On The Other Side

Chapter Three

ELLIOT

Walking up the front path to my door, I notice that the driveway is empty which means Mom must be gone out to a bar again.

Ever since I was young, she's been addicted to alcohol. I believe it started shortly after my dad left when I was three, although I can't be sure. My whole childhood was filled with Mom being gone out to bars all the time, her never showing up for my school events, and refusing to go to any sports events with me. Whenever she decided to come home, I would be the one taking care of her or hiding upstairs hoping the house was clean enough.

That was her rule.

If the house was tidy enough, it would be fine and I wouldn't face any consequences. If it wasn't up to her standards I would be punished.

Her way of punishing seemed normal to me. Being hit with glass bottles, hit, kicked, and even thrown sometimes. It wasn't until grade four that I found out none of this was a normal punishment for a child.

My teacher had noticed the bruises and cuts when my sleeve slipped down during class one day. The next thing I knew, I was in the guidance office with CPS workers surrounding me. I knew mom would be mad if I didn't lie to them, so I did what would get me out of trouble.

I had fabricated a whole story, trying my best to convince them my home life was fine and they didn't need to go there to check. After twenty minutes of assuring them it was because I had fallen off my bike, they let me return to class.

Eyes of everyone in the classroom were on me as I walked back in, sliding into my desk. At that moment I wanted to be invisible. No one ever saw me the same after that, especially not my teacher. She always gave me an empathic look, telling me that I could talk to her whenever.

But I couldn't. It would only get worse. Almost everyone knew that if you called for help, there was only a small chance that they would actually help. On the small chance that they did help, I would've been put in a boys home or a housing placement.

❀

Unlocking the door, I step inside to see my mother at the kitchen table. Slumped over next to a bottle of alcohol was my mother passed out. Quickly, I drop my bag and make my way over to her. I check her pulse, making sure I don't need to call an ambulance.

Placing one arm around her neck and another underneath her legs, I lift her up and carry her upstairs to her bedroom. When I place her on the bed, I look down at her and wonder what life would be like if she wasn't addicted to alcohol.

Would she have watched me win gold for my hockey team? Beat the province record for 1500 metre run?

Ridding the thoughts from my mind, I make my way back downstairs to clean up the bottles on the counter and everything off the table. I don't want Violet to see any of this, especially not after today.

There's a reason we always stayed at her house and not at my own.

Picking up all the bottles, I begin to shove them back under the cupboards until I can properly get rid of them later.

Opening one of the cupboards beneath the sink, I see something white behind the pipe. Reaching further in, I feel around for the item. When I pull it out, I realize it's a pill bottle.

Immediately, panic sets in. I begin to spin the pill bottle around, frantically searching for a name on the label. My eyes finally land a name, except it's not my mother's.

Relief floods my body but so does confusion. A man's name is on the pill bottle, why would my mother have them?

She stopped using long ago, unless she's buying again. The thought of my mother relapsing again makes my heart sink.

Why would she do this?

Holding back tears, I slip the bottle into my hoodie pocket and continue to clean up the best I can. The whole time I feel the weight of the bottle in my pocket.

Closing the last cupboard, I grab my bag from where I left it and begin to make my way upstairs. When I pass Mom's room, I stop.

My heart fills with sadness when I think of all the pain she is in, what she must have been going through to turn to addiction. Even though I know she's done unspeakable things to me, I can't help but feel sympathy for her.

Her frail and limp body lays there on the bed exactly where I left her. Bags cover the skin just beneath her eyes, making it look as if she hasn't slept in the longest time.

After a moment, I walk down to the end of the hallway into my room. I glance at the clock on my nightstand, it reads 6:07 PM. A little less than an hour until Violet gets here, I realize I must have taken longer cleaning than I thought. Hurriedly I make my way towards the washroom that is attached to my room, knowing I need to hide the pills somewhere.

Opening the cabinets under the sink, I move the bin with my hygiene products and place the pill bottle directly behind it. I move the bin back into place.

Paranoia hits me as soon as I close the cabinet door, memories of what my mother would do if she found me hiding something flood my mind. I open the cabinet door, moving items in the basket around to make it seem more full. Once I was positive you couldn't see further back, I close the cabinet door for the last time.

Seeing the mess of my room, I begin to pick clothes up off of the floor and throw them into the laundry basket at the foot of my bed. After straightening out everything on my desk, I take a step back and glance around the room.

Looks good enough.

Feeling fidgety, I get up and grab my guitar off its stand. Playing choruses of random songs, it feels like no time has passed.

Until I hear a gentle knock on the front door.