- I
Mom had been in a bad mood since we left the house. But it was saturday: We had to go grocery shopping. She wouldn’t have it any other way. And I had to drive her. On the drive, she started talking about something called the “New German Medicine, or NGM. This german doctor,‒ she started saying‒ well, he just figured everything out one day. In short, because it’s very complicated, all sickness of the body and soul stem from a psychological conflict.”. My body was incredibly tense. Should I say something? Should I try to make her see how stupid her beliefs are?. I don’t want a fight.
‒That sounds interesting, mom.
We stand in line for the cashier. My mom goes through my things. She picks up a bottle of light soda.
‒I can’t believe you drink this. You know aspartame gives people cancer, right? It’s just horrible for your body!
‒I thought all sickness stemmed from psychological issues.
‒You think you’re so smart. Go ahead. Buy it. It’s your body, it’s your money; you can misuse it however you please.
‒Yes. It’s also my money that’s paying for your groceries.
She slowly turns at me with her mouth open wide. She puts her hand to her chest.
‒I can’t believe this! My own son, verbally abusing me… In public!
Did she know how much I hated her? Did she know how miserable she could make me feel? She could seem devastated one second, saying how hurt she is by the behaviour of her son, and then, she would seem like she’d already forgotten and start talking about the medicinal uses of baking soda. And I was left with a horrible feeling inside of me, feeding on me. It’s better, I’ve come to think, to not hear what she says.
I pack all the groceries in the car. She asks me not to take the highway- she’s afraid, because of how I drive. She continues to comment on my driving as we drive, but I decide to not hear her and think about something else.
“It would be so nice to live alone again”, I thought. I’d been living with my mother for about 2 years now. I was fired from my job because of my alcohol addiction and I moved in with her shortly after. It wasn’t because she recommended it or because she would've been good for me or anything. I just don’t have any friends. I’m alone except for my mother, and that’s incredibly worse, I see that now. I’ve been sober these 2 years, but I feel much worse about myself now compared to when I was drinking. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but she gets upset immediately and leaves the room. I feel like a hostage.
‒Hey, isn’t that your cousin Nathaly? She says, pointing at the bus stop. There was a girl with long black hair.
‒It’s not her. She looks a lot like Nathaly, but-
‒It’s her. Pull over. I want to say hello.
‒I can’t pull over here, mom. And besides, that’s not her.
‒Right, because I’m a blind old woman. I’m telling you, it’s her. Stop the car! ‒She raised her voice.
I kept going, went from 50 to 80, ignoring her. I could feel her eyes burning right through my face. Suddenly, she went for the emergency brakes.
- II
I wake up in a bed. I gasp violently, feeling a horrible pain in my right leg. My eyes, as open as can be, look to my left. There is a nurse sitting in the dark room, sobbing. “Please, give me painkillers. Please” She stands up, surprised. Her eyes are red and her face is swollen. “But, sir… We’ve already given you analgesics two hours ago. Another dose would be a little excessive.” She looks me in the eyes. I feel sorry for her. She seems miserable. “Okay”, she says, “One more dose. But don’t tell anyone. And no more painkillers for at least 6 hours.”
She leaves quickly. I look around. I have a private room. It doesn’t surprise me at all. I’ve been hospitalized many times; I have good medical insurance. I look down at my leg. It’s red, purple and green. I see a wound that goes from my foot up to my knee; It’s been sewed up. How many stitches could that be?
The nurse comes back, with a syringe full of liquid. She injects all of it directly on the IV hooked up on my hand, and I feel the burning cold sensation going all the way up to my shoulder.
She smiles at me, but sits again looking defeated in the chair next to the door.
I stare at the ceiling for what I think are 30 minutes. My head feels like it’s underwater. The analgesic hit me hard and, as the pain goes, I start to think more clearly.
‒Why were you crying?
She looks very embarrassed. I notice how the blood rushes to her cheeks. She’s very cute. ‒Well, it’s a long and complicated story… I’m not sure if you would actually want to listen to it.
She looks down as she says this. ‒It’s early morning, right? Maybe about 6?
It’s 7 in the morning, she corrects.
‒The doctor won’t come to see you until 8, probably. And my shift ends at 9.
‒Perfect! We have all the time we need.
“I don’t want to make it more dramatic than it is. It’s my mother. She’s insane, and I can’t keep living with her. I’ve taken this shift instead of the day one because it pays much better… I’ve been saving money for a year.
She wasn’t always as crazy as she is now. She was kind, which is why I moved back with her in the first place. I gave birth to a boy and was not prepared to raise a child on my own. She helped a lot. She doesn’t work, so I was always working. It never bothered me, because she took care of my son. She took and picked him up from school.
But when my son started to go to school, she spent a lot of time alone. She started to become bitter. She was always bitter about everything. Around the time, she started to sleep very little. She also ate very little. Then she started to think I was poisoning her food.
To make it short, I can’t stay there anymore. I… I took my son out of there yesterday and I’m moving out today. She’s been calling all day and leaving me voice messages of her yelling and sobbing. I’m afraid she might do something.”
She had shed a few tears while talking. I felt sorry for her but, being terribly honest, I was very attracted to her. I had found her beautiful like a wounded angel. Tears started pouring down my face, I was suddenly distraught.
‒Oh my god, are you okay? ‒She asks.
‒I’m sorry-- It’s just not fair. You seem like a wonderful person, and I feel so powerless… I would like to help you… ‒She held my head to her chest. She started crying, too.
- III
‒Hey, wake up. The doctor’s here. ‒It was her, smiling at me.
A doctor was in the room, putting up some X-rays on the wall, while he whistled a cheerful tune. The nurse sat down and we both looked at him. “I hear you’ve been with the patient all night. How has he been?” She told him I had been in pain, but subsided after an extra dose of painkillers. He nodded. Then he turned to me. “You are lucky as hell, you know that? You didn’t break a single bone. But you did get an awful gash. Usually we don’t give powerful painkillers because everyone at this hospital are assholes, but I’ll give you some opioids for the pain. But you have to promise you won’t walk for at least a month!.” The good disposition and the attitude of the doctor toward me moved me, and it moved the nurse as well.
‒That’s so nice of you, doctor. You seem in such a good mood today. Did something good happen? ‒She joked.
“Yes, something good happened. My mother passed away last night. They called this morning to tell me. I haven’t been this happy in years. I know it might sound weird, but she was a fucking horrible person.”
Thank you for reading! Any comments are appreciated.
The picture used was taken by me.