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When we reached my apartment,I walked Aaliyah to the spare room. “You rest for a while, and I’ll go pick up your prescriptions.”
“You don’t have to do that, Connor, really. I can handle it.”
“I know you can, but you don’t have to. Don’t argue and let me do this.” She nodded in agreement and handed me the paperwork needed for the prescriptions.
I headed off to the drugstore, and as I stood in line waiting to pick up Aaliyah’s pain meds, my mind began to swirl back to memories I wanted to keep buried…memories of standing in lines and waiting to pick up medicine for my mother. Each step I took toward the pharmacist, my chest grew tighter. My breaths were becoming labored as I tried to inhale and exhale in a normal pattern.
When I reached the front of the line, the woman behind the counter smiled and said, “Hi, there. Picking up a prescription?”
“Yes. For Aaliyah Winters.”
She walked over to the bins of pills and began thumbing through them.
My hands were sweaty, and I tried my best to ignore the thoughts that began flying through my mind. The recollections I’d worked to keep locked away within me were trying to resurface. I was fighting them. I was trying my best not to fall into the pain my mind was trying to unleash. Yet when she walked back and asked me if I had insurance, the wave of memories came rushing back to me.
24
Connor
Sixteen years old
“Here are the prescriptions.Make sure to take one of the nausea pills before you go to bed tonight. It will help,” the nurse instructed Mom as she walked through the hospital doors she’d entered over two hours earlier. I’d been sitting in the waiting room, waiting for her to come out. Waiting for answers. Waiting to know if she was okay.
I rose to my feet the moment I saw her and rushed over.
“Are you good?” I asked, my voice cracking. I’d eaten almost everything out of the vending machine and felt as if any bad news would send me into a vomiting rage.
Mom gave me a small smile. She looked a bit pale in the face, and even her smile felt as if it were a bit of a struggle for her.
“I’m okay.” She grinned.
It felt like a lie.
It had to be a lie.
Mom always lied about feeling okay to make me feel okay.
“What do you need?”
“Just to go home and rest, sweetie. I’m tired.”
I scratched at the back of my neck, my nerves not easing up any. “Do you need prescriptions filled? I can drive us to the drugstore.”
“It’s fine. I can pick them up later and—”
“Mom,” I cut in, scolding her for the ridiculous idea.
She lightly chuckled. “When did you become the parent of the household?”
“I’m not,” I said, shrugging and allowing her to loop her arm with mine. “I’m just your favorite sidekick.”
She leaned against me and didn’t feel heavy at all. “My favorite sidekick,” she muttered as I walked her to our car. I helped her get into the passenger seat, and she sat back and allowed herself to melt into the cloth. Her eyes shut, and her arms rested in her lap as I buckled her in.
“I’m sorry about this, Connor,” she whispered. “You’re too young to have to deal with any of this.”
“I’m the man of the house—it’s what I’m supposed to do.”
She tilted her head in my direction. Her eyes were filled with guilt and sadness. “It’s not what you’re supposed to do.”
