Call me if you need me,” I said as I walked out the door, knowing she’d probably forget she had a daughter by next week.
“Okay,” she said.
