Blinded by Color

Chapter 13 Kayla

My brother has been gone for over a month now, and I am left to deal with all my mother's shortcomings on my own. Not that we ever vibed and chatted it up, but at least I knew someone who understood my struggles. I got a call this morning that it was time for my mother to be released, and therefore, I took the day off work to prepare myself. I am not looking forward to bringing her home, although I hope she is sober enough to have a tough conversation. I mean, if she wasn't sober, I would wonder how she got drunk in her hospital bed, although I would not be surprised knowing my mother; she probably drank the disinfectant and whatever else she could find in that room that had any form of alcohol in it. For my sake, I am going to pretend she still has some decency and decided against alcohol while healing from an alcoholic coma.

During the last two weeks, I have spent a lot of time by myself. This new me was really thriving. I actually went looking for apartments because even though I feel responsible for my mother and her failed attempts at parenting, I am done being her babysitter. If J can leave and go live his life, then why can't I? Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my uncle Rodney, who was like a father to me. Rodney was the one who took care of me and J each time my mother was sent off to rehab. Uncle Rodney was the one who drove me to my prom and paid for my hair appointment at the salon. He was the one who dropped off casseroles his wife made and taught me how to cook them in the oven. Uncle Rodney tried, he really did, but at the end of the day, he wasn't my father. I loved him, but I wish for once he would stop enabling my mom. Maybe if I go, he won't hold me to the standard of helping him take care of his sister, who clearly doesn't want our help. My mother is slowly killing herself, and I have a front-row seat to her deteriorating. I wonder why Uncle Rodney doesn't just say she is horrible. It's like he constantly feels responsible for her actions. I get it, you're her big brother, but honestly, at some point, you have to give her tough love and stop hand-holding. I appreciate my uncles, but I also resent them. At times, I feel like they just expect me to be there and take care of her forever. Give up my whole life, as if I didn't already give up my childhood.

The first thing my momma and I will be discussing is my new address. I took the liberty of scoping out several apartment complexes while I had no one to care for but me. I loved taking these tours of models that showed me what I was getting should I chose this floor plan. I found an apartment by Market Hall, walking distance, in fact, right on Cypress. I thought for a second about asking Nivea if I could move in with her. I would still be close to home since she is only two streets over from me and has a whole house to herself. Nivea inherited her parents' home when they moved out west to Arizona for retirement. Nothing about the humidity in Florida was aesthetically pleasing to them. They chose Arizona for its dry climate and beautiful views. They didn't owe much left on their home, so they initiated a rent to own with their only daughter. Niv jumped on the opportunity to turn her childhood home into her own. I just can't see Niv and me living in her house together and calling it ours. I want something I can call my own. This apartment was perfect. It was a studio that overlooked the pool. Upon walking in, you are greeted by cool tiles that accent perfectly with the light blue walls. The beige tiles cover the entire living room and kitchen, including the small bathroom. I would literally only need a pull-out couch or a futon to place in the living room, and that would suffice as my bedroom. The living room was to the left and fairly small, so one couch, a TV, and a coffee table would be pushing it. The kitchen featured a small bar, and I could put at least two chairs there for eating. The place seemed so bright, with a beautiful balcony off the living room with a pool view. I had access to laundry, a gym, and a pool. Not much more I could ask for. I got my own parking space under a covered panel, and that was all I needed. It felt right. It felt like it was time. Time to move on, time to grow up, and time to leave the nest. It was the part about telling my mom I dreaded. The fear that if she were not sober, it wouldn't go very well, and if she were sober, it still wouldn't go well. The thing is, sober Slim makes for a loving, overly sweet emotional person, and drunk Slim makes for a rude, loud, abusive version. There is no in-between. No happy medium. Today, I am prepared for sober emotional Slim because a part of me is hoping she didn't drink the cleaning supplies.

I pulled up to the hospital in Sally, my reliable Honda, and parked as close to the entrance as I could. Since I am a little early, I decide to take a little detour inside the hospital to Starbucks. I love Starbucks, and I am forever grateful the hospital has one. I approach the counter and lift my sunglasses to my head as the barista walks over to greet me. "Well, hey there, how are ya? What can I make for you today? By the way, I love your romper; it's (finger snap) fire." Now I know firsthand this guy with his twang in his voice and his tight jeans and rainbow pin on his apron must be fruity. I wasn't raised to accept gay people, but today, I am too occupied with my own life to let this creature of a man in front of me get me angry. "I'd like a grande vanilla latte, kids temp, with a chocolate chip cookie, please." He is overly happy and excited to make my drink and get my cookie, and as he tries to strike up a small talk convo, I let him know I am in a rush because I am not a mean girl, but I have zero tolerance for this type of behavior. There is no excuse for a man to act like a woman or to talk using words like fierce and fire to explain my outfit. I get tired of the rainbows, and I truly don't understand why he is the face of Starbucks in a major hospital. That's Tampa for you; the city lets anyone in. Tobin, as his name tag states, put my drink and cookie on the pickup counter, and I grabbed it quickly and disappeared to a seating area to enjoy it in peace. While I sat there staring out the window, I noticed an alert from Facebook Messenger. It was from Josh! Josh? Wait, Josh sent me a message. I almost couldn't get my fingers to work to unlock my iPhone. I sat for a minute, taking a few deep breaths and sipping my latte to calm myself. How am I going to open this message right now, and what will it say? I wasn't sure if I should open it right now or wait, so I decided to wait. I locked my phone and finished my latte and cookie. I headed for the elevator and pushed the number four to pick up my mother.

*****

Getting my mom in the car was a disaster. She was confused and delirious. I kept asking the nurse what was wrong with her, and she advised me my mom was on pain meds from having surgery. Great! Another addiction to add to her list. Once we got to the house, I helped her out of the car and onto the porch, where we sat down. I looked at her in disbelief that this was my mother! Joanna Romano, what happened to you? She is nothing but a shell. A withered woman who looks fifteen years her elder. She has the stringiest blonde hair I have ever seen, and I can't believe I have never noticed this before. She is so thin her cheeks are sunken in and her eyes droop. Her eyes are yellow and bloodshot. Her skin wrinkled and stuck to her body from what I imagine is a case of severe dehydration. How have I never noticed before? She looks awful. Nothing like the beautiful woman I remember. Full of life and happy and clean with a face full of makeup and natural beauty. She looks ill now. I actually thought I might be making a mistake. How can I leave her like this? What kind of daughter leaves their mom like this? She needs me. She clearly needs me, and now I am having regrets that I signed that lease on impulse. I never do things like that, but this new hairdo and attitude were fitting me so perfectly I thought it must be right. Now I am sitting here staring at this woman and thinking, "You're a mess, and I am a selfish daughter trying to leave you like this. How could I have been so stupid?" I get up and move to sit next to her. I grabbed her fragile hand and put it in mine. "Mom, I want you to get better. I think you should go back to rehab and get some real help; I'm worried about you." Just like that, as if the wind blew and she was someone else, she stood up and told me to mind my business. She walked into the house and slammed the porch door. The next thing I heard was cabinets slamming open and shut, and I knew. I knew she was looking for any ounce of alcohol, but I already cleared the house of any temptation while she was in the hospital. I take a deep breath because I already know tonight will be a long one. Pain pills and alcohol are not a good combination. I decided to text Mr. H., "Sorry, Mr. H, I am going to need to take tomorrow off too. I will be in touch. Right now, I got to tend to my mother."