Fault

Part 17

How-to Put Your Drunk Mother to Bed

First you have to search her bed for hidden bottles. You don't want her to roll over in the night, send one in motion and you wake to the sound of glass shattering on hardwood. She will probably pass out before her shoes are even off her feet.

You will need to undress her. By the time you're nine, you've seen your mother in every bra and panty set she owns. You quickly find that this is not like playing dress up with your dolls. The dead weight of your mother strains your muscles. It pains you for days afterward.

After you've removed her shoes and socks, the easiest part of the routine, you have a choice. You can either work from the top down or bottom up. Her shirt will have stains on it.

These will range anywhere from tequila to vomit. Her jeans will have stains on them too. Urine. Vodka. Spit. Mud. You will know the correct way to launder them by the time you are eleven. The trick to getting her jeans off is to take it one leg at a time. Undo the button and zipper, pick a leg and pull on the hem until it starts to shimmy down her hip. Ignore the piece of paper with the number of some guy named John or Pete or Mike that will fall out of the pocket.

She never calls those numbers anyway.

Move to the other leg and pull at the hem until it also starts to shimmy down her hip. Alternate left and right until they are at her knees, at which point simply pull as hard as you can and they should slide the rest of the way off as if greased.

Next you take off her top. The ease of this all depends on the type of top she has chosen for tonight. It's not until you are ten that you realize if you suggest she wear a certain shirt before she goes out, the easier time you'll have in the early hours of the morning.

You pray the top is a button up, so that you can simply undo the buttons and slide the shirt out from under her. If not you have to grasp under her arms, lift her so that her torso is upright against you and quickly yank her t-shirt up over her head. Pay no attention to the hickeys on her collarbone and along the slopes of her breasts.

There will be no reason to change her underwear unless they've been soiled in some way. By the time you are thirteen you've seen them soiled in every way. If her panties are in need of a change you can decide to clean her up or leave her as is. By the time you are thirteen you always leave her as is.

Pull an old t-shirt of your dad's out of a dresser drawer. She'll complain about waking up in one, but when she thinks you aren't looking she'll rub the fabric against her face.

If you're lucky, she'll realize she's cold and wake up a little. If so, you take advantage of her confused state to stand her up, slip her shirt on and walk her to bed. If not you have to grab a pillow from her bed, slip it under her head and lay a blanket across her. You will turn her so that she is on her side, in case the poison wants to climb itself up her throat.

You will realize that it was the tender age of eight when you first understood what your mother is.