Page 38 of Fight

A sigh of frustration threatened, but I kept it at bay. We’d had this conversation so many times, countless times, and it never got us anywhere.

Worst of all, she never knew how hard I worked to protect her, help her, give her a chance to be herself again—be the mother I missed so much. She didn’t know about all the money I had spent cleaning up after her. When I thought of that, the anger and bitterness exploded.

“Don’t you want to get out of this place? This life?”

“Maybe I like my life the way it is,” she said, stubborn as always.

“You like being a junkie, Ma?” I said incredulously.

“Don’t call me that,” she said flatly.

Her soft voice sucked the anger right out of me but left the guilt intact. So this visit was complete. I’d tried to help her, ended up hurting her, and now felt awful about it. So now it was time to go, prepare to have this same conversation the next time I saw her.

“I’ll be back later,” I said.

She nodded but then looked at me, and when my eyes met hers, an ominous feeling spread through my body, one that only increased when she started to speak.

“Do you have—”

“I’m not giving you any money, Ma,” I said.

“I just need a little to get something to eat.”

I shook my head, frowning, annoyed she thought so little of me that she believed I would accept her transparent lies.

“I know what you’re gonna use the money for,” I said.

“You don’t know as much as you think, Patricia,” she said, giving off the air of resigned exasperation. “But that’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

I closed my eyes, trying to fight back the guilt. I knew that she was playing on my feelings. Playing on my desire to make sure she didn’t have to resort to those awful, debasing things she’d do if I didn’t give her money.

“All I have is a hundred,” I mumbled.

She lit up like a Christmas tree. “That’s plenty.”

I gave her the money, but didn’t look at her again, not wanting to see that eagerness in her eyes.

“Bye, Ma,” I said.

I left without looking back.

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