Heroin(e)

Chapter Twenty Four

Elbows deep in soapy dishwater, I shook my head to keep my hair from falling into my face. I sighed and placed another sopping wet plate on the growing pile of dishes. Scout ravaged his food bowl behind me, wagging his tail. "Had enough, boy?" I asked. I could hear the kibble slide around in the bowl as he lapped it all up. "Nonsense, you're the hungriest boy in the world."

Just my luck, the phone rang. I jumped startled and water splashed everywhere. "Fuck's sake," I muttered, grabbing a towel. "Hold on!" I told the phone, as if whoever was on the other end could hear me. Drying my hands and throwing the towel behind me, I raced to the living room and grabbed the phone off the hook. Scout ran after me, stopping to sniff the telephone cord. Hello?"

"Esther! Esther, is that you?" It was Mrs. Valentino, our neighbor from Queens. It had been years since I'd heard from her. As morbid as it sounded, I thought she would have kicked the bucket by now. She wasn't that old but she wasn't that healthy either. In and out of doctor's offices to treat a cough that only got worse the longer she smoked. I told myself that it would never happen to me to justify my own bad habit. 

A smoke sounded pretty good, actually...

"Yes?" I said, taking a seat on the couch. "Mrs. Valentino?"

"Yes, dear, I-"

"It's been a long time," I said. "What's the occasion?"

There was a pause. "Sweetheart...you don't know, do you?" I sat up a little straighter. 

"Know what?" I asked. Mrs. Valentino sighed. 

"The paramedics took her....I came by your old apartment to return the blender I had borrowed from your mother," Mrs. Valentino said. I could feel my heart beat faster with every word. I clenched the phone cord and just froze. "When I got there nobody answered the door and I knew your mother was home. It wasn't locked and I let myself in...." Her voice wavered.

"What, Mrs. Valentino, what happened?" I demanded. Scout sat at my feet and watched me lose my mind with fear. Something happened to Mom.

"Your mother was in bed," Mrs. Valentino continued but I could hear the tears interrupting. She choked out her story. "I thought she was asleep and went to wake her."

"What. Happened."

"Oh, Esther," Mrs. Valentino sobbed. My knuckles turned white as I waited for the horrible news about to ruin my life. "There was a bottle by her hand....some little pills were scattered around the bed...I thought she took them to sleep...." She stopped to cry again and I was ready to break into ugly sobs myself. 

"Mrs. Valentino...?"

"Your mother is dead, Esther..."

I almost dropped the phone at my feet. Instantly I was five years old again and in desperate need of a parent's care. I wanted my mom. I wanted Dad. And I couldn't have either one of them. They were both gone now. Both dead and gone. 

Our last conversation replayed over and over again in my mind. She asked me to stay for Christmas and I said no. And now I'd never see her again.

"The paramedics came to pick her up," Mrs. Valentino continued. She sniffled loudly into the phone. "The hospital suspects this was a suicide."

"No...." I muttered. I shook my head even though she couldn't see me. "No, no, my mom wouldn't ever do that....she'd never do that..." Hot tears started to fall and I held them back, not wanting my old neighbor to see me so vulnerable. "It was an accident. She took too many by accident."

"Esther, your mother has a medical record of depression," Mrs. Valentino said. "She had all kinds of pills on the nightstand when I went in her room.."

"They were painkillers," I said. "Allergy meds, antacids, whatever!" I started yelling. How could my mom be depressed? True, I didn't know everything about her and I hadn't seen her in years. But I knew enough to know for a fact she would never have taken her own life and left me all alone. How could her own daughter have missed something like this?? 

"The paramedics took a look," she went on. "They called them fluoxetine. I've never heard of the stuff myself....but he told me they treat symptoms of depression."

"My mother wasn't depressed," I insisted like a stupid idiot. If my mother had depression it only meant I was the one who caused it. And I didn't want that kind of guilt hanging over me. I already had enough of that sitting in a box in the drawer. I had enough of that sitting on the floor by my feet, shivering. I had enough of that playing over and over again in my head as I continued to shake it in disbelief. "She just wasn't."

"Sweetheart, I know this is hard to understand-" Mrs. Valentino broke into a wild cough, one that would surely need another visit to her doctor. Finally regaining herself she continued. "Anyone can have depression, Esther, it's not unheard of anymore."

"What the fuck did she take to do it then?" I asked in anger. The tears were pouring now. 

"They were sleeping pills," she said. "The paramedics told me." I dug my nails into my scalp as I pushed my hair away. I smudged tears and snot all over my face, shaking with rage and sadness. "They took her to the hospital. She had been gone for a few hours."

I suddenly got mad at Mrs. Valentino. If she had gotten there earlier she could have saved my mom. Instead she got there hours too late and just watched the ambulance take her away. The anger redirected itself to me. I should have made the fucking trip. I should have said to hell with it and went to Queens for Christmas. 

I fucking killed my mom. 

"They asked me if any living relatives wanted a funeral," Mrs. Valentino said. "I told them I'd ask you."

I couldn't afford to have a fucking funeral. And what would it do? Seeing my dead mom all dressed and made up to be viewed in her final resting place as we cried, never to see her again and remind me every day of what I had done? Burying her wouldn't bring me closure. Seeing her alive and well one last time would bring me closure. Giving her the best Christmas ever would bring me closure. Having one last chance to make things right....

"I....I can't have a funeral," I mumbled. 

"I'd be happy to help pay for it," she said. I dug my nails into my jeans, scratching the skin underneath. "Just a small one next month perhaps?"

"You have one without me," I said. "I...can't go..."

"Esther!" She sounded horrified. "She was your mother, if anyone should go it should be you!"

I wouldn't let her guilt trip me. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Valentino," I said, biting back the weeping fit. "I just can't."

"Esther-" I hung up. I wouldn't answer the phone again. Not for a few days. Anyone calling to send their condolences could stick them up their asses. I didn't deserve their pity. I killed my mom and that was the gist of it. I drove her to this through a bad attitude, drugs, and leaving school. Abandoning her on Christmas was the final straw. Moving to London and becoming a dancer didn't help either. She saw so much potential in me and I wasted all of it. No wonder she had depression. 

Dad's death might have had a hand in it too. She had to raise me all on her own with Nana's help from time to time. I give her hell for it, Nana dies, and I leave her for glamorous London. Some fucking daughter I am. Scout scurried away when I slammed the phone down and watched me cry. That's all I could do. I could cry.

And I could drink. 

I could listen to some fucking record while I drank the night away. 

So I did.