Another day, another cold ass wait under the bridge. I don't know how long I can wait before confronting her, but for now, I'm still just waiting.
Our eyes meet a lot now. We have long, silent staring contests, almost daring the other to make the first move. Each time I talk myself into doing it, I get this niggle that it would be the wrong move.
I hate it. I waited and waited for Paris to come to me when she was upset, and now I'm waiting for the other significant woman in my life to do the same. It grates against everything I am, to let this happen at a pace I'm not in control of, but I'm learning that it's not always about me.
"Hey!!" The raspy voice carries in the wind, and I'm almost shocked when I hear it. That's my mothers voice, calling out to me. Her son.
"Yea?" I keep it simple. Not pushing the conversation any way than in her pace is how I need to play this. My eyes follow her as she gets up, and slowly makes her way over to me, dragging a milk crate with her.
She plops the crate down right in front of me, sits and rests her chin on her hand. "What's your story, huh? I know you aren't a street guy, and I'm almost sure you're not a cop. So...."
Her voice just is absorbed into me, and I struggle not to tell her everything. I don't want to push her back before I get what I need.
"Nope. Not a cop, not a homeless person. Just saw you one day, under here, and you looked intriguing."
She cackles and coughs. "Intriguing? That's a new one!"
Now here is where I need to choose. What do I do? Put it all on the table? Or stay anonymous. I hold out my hand, and grin. "Hi. My names Michael, and I think you have an amazing story. I want to hear it. Nothing more, nothing less. Just hear your story."
She grabs my hand with hers, and I take in every dirty detail of it. Each wrinkle, callous, broken yellow nail is firmly lodged in my memory.
"Names Nattie. Resident crack addict at your service." Her flippant answer belies what I see in her eyes. There's pain and a story there, and I wonder how much of it has to do with me.
Shaking off the wariness, I shake my head and just look at her. Each detail is set in my memory, and I can't help but push myself forward. "Why? What is it about crack that has you this way?"
She pulls out her aged pipe, spinning it in her hands, and looks at me. "I'm stuck. Set in my ways. This is the life I chose so long ago, that I might as well finish it out, right?"
"Would you quit, if someone helped you? I mean... There's gotta be something that makes you want to stop."
Adjusting her jacket around her, she snaps at me. "Don't you be one of those, Michael! This is my life. Don't try and help me out of it!"
She gets agitated and lights the pipe right in front of me. I get my first whiff of crack, and I'm torn. So fucking torn. She's my mom, and I want to tear that pipe away from her, shove her into my truck and take her to the first detox center I find. But I can't, because... I don't know, so I just wait as she gets her high.
It's about thirty minutes of silence as I watch the drug take effect. The change is almost immediate and completely altering. Her eyes become pinpricks of pupils, she starts picking at her skin and jacket, muttering to herself in a jibberish that I'm not even attempting to understand, and she rapidly looks around; as if paranoid.
Then she calms, and the Nattie I was talking to before comes back. I wait for her to talk first, not wanting to set her off again. "Look, Michael.. You wanna talk? We talk. I'm sick of talkin to myself anyways. You try and change me? We are done. Let me live my life how I want to, ya hear me?"
I nod, and she settles down, and we talk. Mostly about nothing important, but it's talk. I just absorb the experience and try to wrap my mind around the fact that this is my mom.
This all comes to an end, when a car rolls up, and she quickly pushes off her crate. "Well, Michael... It's been nice, but I've got to make me some money. I'll see you tomorrow?"
I just sit and look back and forth between the car and her. I can't believe how much I want to fix her. After everything she's done to me, I still have this unfamiliar warmth at the thought of my mom. She doesn't wait for my reply, and jumps into the passenger seat, and they leave.
----------
Sliding the pints down the bar, grabbing the money, and starting the cycle over again. It's a routine that I can do blindfolded now, so my mind wanders.
It goes straight to Nattie, and our past few discussions. I don't get her. She will ramble about everything and anything, and while it's weird to hear, I'm extremely frustrated that I'm not getting the closure I need.
Maybe it's the drug addled brain, but I have a feeling that it's more. Something deeper is holding her back, and I can't figure it out.
I start doing what I've done since I've been here. I talk to Paris. I tell her my fears, my confusion on how I'm feeling about my mom. Maybe that somehow, somewhere deep, I craved knowing her, even as a crack addict.
I also apologize to me and again to her, for not being strong enough to know this before. Six months ago, when I got the first opportunity to actually find her, I pushed it off, telling myself I didn't want to know, when I'm now learning I secretly craved it.
"JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH, Joel! Watch what the hell you are doing!"
I look at the beers I'm filling off the tap, and I realize that they've been overflowing, and from the amount of beer spilled, overflowing for a while now.
"Fuck! I'm sorry, Sonnie!" I grab two new pint glasses, but she pushes me away.
"Just... Fuck.. Take inventory in the back or something, Joel. You're useless and losing me money today!"
My mouth opens, but I shut it when I realize that she's right, and I duck under the bar. Inventory is just the thing I need. It will keep my mind off all the other shit.
