Blinded by Color

Chapter 9 Kayla

I heard a scream and then someone yelling outside in the backyard. I got up from the couch where I was sitting and headed to the window. No surprise there; it's my mother fighting with my uncle Rodney. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the negotiating tactics I will have to use to get her to calm down and come inside. I walk out to the familiar backyard that leads up to my driveway. The house I grew up in is no longer cared for like when I was a child. This house has no flower beds or gardens, no ponds or fresh-cut grass. Everything is overgrown and falling apart. Our house is the best lot because we have the whole corner. People always covet the corner lot. It has the biggest yard and the best view. Tin Smith Circle is a quaint street, and most people know your name or your relative's names. There are no crimes committed, other than my father's, of course, and it's safe. My uncle Rodney is the sheriff and has been my whole life. He is a good man. Rodney is special to me because after my father died, he stepped up to be there for me while I cared for my brother and dealt with my father's death. He's still there for me with my mother's indiscretions. I am thankful for Rodney, but he would never replace my father. Rodney is set in his ways and strict as they come. He is not going to let you slide on a ticket you deserve. It's just not the type of cop he is, and everyone knows it. He goes over things with a fine-tooth comb, and he has a reputation for being a bit of a prick to his squad. He is the no-nonsense no-tolerance type of guy. Rodney is big and has one of those guts that hangs over his pants. You know a cop who loves the donuts a bit too much. He enjoys a good meal, no doubt. He loves his wife and kids, and I'd say he is a good father figure and husband, but he's not my dad. Rodney and my mom are close in age, and he feels responsible for her. I guess it's similar to how I feel responsible for Jerimiah. Rodney is the one brother who will never give up on my mom. They have a special bond, and it shows. This is just another routine night for Rodney and Slim.

*****

"Hey, Uncle Rodney."

"Hey, Kay, you want to help me with your momma?"

"Of course." My mother begins to scream how she doesn't need any help and to get my hands off of her. She is combative and smells of old beer and nasty stale cigarettes. She is screaming so loud I am afraid the neighbors are going to file another complaint against her. It's only six pm, and already I have to put my mother to bed. The scene is all but embarrassing, and I am itching to get her in the house. My mom is tiny, and since Rodney is such a big man, I beg him each time to just carry her inside, but he's always respectful of his dear old Slim. I am frustrated, but this time, no tears. They haven't come in eons because I am numb to nights like these. They don't even phase me anymore. I no longer get upset; I just follow suit, and we do the same thing we always do, try to reason with an unreasonable woman.

Finally, I get my mom inside and lay her on the couch. I offer her some leftovers from the diner, and she declines like always.

"Mom, you have to eat. Trust me, it will help you feel better, especially with soaking up some of the alcohol."

"Don't tell me what to do, Kayla. You're not the boss of me. I don't want any food; I want you to leave me alone."

At this point, I know I am not going to get anywhere, so I warm up the food and place two aspirin, a blanket, the roast beef, and a big cup of water next to her. By morning, it will be gone. I can only hope that one day she gets the help she needs before it's too late.

In my room, I can hear her talking, but I know no one is there. I can tell she is still agitated. Sometimes I wonder what my dad would do if he saw her like this and how he would handle this situation. I am exhausted from working and then caring for her. It's like having a toddler. The next noise I hear is her throwing up, and I drop my head in disbelief. No, Mom, no, please, no, not tonight! Ugh! I get up and grab the bleach and bucket along with a sponge, the same orange sponge I've used a thousand times to clean up her puke.

"Mom, here, let me help you to the shower."

"Kayla, I am sorry. Kay, are you mad at me? You don't love me, do you?"

This is the same broken record. Once she begins to sober up, she becomes the victim who no one loves, and she needs validation that she is still the loving mother she used to be. I play along, not because I agree or want to, but for the sake of upsetting her with the truth. She cries in the shower while I scrub the tile floor and wipe down the coffee table. I get to the bathroom and help her wash her hair and then brush it out. After helping her get dressed and into her bed, I head to my room. It's eleven pm now, and I have to be at work at five am for the opening shift. I lie in my bed, and tears fill up in my eyes. It's at this point I decide to text Jerimiah. I really miss him!

"J, wherever you are, I hope you know I love you. Another fun night with Mom. I miss you, J."

I roll over and close my eyes. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will be here before I know it. I whisper, "Goodnight, J. Goodnight, Dad."