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NOW , my mother has never exactly liked smoking weed. Honestly. Though you'd be surprised at how often she does smoke a joint or two, all things considered. Quite frankly it drives her crazy (more so than she already is) sending the woman into panic attacks while paranoia runs through her veins. Maybe the weed she smokes has always been laced... highly doubtful. This always comes as a surprise to those who automatically assume my parents are some sorta stoner hippies, naming their daughter such a name as Mary Jane. I've always found it simply beautiful never exactly thinking of marijuana until others bring it up.
"Marijuana! I mean— Mary Jane"
I remember my classmates saying, giggling in middle school, teasing and taunting me. I even remember the first time I tried smoking pot. It was behind a gas station with my best friend's brother— Dmitri. Nearly ten minutes after I was crying and screaming, claiming I was about to die.
But that's besides the point, the thing is here I am very impatiently waiting for my mom to get out of the bathroom while she smokes what I assume to be a blunt or a bowl. I can smell the smoke slipping it's way through the door and hear the sink running water. Which, in all honesty, I don't quite get, seeing as though she freaks out most of the time she smokes but she still seems to do it so frequently. Maybe she likes the thrill of emotions. I sigh and continue to shake my leg contemplating if I should just go outside and squat in a bush but then I imagine the pee dripping down my leg and then smelling like it so I decide against it. Besides, my pee would probably freeze the moment I spread my legs and started going due to the incredibly low temperatures of an Indiana winter.
"Mom!" I yell out, knocking rather loudly as I bounce up and down.
"Just a minute, Jesus Christ!" she replies in a bitter tone as if she's hasn't been in the bathroom for far too long.
I groan, hearing a few shuffles and then the door unlocking, she has her glass bowl in hand and is in a slumped state, her short brown hair which falls just above her shoulders is a mess of knots.
"It's all yours" she says with glossy red eyes.
I run in, shoving past her body. Quickly slamming the door behind me, then pull down my pants and relieve myself of the five glasses of red kool-aid I had to drink earlier.
"You're fucking welcome! I wasn't done yet" I can hear my mother's voice boom through the door.
I roll my eyes and stay seated for a moment, observing the broken metal bar that used to hold towels, before I get up to wash my hands. The facet, which my mom had forgot to turn off, is rusty and runs water which randomly spurts out crazily every few seconds. I run my hands underneath the water and take the bar of soap laying on the edge of the sink. The water's bitterly cold, maybe even the same temperature as the snow that falls outside. I assume the heat hasn't been paid, which explains why it feels like an ice box inside the house lately.
Once done I exit and make my way to my room which is right across the hallway. The walls of the hall are bare and the tan paint is coated with a film of smoke from the packs a day my mother smokes. I shiver then close the door behind me, looking for my winter jacket which hangs up in my closet. I put it on and as I get into bed the wood beneath me creaks. I lay down on my bed of messy sheets and blankets and with a swift motion I get under them and hug them close to me. I sniffle, then slowly drift off to sleep in my half lit room which the gloomy state outside provides.
...
"Jane, Jane!" a harsh voice yells.
I awake in a panic, looking to see my friend Vera above me. She's only but a dark figure so I can only see her faintly. I drop down again, relived.
"Vera?" I mumble in a sleepy manner dosing off once again, still tired.
"Yes. Get up, now." she demands, shaking me a little.
I groan, putting a pillow over my head and ball up my body. She quickly takes the limp pillow away and flicks me.
"Jane!" she repeats.
This time I comply with her demand and slowly wake myself up.
When I fully open my eyes I see my room is no longer lit but in fact almost completely black. My face is numb but oddly enough my body somewhat warm probably thanks to the heavy coat I'm wearing. I sit up in bed, crossing my legs then check the alarm clock on my nightstand, it reads 7:56 P.M. in large red letters. I had only been asleep for three hours. I'm surprised my mom hadn't called for me for some crazy reason. "Jane I broke the shower curtain, will you fix it?" or "Jane! The T.V. won't work, what did you do to it?" something along those lines always seemed to wake me.
If not, it was Vera. Always Vera or my mom. It's not unusual for Vera to arrive at this time of night on random. In fact it's relatively early. Most times it'll be a lot later, more so around 11 P.M. to 12:00 A.M.
"I wanna hang out" she tells me, flicking the hair tie on her wrist.
I can barely make her out, but I can hear the sound of rubber hitting skin. I stare at her blankly, knowing she's giving me puppy dog eyes and a pout right now.
"Okay..." I sigh, a bit upset that she had awoken me. "What do you wanna do?"
She hums, that's how I know she's thinking and of something good too at that.
"Dmitri, he has friends over. You wanna hang out with them?" she finally says.
I nod, then remember she probably can't really see me either. "Yeah sure, let me just get my shoes on"
Vera stands as I grab my shoes, then we exit my room. In the living room my mom is passed out on the couch with all the lights on. No wonder our electric bill is so high and my mom can't afford to pay the heat, I think to myself. I was wondering how Vera got in, I had assumed either one of the doors was open or my mom had let her in, she always does; no matter how late it is. She has a soft spot for the girl, constantly telling me that Vera reminds her or herself when she was younger.
My mom holds a cushion close to her and on the floor is an empty can of ravioli. I take a blanket and cover her before leaving knowing she won't care where I've gone off to. Besides, I know she'll be asleep for a long time or gone just the same as I have when she awakes. She's absent most of the time, and I wouldn't be surprised if I came back to an empty home. It's been like that even since I had turned twelve years old, and though I was lonely at first, I found peace in the slight creaks the wood sometimes made and the gentle hum of various appliances.
