Feeling This (8 page)

When 4:30 rolls around I reach for the handle of the Jetta. My phone rings in my back pocket so I grab it, noticing Heidi’s dimpled face and bright hazel eyes lighting up the screen.

“Hey girl.”

“Kimber, did I time it right or what? Are you done at the Bruin’s?”

I laugh, “You’re lucky she let me leave when she did, time waster. You made me late this morning.”

“Ahhh no, Andrew made you late. He showed back up in your life and screwed with your mojo.”

“Damn, Heidi, I almost forgot about that whole fiasco this morning. You
would
have to go and bring it back up.”

She giggles, “Just keepin it real. What’s this thing going on tonight?”

I sigh at having to go over this with her again. Sometimes she can be so stubborn, “This
thing
is nothing, I have to work, and that’s all. You as usual have nothing going on so if you want to catch up, you should stop by the Duck and I’ll buy you a beer.” I add to make it even sweeter, “It’s Monday night, so no one will even know you showed your face.”
God forbid.

“Umm, I’ll think about it.”

Frustration rings in my voice, “What is there to think about you told me this morning that you’d come? Either come or not, I’ll be there regardless.”

“Okay, I think I can make it.” She exasperates me when she drags her feet like this.

Abruptly I end the call climbing into my car, “Okay girl, see you tonight.”

My hand moves out of habit to caress the dash, while pleading silently with my car not to give me any problems. It starts right up with the turn of the key. Pulling down the long drive under the canopy of bright green leaves overhead, I notice the grey clouds rolling across the sky. A rainy, Monday night, it’s not going to be very busy at the bar.
Super.

When I pull into the short dirt drive, torrents of rain are enveloping my house. A glance around the car reminds me, I forgot to put the umbrella back in here after the last time a storm hit.
Great.
  I open the door and dash to the front of the house with my key ready. Unfortunately, that small expanse between the car and the door drench me. As soon as I walk in, my mom’s scratchy voice calls out, “Kimber, is that you girl?”

“Yes, Momma, I just got done at Mrs. Bruin’s.”

I run my hand through my now soaking wet hair as I answer and make my way to the kitchen. The sight is the same as usual. She’s sitting at the rickety kitchen table with a stained laminate surface. Her posture is slanted as she leans in for support. The hair on her head has just about completely changed to gray, oily from lack of a shower. Tiny hints of blonde still stand out, but just barely. Before she got sick she took better care of herself. We used to look alike. Once upon a time her eyes were a vibrant blue and she was so full of life. Now it seems the disease has taken all the color from her. Her eyes are more of a steel grey, dulling more each day.

“Hey Momma, you want some help getting’ into the shower before I get ready for work?”

She turns toward me with a cigarette hanging half out of her mouth and utters around it, “You didn’t tell me Jenna’s in town.”

Shit. How’d she find out?
“No, Momma I didn’t. She said she wouldn’t be here long.” I let my voice trail off. It’s obvious from the slur in her words that she’s had a lot to drink today. She started with a glass of vodka this morning, I wonder if she’s been at it all day.

Her voice takes on a whiny quality, “I know you girls are done with me. Jenna don’t even wanna visit anymore.”

Oh boy, here comes the guilt. She’ll go into this whole spiel about how we don’t love her and we’d be better off without her.

I lurch forward and slide my arm around her bony back. She’s not eating again; the vodka is going to have to go. I take her cigarette away and put it out in the ashtray. Grasping her other hand in front, I pull her up out of the chair. Her whole body shifts to lean on me. Yes, definitely no shower in days. I turn my head at the stench emanating from her. We make our way back to her bedroom down a short hall off the side of the kitchen. I help her sit on the edge of the bed and leave to turn on the shower. Once it’s warm enough, I lead her into the small bathroom, scarcely big enough for the two of us to stand in it. Slowly and laboriously I pull her shirt off over her head and lower her pants, helping her to step out of them.

Once she gains stability, standing there with only a white bra and panties, both obviously too large on her thin frame, she barks at me, “Kimber, get out. I can do it. Do you think I’m an invalid or something?”

My feet move backwards giving her space. My hands go directly to my sides with clenched fists and I relent, “Okay Momma, let me know if you need any help.”

She spins toward the shower and snidely comments, “Don’t you need to go to work?”

I turn around ready to walk out, glancing back once as she climbs over the side of the tub and pulls the flimsy shower curtain that is covered in roses, closed. My momma has never been very loving but now she’s just the opposite if there ever was. I’m not sure she’s even capable of love anymore. I wonder if I am. Maybe that’s why Andrew left in the first place. Maybe I couldn’t give him what he needed. As I make my way to my room across the house, today’s events resurface. He looked so good, nothing like the eighteen year old boy who left four years ago. He filled out in all the right places and his chiseled face makes my knees go weak just thinking about it.

Becca and Heidi may be onto something. Maybe I just need to get laid and things will look better. That might be an option I need to explore and possibly in the very near future.

Showered and wrapped in a towel, my foot finds the threadbare cotton mat spread out on the bathroom floor. Once I’ve stepped completely out, I hear a curdled scream. My feet move into action before I can focus on exactly what it is. I head to Momma’s room and find her sprawled out on the floor. Her feet are splayed at an odd angle. Leaning over her, only inches from her face, I ask, “Momma, are you alright?”

