Outside Your Window

The Fortune

When I woke up, I pinched my neck to make sure I was still alive. My eyes tried to adjust to the dark, but it was useless. It was an eat-your-face kind of darkness. Pain ran from my shoulders through my lower back and down into my legs. All of my muscles felt like they were going to snap, like I was made out of porcelain. Humans weren't made to stand for this long.

But, in the closet, that's all I could do. There was no room to lie down.

It all started when Mom got home from New Orleans. She walked in, still wearing a cheap-looking, Bridesmaid-To-Be necklace. I laughed when I saw her. First of all, my aunt was like 45—why was she having a full-blown bachelorette party? Second, why didn't Mom get changed? She flew all the way home like that?

I said something like "rough night?", then went back to playing Rocket League. She walked over and stood between me and the TV. She looked tired, but also kind of frantic. Her eyes were red, but not hungover red. She looked like she had been crying.

I left the match and stood up to hug her. She flinched when I touched her. She pushed me back and asked if I could get some paper towels from the closet. I walked into the kitchen and she followed close behind. I turned back and asked how the trip went, but she didn't answer.

As soon as I went in the closet, she closed the door. Then, I heard the lock click.

I thought it was some weird parenting tactic, something she learned while gossiping with other mothers over the weekend. My aunt always sent my Mom these magazine articles that talked about "tough love" and "parents, not friends".

But, after a few minutes, she didn't open the door. I tried talking to her, but she didn't respond. I yelled, then screamed, then cried.

Nothing.

I kicked. I threatened. I apologized. I cried some more. But, nothing worked. All she did was shuffle around the house, moving things and calling people and yelling gibberish.

The first day was the worst. I felt like I was drowning. Between the hunger and the paranoia and the dehydration, I thought my head was going to explode. Then, once I had calmed down a bit, I started to listen more carefully to the phone calls Mom was making. The first one I could really understand was to a pool supply company.

For the record, we didn't have a pool. Our townhouse barely had a backyard.

She asked the person if they had a list of all the household chemicals that could kill someone. I heard her pull out our crate from under the sink. She lied that she had a newborn and wanted to know what she should lock up. By her responses, I could tell the person on the other end kept repeating this is a pool supply company, because then Mom would say I know this is a pool supply company, I know I know I know.

"But you must know a lot about chemicals? Right?" she said, "Please just help me. I'm a new mom. Please."

I heard her sort through the plastic containers. She would grab something, then ask What about bleach?, and, after a brief pause, she would say Great, thank you thank you. Then, I heard her pour the liquids into something else.

That's when I started to feel sick. I'd held everything in up to that point, but I couldn't anymore. My stomach was on fire. First, I pissed my pants. The warm, scratchy feeling made me more sick. I managed to get my jeans off before I sprayed shit into the corner. My throat ballooned to stop from gagging, but it was useless. I turned into the other corner and coughed up bile.

Eventually, beyond my control, I leaned back against the shit-covered shelves and closed my eyes. The sleep was short and chaotic. My dreams always ended with me falling down a flight of stairs. Then, I would spring awake into my pitch black, foul smelling hell.