“My only baggage,” he drunkenly slurred, “is that my mom lives with me… That’s it!” He swayed towards her as he raised the eyebrows above his blood-shot blue eyes. He reeked of Coors light and tobacco, and his stained and broken teeth proved they’d both been tough habits to kick.
I wish I could shake her. I wish I could jump in front of her and tell her to close out and go home.
But I know who she was in that moment. I understand how all her previous life experiences leading up to this moment assured her that this was fine. She was still in control. Nothing could happen to her that was any worse than what she’d just survived.
I think back to the girl who stayed awake all night in the guest room in a stranger’s house. Tucked into a bed that wasn’t hers, a house that wasn’t hers, a life that wasn’t hers. He was drunk again and reckless enough for everyone to hear. His mom was quiet in the room next to her, and I knew she knew. I knew she knew I didn’t belong here.
“I love the sound of your laughter in this house,” she’d say under her breath as we put groceries away in the kitchen, “but you deserve peace.”
I remember the night he stormed out of the house while I was making dinner. I ended up sitting at the dining room table with his mom instead, discussing the new recipe I’d tried, and talking about the things she used to make for dinner. It reminded me of the social worker who comes in to talk to a kid whose just been through something traumatic. The entire time, I was nervous that the garage door would roll up any minute, and a drunken slurry would pour into the house. All I could do was keep forking at my dinner and imagining her 1990 sloppy joe dinners instead. I remember so often, hiding in bed, laying there just playing dead. Thinking that if I tried hard enough, maybe I really would just die.
One night after the bar, he’d been working on breaking into the room I was in by taking the door off its hinges entirely. His mom had gotten out of bed as he pulled the door away, and she stood between him and my hideaway.
“Congrats!” He hissed at me over her shoulder, “you finally have the mom you’ve always wanted.”
Wild Little Hare 