The Death Date

chapter four

"Delia, is that you? Oh, I'm so glad you're home! I've had the loveliest day."

All the air in the apartment was sucked outside the second before the door closed. My heart began to thump and my ears began to ring, the two symptoms that alerted me trouble was afoot. Cautiously, I tread into the living room and found my mom going through a stack of clothing. Music was blaring from the television, and her head was bobbing back and forth in time.

"Hey, Mom," I said feebly. "What're you up to?"

My mom snapped her head upright, dropped the stack of clothes into a pile on the floor, and rushed to envelop me into a tight hug. Strong smelling perfume seeped from her pores. "Oh, honey, I'm so happy you're home." She gave me another squeeze and then draped her hands over my shoulders.

"What's with all the clothes?" I nodded to the pile and noticed a few tags among the clutter. My heart dive bombed.

My mom beamed like she had won the lottery, which would have been a nice surprise right about now considering I knew what was coming. "I just did some shopping. Here" – she stepped to the pile and reached inside, pulling out a black knit sweater – "I thought this would look nice on you. Take it. Wear it for Nick."

The soft material melted into my palms but felt like it was made of steel. My hands dropped in response. "Mom, how much did you spend?"

She continued beaming and started sorting through the collection of fabric. I could envision dollar signs dinging above her head with each item she moved through. "Oh, relax, honey. It wasn't much. I was due for some new clothes, and I got you this too." She held up a plum skirt. "It will be adorable on you!"

"Mom, we can't afford all of this," I said.

"Sure, we can. It's fine, honey. Don't worry about it."

"No, Mom!" My hands cradled the sides of my head. "We don't have the money to buy this stuff. You need to return it all."

The smile on my mom's face never faltered, like it was permanently tattooed, but time would erode it away. In a mere few days she'd be slumped on the couch or become a prisoner to her bedroom. It was never easy to see her soul at its darkest, but it was preferable to her reckless highs. I dug my fingers into my temples.

"Delia, relax. Try something on. You'll love it!"

The moisture in my mouth dissipated. While my mom worked part time doing bookkeeping for a local cosmetics company, her paycheck combined with mine wasn't nearly enough to support the two of us. Even out in Lemon Grove, apartments were expensive. My father, also known as the sperm donor, lived some fabulous lifestyle in Florida and sent child support every month. It was barely enough to keep us afloat. Frivolous spending was something the both of us couldn't afford. Unfortunately, my mom developed a habit of doing so when she was riding one of her highs.

"Mom, please," I begged, but I knew it was no use. She wouldn't listen to me; I didn't really exist when she was like this.

My mom returned to her pile of clothes and turned the music on the television up louder. Her head began bopping again in rhythm to the blasting eighties pop song.

I needed air. My lungs were about to collapse, and the music was frying my brain. Quickly, I turned a heel and stormed out the apartment door. It was still early afternoon, and the air this far east of the city was more arid and much warmer. Heat prickled at my skin as I flew down the stairs and into the complex parking lot. I then rounded the corner of our building and started walking the sidewalk of the main road.

My mind was bouncing from thought to thought – spinning in tightly wound circles. I felt like I might lose balance at any given second. Living with someone with bipolar disorder was a constant battle, and even though I had dealt with it on my own for most of my life, it never became any less of a burden. Instead, the weight tended to build up on my shoulders over time, little by little, and I worried one of these days I would collapse.