Page 44 of Last First Date

19

WAVERLY

Idrove through the small farming community outside of town. Nothing changed. Sure, ownership of some of the local businesses changed hands, but it was the same old buildings. The same farms and grain elevators stood tall against the sky. Cows grazed in the pasture that ran alongside the roadway marked with signs reminding people there might be livestock in the road.

I rolled down the window, taking in the familiar scent of hay and manure. It was a smell most city folks would plug their noses at, but to me, it smelled like home. It carried with it memories of my childhood. Even if my childhood wasn't always happy, it was still nostalgic.

I turned off the highway onto a gravel road, my tires crunching on the uneven surface. I could see the single wide trailer I'd grown up in up ahead.

I couldn't shake the tug of nostalgia. Homecomings were supposed to be comforting. Mine was anything but. My mother was almost fifty but still acted like she was twenty. She loved to party. Nothing ever fazed her. I supposed I was a little jealous she was such a free spirit. She would spend the whole mortgage payment on a wild night out without a care in the world. She never worried about where the money would come from. I was always there to pick up the pieces. My father had left when I was very young. I didn't know if he left because my mom refused to grow up or because he didn't want to grow up. I ended up being the one who grew up and took care of her.

The trailer looked like shit. The siding was faded and dented, the windows were dirty, and the yard was nothing but dried-up weeds. A beat-up old car sat on blocks beside it, a testament to some long-abandoned restoration project by an old boyfriend. My old tire swing hung from a gnarled tree, its rope frayed and ready to snap.

With a sigh, I pulled up to the trailer and cut the engine. Silence fell like a blanket over everything. The trip to see my mother was something I did at least once a month. I wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she wanted to see me, but I couldn't just abandon her. It would be like abandoning a ten-year-old. She wasn't a great mother, but she was all I had.

Taking a breath for courage, I stepped out of the car and opened the trunk. I grabbed the bags of groceries I bought. She ate like shit. I did my best to try and keep her eating well.

I carried them onto the old, wooden porch that had been weathered by the sun. I kicked at the bottom of the flimsy door. "Mom, it's me."

The door opened to reveal my mother with a shower cap on her head and a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

Classic Mom.

The shower cap meant she was bleaching her hair for the hundredth time. I didn't even know what color her hair really was. It'd been half-blonde for as long as I could remember.

"Hey, baby girl," she drawled, plucking the cigarette from her mouth and blowing a cloud of smoke. Her eyes squinted through the thick cloud, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Despite it all, there was a youthful spark in those stormy gray eyes that I couldn't ignore.

"Hey, Mom," I replied, stepping inside. The familiar scent of bleach was strong in the air, mingling with stale cigarette smoke. I set the bags on the worn Formica countertop. "I brought you some food."

Her eyes wandered over to the bags, her hand reaching out to rummage through them. My mom didn't have a lot of redeeming qualities, but she was always a good housekeeper.

"Oh, I like these." She smiled as she pulled out the package of Oreos. "They cut back my benefits since I got that job at the gas station. Can't afford them anymore. Rick bought some generic ones at the Family Dollar. They are not the same."

I smiled and opened the fridge to put away the milk. I quietly groaned when I saw there was nothing but beer and basic condiments. My mom drank beer, but vodka was her preference, which meant there was another boyfriend in her life. There was always a boyfriend. My mother didn't do alone well. She always managed to pick up a new loser that mistreated her or mooched off her.

"Is Rick here?" I asked casually, not looking at her. Her men all had the same dirty, grizzly look. Unshaven and perpetually drowsy from late night binges. They were interchangeable, just like their drinks of choice.

"Nah, he's at work," she replied nonchalantly, opening the Oreos and popping one into her mouth. She looked almost pleased for a moment. "Thank God for small mercies. Finally found someone who works."

I couldn't help but smile a little. It was good to see her upbeat, even if I knew it would be short-lived. There was a rhythm to these visits. Today she was buoyant. Tomorrow she might be pissed or drunk.

"Is he living here?" I asked.

"Don't tell his soon to be ex-wife." She cackled.

I forced a smile and helped her put away the groceries. "How's it going at the gas station?" I asked.

"It sucks," she said. "But it pays the bills."

Which was bullshit. It didn't pay the bills. I paid the bills.

"But at least you have some income now," I tried to sound supportive, taking note of the cigarette butts in the sink. I always hated that she smoked inside.

"I guess." She shrugged, finishing off her Oreo and lighting another cigarette. "Say, baby girl, can you lend me some cash for gas?"

"Again?" I let my surprise slip, a sigh escaping my lips before I could stop it. "The gas station isn't that far. You told me you were riding that bike I bought you last year."

"It's embarrassing," she pouted. "I just need a little bit until I get paid."