ring pops and cigs

14

blank. her face was always blank nowadays. she didn't get like this often, but when the day was foggy and ran hung in the air and nostalgia dripped from every tree, my mama stared. she'd stare at the blank wall in front of her, glass of wine in a stained glass, and dark red nails spotted tracing the rim of the cup in habit. in all honesty, that was the only thing that told me she was alive.

my mama wasn't always like this. she didn't even drink until last year-when she decided to switch fields and become a teacher. i could see how the two are correlated, but it doesn't make it any less surprising.

when she got like this, she was unresponsive. immobile. like every bone is her body was superglued and sewn into the position she was in. she'd stare and stare at a blank wall and i couldn't do anything. it was saturday morning, the fog looming over my balcony, and air cold to the touch; stripping me of the warmth that took twelve hours nestled under a thick, fluffy blanket to achieve. goosebumps rode over my skin, and i frowned.

my mama was beautiful, but everytime i told her she thought i wanted something. her eyelashes weren't tangles of black-long and thick; rather sparse and thin, but it only made her look prettier. she had light brown eyes-contrasting greatly from my cocoa ones, and hers was rounder, a way bigger shape than mine. i had big almond eyes and she-she had stolen the moon and replaced it for her eyes. she had fair, light skin that still turned rose gold when the sun sprinkled its rays on her, and a mess of curls for hair. my hair was straight, but had inherited her frizz. she pulled it off, i didn't. she had smaller lips than mine-my lips were puffy, with a strong cupid's bow and a fuller lower lips. hers were thin petals shaped crisply with a sharp cupid's bow and a beautiful tilt upwards. i wish i had inherited her smile.

i hate that she couldn't see through my eyes. maybe then she'd be able to see how gorgeous she was.

she was fading though. she acts like she isn't but she is and it kills me.

she was fading right before my eyes and all i could do is watch her lose herself and everything she's achieved because it's never enough for her.

i wanted to talk to someone, but i realized i had no one i wanted to talk to. my brother's distant, my friends act like they don't hate me, fatima may care but she won't understand, and the only one who would understand i can't talk to.

so, i do what i always do.

i tread upstairs, go into the bathroom, and turn on the bath. i undress myself and make sure i don't look in the mirror. i take my necessities from the cabinet (bath salts, essences, matches, and a hidden box of cigs.) and quickly turn off the water because it's about overflow.

it burns. the water's too hot and my nerves are on fire. it prickles and stings every inch of my skin and i only go in deeper and sigh. my skins starting to turn red. my skin was screaming in scarlet hues. i like this.

i rest my head against the back of the tub, and stare at my penguin curtains. i sigh, and light a match. it takes two tries, but it lasts about a two and one fourths of a second. the flame starts out big, reaching for the sky with all its light, but quickly simmers out. i smile. i like the smell afterwards. i drop the match into the bathtub, and do it again. i didn't realize how much i did until there's only two left. i use it to light a cig.

i smile. i'm bathing with a bunch of once lit matches and my skin feels half burned off. seems like a music video.

i hum to a tune that i feel like i once remembered, and laugh when words dead poets would've written circle around my brain.

i'm staring at the bland, white ceiling that's radiating a blue from the reflected light of the penguins, and i think. and i think and think and i remember.

i exhale, remembering the cig is still in my mouth.

"hey, god? yeah, hope i'm talkin' to the right one and all but it's been a while, yeah? can you tell, um, my dad i say hi? or sumn' i don't know. i think my mom's remembering him. i think that's why she's like this right now. i'm not sure why. maybe it's a parent thing. yanno? wait, do you know? i know jesus is your son and all but he's also god? which one am i talking to? right-right, y'all are like, one or whatever." i exhale the cig sitting between my teeth, before i remember i'm talking to god. "oh, shit-i mean, uh, shoot. um, i'm not sure if cigs are allowed but they never really said anything in the bible about it so i'm gonna-uh-continue, smoking. yeah. i'm not addicted or anything, i think. don't worry. i just do this when i'm-um-bored. i guess. i don't know-but yeah. tell my dad i say hi and that he should fuck-frickin visit my mom in a dream or sumn so she can get over the whole sadness thing. i can manage and all but i miss her. or sumn. yeah. it was, um, nice talkin to ya bud. hopefully i can, um, talk to you later? i'll-um-try to. i guess. yeah. thanks god. see ya."

i sigh. being a christian and being so sinful makes talkin to god way more awkward than it should be. but it's life. he gave us free will, and i established it by fucking up so many times. i guess it's a blessing and a curse, but he trusted us. and gave us a choice. but in all honesty, he's the only one left to talk to right now.