Page 84 of Through Quick and Quinn
Tonight, it felt like we held hands because they belong together, and we both know it.
We meandered around the fall carnival, chuckling at the impatient kids waiting in line and almost feeling sorry for the parents who ended up playing the games to win the prizes for their crying children. We rode the caterpillar ride, ventured into the house of mirrors, and nibbled on stale popcorn, but for the most part, we talked. Mostly about the coming year. I have been starting to process the possibility of us being separated and I wanted to hear his take on it, but he said he didn’t even want to think about it. He knew we needed to, though. At first it was nervous chatter, but as we discussed the different scenarios, we noticed that we started to feel better. We admitted that it was the unknowns that were making us nervous, in terms of where each of us would be, what we would be doing, and how often we’d get to see each other, but we realized that our friendship does not fall under that category of the “unknown.” In fact, it is the opposite. It is completely known that our friendship is as strong as a fortress, resilient and protected. As long as we both continue to put the effort in, it can and will withstand distance and time. We acknowledge that the minutiae of the friendship may change, but like a tree with deep roots, the core of it will remain sturdy. Maybe even more so.
A hovering burden was lifted from my shoulders once we wrapped up our conversation. Knowing that Quick and I are on the same page, we will make the best of whatever comes our way. We will support one another’s choices and until then, there is nothing to stress about. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out.
I did get a little embarrassed tonight, though. I completely freaked out in the corn maze. It wasn’t even a haunted Halloween one! But it was dark, and I didn’t know where we were, and there were shuffling noises in the breeze. I swear, I didn’t think we’d ever find our way out. As much as I always enjoy Quick’s company, I hated that corn maze! I could have done without that part, but our night was way better than it would have been if we went to Homecoming. That’s for dang sure.
…Q
+ + +
Hey Geoffrey,
Once I left Quinn’s, I couldn’t wait to get home to write to you about it. But I came home to a nightmare. Another frickin’ nightmare.
I turned the corner on our street and I saw the sirens in front of our house. Turns out Dad came home from work to find Mom unresponsive on the kitchen floor. Faint heartbeat, barely breathing, the whole nine yards. Who knows how long she had been there.
I got home in time to see the paramedics load her into the ambulance before rushing her off to the hospital. I knew the second I saw her that she probably overdosed on those damn meds. And no, it’s not lost on me that tomorrow’s your birthday.
Dad called from the hospital a little while ago. “Mom’s stable and is going to be okay.” That’s word for word what he said. What a load of crap. Her body may have been jolted back into working order, but there is nothing “stable” about Mom and I haven’t seen her “okay” in years, so yeah. Doubtful.
Apparently, she’s going to rehab. The doctor or the nurse or whoever gave Dad some recommendations and he’s looking into facilities now. Probably like a 30-day thing or whatever.
I waited too damn long to talk to her. I am so wrapped up in my own self-centered life that I kept putting the most important conversation on the backburner. I’m a coward. I let things go unsaid, I watched her slowly deteriorate into a shell of a stranger, and I justified my choice to do so. For years. I shouldn’t have let it fester. I’m so pissed at myself right now. And at Dad who’s never frickin’ home. And at her. They’re the adults here, not me.
Ugh. Even that sounds like an excuse.
What if I lost my chance to apologize? What if I can never make it right? What if I never see her again? I can’t deal with this, Geoffrey. I can’t. I can’t lose her, too.
If you’re up there, watch over her. I mean, I know you already do, but just protect her, ok? I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I need her to be better. I miss her. I miss her so frickin’ much. It’s like I lost all three of you at the exact same time. Sucks so bad.
Love you. I’m so sorry.
-Deck
10/19/24
2:41 a.m.
There is an eerie silence in the car. The only noises are those of the vehicles on the road and the constant sounds of my mom’s muffled sobs. The mound of used tissues on the center console has grown to the size of a basketball, not including the ones that have fallen onto her seat and floorboard. I glance over at my dad. His glassy and unblinking eyes are staring at the road ahead, his knuckles completely white as they grip the steering wheel.
My leg is asleep. I shuffle in my seat to reposition, and the sound of my small movement brings my mother’s attention to the present situation. Her sniffles stop and she holds her breath as she slowly turns her head an inch in my direction. Her head is still facing the front windshield, just towards the driver’s side rather than straight ahead. Her eyes continue to look more left, though, where I am sure she catches a glimpse of me in her peripheral vision. Her mouth becomes terse and her upper lip scornfully pulses. Remembering that I am in the car causes a visceral reaction in her, and the sorrow becomes something much different. Rage. Hatred. Disgust.
I turn away, unable to look at the contempt and disdain that my mother is wearing on her face. Tears stream down my cheeks as I think of my kid brother. I am mourning both his tragic absence and the coming dissolution of our family, already aware that our family will not survive without him.
***
Quick / 3:19 a.m.
hey
sorry to text so late, just woke up from a flashback
I hadn’t had one in so long damnit
3:21 a.m.
came home to quite the shocker last night
