Page 15 of Kings Against the World

It was me who cooked and cleaned the house when Mom couldn’t even make it off the couch most evenings. I answered when the loan sharks came to bang their fists on our door and demand the money Dad owed them.

Nothing changed in the time I had been gone.

I came home to my dad smelling of liquor on his tattered and sunken La-Z-Boy he bought at a yard sale years ago. Before I ever graduated from college. He was wearing an undershirt marked by grease stains from pizza and dried spots of beer, his reading glasses low on his round nose.

I had to let myself in using the key under the mat because my knocks weren’t enough.

“Dad?” I asked, reaching for his shoulder. “Dad? Dad!”

He woke with a flailing start, kicking his legs out and knocking over the bag of pork rinds he’d been snacking on. The bag landed next to the crushed beer cans on the floor. He wrenched his glasses off his face, squeezing shut his eyes as if dizzy and choking back the snore he’d been in the middle of.

“Wha… what’s going on?” he mumbled, smacking his lips.

I slanted my head to the side, sighing exasperatedly. “It’s me, Dad. Remember, your daughter? The one who told you she’d be flying in this afternoon.”

“Huh? Oh… yeah… hey, Zozo baby… was that today?”

“Yes, Dad. I called you yesterday when I was packing.”

“That was yesterday?” His mouth gaped open for a deep yawn that cut off the last of his words. “These days been flying by.”

I gave up on him and went to seek out Mom. The velvety croons of Al Green floated from down the hall. They grew louder as I stepped toward the bedroom and tapped my knuckles twice.

Mom’s dreamy slur answered, “Mmm… yes?”

“I just got in,” I said, and then I added with a sigh, “It’s me, Zoe. I was coming to visit?”

“Door’s unlocked.”

I stepped into the room to find a haze of pot smoke thick in the air and my mother swaying to Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.”

It was her favorite song—the song she blasted endlessly through the house for hours. The song she listened to when things went bad with Dad so she could disappear into the lyrics of the crooning R&B classic.

She hardly noticed I was in the room as she swayed with a satisfied smile on her face and a smoky blunt in her hand.

I folded my arms and called out to her. “Mom? Hello?”

“Zoe sweetie! There you are! Gimme a hug!” Mom rushed at me, throwing her arms out for a tight hug.

I had to turn my head to the side to avoid the lit end of her blunt. “Mom… Mom! You’re going to set my hair on fire.”

“Whoops. My bad. Sorry. Let me put it out.” She scurried over to the dresser where her ashtray was.

I was more than a head taller than Mom with a physique more like Dad—slim, lanky, and athletic. In contrast, Mom was short and chubby-cheeked, drowning in the thick fabric of the house coat she wore around. She grabbed my hand and led me into the kitchen to get started on dinner.

“I bought all the things to make your favorite, baby. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Oh, damn. Where did I put the garlic?”

My mom stood in front of the open refrigerator, scratching her head while I hung back by the kitchen counter. It was sticky, making me wonder when was the last time one of them had wiped it clean. There were piles of mail stacked along the counter, a collection of envelopes dating as far back as my last visit home.

My brows connected and I scanned the number of bright red stamps reading things like, “PAST DUE” and “COLLECTIONS NOTICE”.

I picked up the top one, which happened to be a three months past due electricity bill. “Mom, why haven’t you paid the light bill?”

“Hmm? What was that sweetie? Where is this damn garlic?!”

“I gave you money for this,” I snapped. “I gave you and Dad money to cover all the bills. What did you do with it?”

Mom found it funny enough to giggle. She still pretended like she couldn’t hear me all the way and kept asking about the garlic.

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