She stares across the room as if she didn’t just fall. Concern etches itself across my face, for her health but also for work. We can’t afford for me to miss a day of work. We’re barely getting by as it is.

“Here Momma, let me help you up.” I reach down, allowing her access to my opened hand to help her up. She ignores it placing her hands by her sides. She attempts with all the strength she has to push up but gives up after one try. After a minute of watching, I center myself behind her and gently place my hands under her arms, pulling her up. As she gains her bearing, she brushes my hands away and yells, “Get out, just get out.”

I back away once again and head for the door swallowing a lump in my throat trying to hold back my tears at seeing her like this. I don’t turn to check on her. She is slowly losing control of her body and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. That’s what this disease does. Multiple Sclerosis is a slow killer. Yes, I make sure she takes her meds every day but she was diagnosed late. The fact that she drinks and smokes doesn’t help either but I can’t blame her. If I were slowly losing command of my muscles, I might venture to vices too. It breaks my heart every time this happens. She has a fall or is unable to grasp something. Her only response is to lash out her frustrations and I just happen to be the only one around. Jenna ran away because she couldn’t stand to watch her deteriorate. I can’t really blame her.

My towel is still wrapped tightly around my small chest. Entering my room, I glance over at the clock on the bedside table, 5:15. I have exactly forty-five minutes to get dressed, find something to eat and make it to the Duck. In a pile of clean clothes yet to be folded and put away, I find a clean tank and shorts, and rush to pull them on. My dirty- blonde hair, desperately in need of a trim hangs limply so I decide to braid it angled to the side. A smear of lip gloss after brushing my teeth and I’m ready.

The kitchen is empty when I make my way to the fridge looking for something to eat. It’s empty with the exception of an expired half-gallon of milk and a few leftover containers from Mrs. Bruin. I reach in and pull out the container I brought home yesterday. A glimpse inside reveals homemade macaroni and cheese, my favorite of all the meals Mrs. Bruin makes. It’s barely been touched. I pull a plate down and heat half the container up in the microwave. As it cooks, I peek around the doorjamb into Momma’s room. She is sitting on her bed looking down at a book opened up in her lap. She doesn’t notice my presence.  I call out softly so as not to startle her, “Momma, I’m heating some dinner up for you. Do you want me to bring it in?” She doesn’t glance up. I’m not even sure she heard me.

The ding sounds so I turn to get the warmed plate. Grabbing a fork, napkin and glass of water, I carefully walk it to her bedside table and set it down. She doesn’t look up. This breaks my heart so much, seeing her like this. I lean over and kiss her cheek telling her, “Bye Momma, I love you. Please eat something.”

Once inside the doorway I turn again to check one last time. She’s still looking down at the book. It looks like a journal of some sort. She isn’t writing anything down though. Resigned I turn, checking my watch. I have fifteen minutes now to get to work and the drive takes twenty.
Perfect.

Chapter Nine

The bright light behind my eyelids wakes me up. I roll over grabbing for Susan and find an empty space instead. My reality crashes into me, she’s gone and I failed her. Sharp pains pierce my heart and radiate throughout my body, causing me to ache everywhere. I want nothing more than to fall back asleep and never wake up again. Life goes on though, as much as I don’t want it to, and I can’t lay here forever.

Squinting, my eyes register that I’m in my childhood bedroom completely transformed from the way it used to be when I lived here. The walls are a neutral brown with paintings of trees dotting the room. New furniture typical of a guest room is placed strategically, making it look like a picture straight out of a home decorating magazine. I roll over away from the sun’s rays and focus on the headache pounding through my temples. Oh Susan, what am I going to do? My mind keeps repeating this as if she’s close enough and able to answer. Never could I fathom what my life would be like without her. She was, and still is, everything to me.

A soft knock echoes through the impersonal space that used to be so warm and inviting. Before I have a chance to answer, the door swings slowly open and my mom’s face peeks around the edge.

“Jordan, hey, how are you?” She really doesn’t want me to answer this. How does she think I am? The love of my life just killed herself. She was sick and I failed to get her help. I failed to protect her. Now I’ll never see her again. I don’t even bother rolling over to meet my mom’s gaze.

Her voice takes on a sympathetic tone, “Hon, I’ve asked Maria to make pancakes and eggs. It’ll be ready when you come down.” The door clicks closed right after she finishes.

Now I roll over and stare at the door, without really seeing it. When Susan was here, I had direction. We knew where we were going, what we wanted to accomplish. Now what am I supposed to do?

After an hour of staring at nothing, and trying to keep my mind blank, I dress in a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt. With great effort I climb down the circular staircase ending at a marbled entryway. As I cross into the kitchen, the bright colors on the walls seem even more blinding than usual.  Maria, their housekeeper is standing at the stainless stove with her back to me. I pull out a chair at the small round table which is perfectly situated in the corner. Maria turns at the sound of the chair legs against the marbled floor. She quickly looks through the doorway to her right and back at me with a worried expression, as if she’s in trouble.

Her accented voice whispers, “Sir, you should join your parents in the dining room. You shouldn’t be in here. This is for the help.” She gestures to the table I’m leaning against.

Her sudden concern alerts me that my parents have made changes around here. Why am I not surprised? Just to spite them, I plop down in the chair, expressionless and explain, “Maria, I think I’ll have breakfast in here. Just like old times.”