“Yeah, and they know I moved out over a year ago but they keep callin’ me anyway. I asked them to stop, but I guess they’re tryna avoid calling the cops on her.” Perry sounded beaten down into the ground, as if he couldn’t stomach another second of this. Yet, he didn’t mind doing this, laying it on him, every single week. “She mentioned something about your birthday the other day, that you’re turning thirty-two soon. She said the year she turned your age was one of the best of her life. She wanted me to tell you that for some reason. Maybe that’s why she lost her mind this time, Aiden. Maybe she’s thinking about the good old days.”
Aiden closed his eyes and placed his hand over his face as he cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder. He stretched his arm up in answer to a strange impulse, as if praying to the heavens or trying to capture a dream before it escaped him. He sat like that for several seconds before lowering his arm back to his side. The prayer wasn’t answered. Mom was still a drunk and Perry rattled on about all the bullshit she was doing, according to her neighbors. The complaints about the ruckus were endless.
Perry worked as a Senior Manager at the grocery store but Aiden worked closer to Mom’s apartment, and well, the truth was that Perry wasn’t always emotionally strong enough to talk some sense into her drunken self. It was a simple fact that Aiden was the more rational of the two, definitely less emotional, and though they were only three years apart, sometimes Aiden felt as if Perry behaved like a teenager when it came to these sorts of issues. He wouldn’t even admit Mom was an alcoholic, calling a spade a spade—only that she drank a lot. Even when he was living under her roof, he spent most of the time couch surfing at friends’ places to avoid her. Perry wasn’t supposed to be with her because he had no place to go; he was there to watch over her and keep her out of trouble. But, he just wasn’t cut out for the job.
Aiden made his way back to his cubicle and flopped down on the chair.
“So, are you going? We’ve got some trucks coming and I need to make sure everything in the produce department gets unloaded first.”
“I thought you said you had a meeting and that’s why you couldn’t go over to Mom’s place?” He was met with silence; another notorious Perry lie had been born and cast his way. It was becoming tiresome.
“I do, but I have the, uh, the trucks coming, too.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Just like I have an appointment with a talking dolphin who wears a little red cape in five minutes. Perry, you’re full of shit. Don’t insult my intelligence. Seriously.” His brother sighed but said nothing further. Aiden glanced at the time on his computer. 4:43 PM. “Look, it’ll have to wait a few minutes. I need to make a good impression, all right? I’m tryna—”
“Oh yeah, get that promotion.” Perry chuckled as if it were nothing all that special. “But you are going, right?”
“Yeah. Anything else?”
“Anything else? I thought that was enough?”
“Next time the neighbors contact you, Perry, call mom and tell her you’re calling the cops. I’m fuckin’ sick and tired of this shit.”
Ending the call, he made his way back to his cubicle to shut off his computer, then grabbed his coat to begin the process of bundling up. It was a chilly January night. The sun had already set and the heat in the building seemed to not be working at full capacity, but he was certain it was all in his mind. He rubbed vigorously up and down his arm as his nerves bunched up. Feelings of anxiety and anger climbed all along themselves, the emotions itchy and raw. He watched the time tick on by, ignored his phone, and fell into a state of complete resentment.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled in front of his mother’s apartment complex, white knuckling the steering wheel. He dropped his head, trying to get himself together and talking himself into not losing his cool. Getting out the car, he slammed the door shut and made his way towards the apartment. After pressing her buzzer, she answered.
“It’s Aiden!” he yelled.
He was glad she didn’t force him to fish for the keys out of his car. The outside door clicked open and he stomped up the metal steps, his rage ringing out along with each loud bang when his foot landed on a stair. He sank his teeth into his lower lip, almost drawing blood. Before he even reached his mother’s apartment, Laurel, the lady who lived across the hall, swung her door open and craned her long neck out. Her silky dark hair, threaded with strands of silver, was rolled tight in large curlers on only half of her head.
“Thank God you’re here! She finally settled down. This is a nice neighborhood, a nice building, and we’re tired of this, Perry.”
“I’m Aiden…”
“Yeah, Aiden, sorry about that. I’m just upset and sick of this. Now look, I don’t want to have to call the police on her. I know she’s on probation but—”
He put his hand up, cutting off the older woman at the pass.
“Laurel, thanks… I got it.” He banged on his mother’s door, resting his weight on one leg and sucking on his lower lip, the iron-rich flavor of his blood flavoring his palette. He heard the woman shuffle closer, then the crunch of glass underfoot.
“Just uh… just uh minute…” she slurred.
Soon the door opened, revealing the short, petite woman who looked up at him with reddened eyes. Her drab, dark bronze hair, the same color as his but with far less luster, was slicked back into a crooked ponytail.
Brushing past her, he turned on the light with a slap of his hand. She placed her arm over her eyes like some haggard old vampire exposed to the light of day.
“Look at this shit!” He marched to the kitchen, grabbed a trash bag, and began to pick up broken plates, vases, and the like. “You think I’ve got time for this, Mom? You think I like this?! Jesus!” More crashing ensued as he picked up bits of broken glass and tossed it into the bag. “You didn’t go to work today, did you?”
The woman said nothing. She walked in her rumpled, long-sleeved olive green shirt like some zombie across the living room, then dropped down onto the couch, crossing her frail arms over her flat chest. The table in front of her was practically invisible, covered as it was with empty wine and beer bottles, a box of cigarettes that was probably empty, and prescription bottles of her medication flipped on their sides.
“I need more medicine.”
He almost didn’t hear her, she’d spoken so low. Almost.
“The doctor told you to stop drinking with your blood pressure medication, Mom. But you won’t. I am so tired of this. I can’t go more than three damn days without you acting out. You’re like a damn child! I don’t have any kids. I didn’t sign up for this.” He threw more cracked bowls and plates into the bag, grunting and biting back words that were far worse than the ones he’d uttered. His heart beat a mile a minute, his adrenaline through the roof, and his head hurt so badly, it felt as if his brain were swollen and pressing against his damn skull.