The Death Date

chapter seven

My mom's high had officially come to an end. She had been shut up in her room, only coming out to go to work and eat dinner. I regularly checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and made sure the prescription bottle was progressively lessening. It was. For now. The days after her high were typically when she sank the lowest, but soon I knew she'd migrate from her bed to the sofa, and we'd be back in the sweet spot. It wasn't anything great, but it was the closest to level she ever got.

I had returned the clothes she bought. The woman at returns had completed the exchange with an eyebrow arching higher with each item of clothing, I was sure it would extend beyond her forehead before she was done. With the money refunded to the credit card, I then scoured the store and sifted through racks of clothing in the clearance section. Hanging just along the end of the rack was a black, floor length dress with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. I enclosed the tag between two fingers, saw the sixty percent off sticker, and pulled it off the rack. It would do the job just fine.

I was now slipping into the gown inside my cramped bedroom. The slinky, ebony fabric clung to my waist and flowed nicely from my hips to the floor. I tucked my arms inside the sleeves and gave myself the once over in the closet door mirror. My hair was long and unruly if left untreated. After running a curling iron through my strands, it now settled over my shoulders slightly less long and unruly. Just like the dress, my hair would do.

I gave it one final fluff and sighed. At least my dark eyes stood out somewhat with the swipe of eyeliner I had applied.

A knock sounded, startling me. My neck twisted and I slowly paced ahead, wrapping my hand around the doorknob. It couldn't be Nick. I would have heard him enter the apartment. Swinging the door open, I was met with my mom's tired expression. Her eyes traveled from my face down towards the ground and back up again.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"The Navy Ball," I said and squeezed beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." My mom followed behind me into the living room. "Are you going with Nick?"

"Yeah. He should be here any minute." I grabbed a hoodie from off the back of the couch. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, honey." A weak smile pulled at her mouth, and she gazed lazily into the living room. She sauntered towards the couch and perched herself into the cushions. "Have fun."

"Thanks, Mom. I'm staying at Nick's tonight, but I'll be home tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay, honey." Her voice was like a breath in the wind.

With one last look at the back of her tangled head of dark hair, I pursed my lips and headed for the apartment door. I would wait outside for Nick. Fresh air might quell the knotted mess forming in my stomach. Having lived with my mom's depression for years, my anxiety never truly left, but the pressure to maintain equilibrium often caused the knot to expand and churn. Removing myself from the situation was often how I managed it.

The breath I took when I threw my hands against the railing outside soothed my chest. I closed my eyes and the gentle breeze drifted over my skin, ruffling my wavy hair. My mom had prescription antidepressants, which worked by tempering her polarizing moods. Her emotions were balanced as well as they could be, but this came at a cost: my mom, as a whole, was dulled, her unique edges and corners sanded down.

I inhaled deeply once more. The sun was hanging low in the horizon, and though I couldn't see it, I knew the ocean would soon claim it as its own. When I was little, my mom would take me to Mission Beach on the weekends and we'd spend hours playing in the sand until the sun set. I suddenly had the urge to relive this. Maybe on one of her good days, she and I could visit the beach and watch as the ocean swallowed the sun. One of these days before it was too late.