Hours of inventory has numbed my brain, but it's now done, and I head out to the now empty bar, and there it waits. A bottle of Jack Daniels tonight, along with two glasses sit on the bar, but Sonnie isn't in sight. I head to the microphone, and just... Nothing comes out. I can't even get it out my way, because I'm so confused at every bit of it. The entire Nattie situation is something I've never had to deal with, and I'm not sure my feelings yet.
"Joel... You've spilled beer, done a inventory so thorough I know how many toothpics I have, and can't sing. Get your ass over here and talk."
I look at her, and nothing comes out. Still. Silence isn't a normal reaction for me, and that almost scares me. She grabs the bottle and glasses, pulls up a stool beside me and pours. "You're all fucked up inside your head tonight, aren't you?"
I drain the drink, and pour another one, still silent, and unsure about anything right now.
"Nattie... She's getting to you, isn't she?"
I nod, sip, and my mind wanders until it all comes out in a jumbled mess. The conversations, my confusion on why I want to know, and why I even care. I then get into the cusp of the whole thing. Why I didn't know I would care.
Sonnie is silent as I just get it out, answering my own questions, asking the same ones three different ways, all of it. Finally, I stop, and look up at her, as her face breaks into a small smile.
"Joel... You are in the middle of a huge emotional breakthrough. Of course you're going to be scatterbrained! Don't over think! Just feel and accept that you feel it."
She cuffs the back of my head as she slides past me. "Question.. Why are you so inside your head anyways? I mean, I'm always seeing you almost having conversations with yourself in there."
Sighing, I pour another drink and deflect. "You know, you are killing my liver every time we talk right?"
"Joel..."
I feel stupid admitting out loud what I'm doing, but I do it anyways. "I'm talkin to Paris. Like filling her in on what's going on."
She shakes her head, and sighs. "Chuck told me about this whole apart till you fix, but if you need to talk to her, talk to her!"
"It's not that easy. I promised I would give her space until I was better. She deserves that."
"Hmmph"
"What? Speak Sonnie!"
"Why do you make yourself seem like you are sick? Do you internalize too much? Yes. Tend to ignore what you are afraid to deal with? Yes. But in no way are you sick!"
Her words are true, but I feel sick. Like something inside me is broken. "You don't understand!"
"BULLSHIT! Fuck Joel! I was a certified therapist before I owned a bar! Don't give me this bullshit. I've seen it all. You. Are. Ok. You just need to learn how to open up to those who matter, and deal with shit! That fun-loving guy behind the bar? That is what you need to focus on. Becoming him."
Growling in frustration, I fist my hair and look at the table. "I'm trying! I am!"
"No you're not. You are wallowing, and trying to force it. Let. It. Be! So... You've been dealt a shit hand. Toss it in, and grab a new hand."
"I like the hand I had! Paris, Manchester, and every one of the people I know there. I want that!"
She tosses a beer cap at me, rolling her eyes, "don't be a whiny ass! What I mean is the background shit. Nattie, the estate, the orphan mentality. Toss all that shit back, and find the true you."
I finish my drink, head for the door, grabbing my jacket as I go. The new me? Or the old me without all the extra shit? Who the fuck knows.
She calls out as I leave. "Write it out to her, instead of living it in your head. She's not a memory you're talking to, but a real live person you love and loves you!"
If she only knew. The emails I've written, but not sent. I can't remember her email address. Dumb but true. Maybe... Just maybe... The idea pops in my head, and I rush out of the bar to try this out.
Sitting at my table, I have my laptop open, trying really fucking hard to remember anyone's email back home. I can't log into my old email, because Chuck has that on lockdown, so here I am, begging my brain to remember something.
Finally it clicks. Mavs email. I hope she hasn't changed it, but with all her work, I'm pretty confident she hasn't.
Logging into the new email account I created. I quickly type her address into the to line and type away.
To: IMoffet@wonderland.uk.net
From: JFairchild@Boscom.net
Subject: please read, Mav
Hey Mav,
I forgot everyone else's email but yours, so I'm sending this here. I promised Paris that I would take this time, to figure out what I'm doing or needing.
I took that challenge. I've let go of all my stuff, and right now, I'm anonymous Joel in Boston.
That being said, I don't have access to my old email account right now, and so I created this one. It's strictly being used to write to Paris, but I don't have her email either.
I created an email acct for her, and when you think she will want to hear from me pass this info on:
Username: PFairchild@Boscom.net
Password: TJTrix031013
There are emails waiting for her, and she can read them and not reply, or reply.. I'm cool either way (well not cool, but accepting).
I just need to fill her in on things that I am dealing with. I messed up before internalizing too much, and I'm not doing it again, especially not to her. Read them if you want to. Nothing to hide in any of them.
Now... Tell her to change the password if she wants, and do whatever feels right to her. If hearing from me is too much, then that's how it is.
I'm not expecting any replies. Not from this email, or hers. I love and miss everyone of you, and know that I think of you all every day.
Love,
Joel
I quickly press send, and now it's a waiting game.
---TBC---
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