Love Scares The $%*! Outta Me

Do Over

Crash!

The shattering of glass startles me awake.

I sit up.

I hear shouting from the kitchen.

I leap out of bed and dash down the steps.

Did Grams have a dizzy spell? Is she hurt?

I rush inside the kitchen to find Grams unharmed. She isn't alone. Rebecca is standing opposite her by the pine cabinets. She held a bag of pills in her bony hands. Those pills again. Between them lay a shattered coffee mug on the linoleum-tiled floor.

"Grams."

"It's okay, sweetheart," Gram said with a reassuring nod.

"Just give me the money and I'll go," Rebecca said.

Shivering, she wrapped her grimy coat tighter around her small frame. She stunk of cigarettes and booze. Her dark stringy hair hung limply on her shoulders. The black eyeliner she wore made the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. The smeared red lipstick on her pale skin made her look like a clown. Really. She looked like a clown.

Hard-living, drinking, and smoking made her look older beyond her thirty-eight years. Grams said that when she was younger, Rebecca was beautiful. She was one of the prettiest girls on the block. I find that hard to believe.

"What are you doing here, Rebecca?" I said.

She shot an irritated glare in my direction.

I know why she's here. Today is the day that Grams receives a check from grandpa's pension and like clockwork, she showed up to ask for-no demand--money.

"Grams doesn't have any cash on her," I said.

"So you'll need to get your drug money from somewhere el-"

"That's enough, Finola!" Grams said in a firm voice.

The indignation her tone held scared me.

"You need to do something about her smart mouth," Rebecca said, her lips curled in disgust.

"She takes after you," Grams replied.

I jolted. She might as well have just taken a knife and stabbed me.

"I can't believe you," I said. I feel the anger and hurt building inside me. How dare she humiliate me in front of Rebecca of all people?

That dig was about me coming home after midnight.

Without another word, I stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

I decide against taking a shower. Instead, I opt to brush my teeth, wash my face, and brush my hair. The faster I leave this house the better or else I'll end up saying something that I will regret.

Dressing quickly, I grab my purse and leave the house without saying goodbye.

As I trek up the sidewalk towards the bus stop, I see a nearby garbage can and want to kick it clear across the pavement. Instead, I stomp my feet harder. I want to scream.

Rebecca being an obvious drug addict is only part of the reason I don't respect her. When she was pregnant with me, she wanted to abort me. Grams pleaded with her to let her adopt me instead. She reluctantly agreed. When I was born, Rebecca signed away her parental rights and let Grams adopt me. Rebecca couldn't get my father to do the same because she doesn't know who my father is. You see. I resulted from a one-night stand. My father could be any of the patrons of the bar she frequents. She didn't even know his name. So yeah. I have no respect for Rebecca. She may have birthed me but she didn't raise me. Throughout the nineteen years that I have existed, I have seen her sporadically. She doesn't know me, and I don't want to know her.