The Worst

A hard story from long ago

The Record: The Worst

I don’t think anything of it when she tells me she’s going back to the doctor for her lingering cough. It means nothing to me, really; no fear, no consideration. 

But it’s cancer. That’s what she’s got. Cancer. 

She stares at me from across the kitchen, though I am distracted by all the things a seventeen-year-old might be distracted by. Boyfriends. Art. Love, love, love. 

Her lip begins to quiver, and I frown. 

Cancer?

Suddenly, I wonder if I should be worrying. There’s a girl in high school whose mother died last year. I remember that it took years of pain and treatment, that I steered far clear of her because she had a mother she loved and I didn’t. 

But what about now? Do I love my own mother?

Suddenly, I’m feeling dramatic about the whole thing. I don’t know much about cancer, but I remember the sad look that girl wore on her face for all those years. And then, when she died, the unmistakable look of relief that came after so much trauma. 

I brush by my mother and mumble something about being back later. She doesn’t try to stop me. I leave her alone to manage on her own. Because there’s no one else there, now, is there? 

I slide into the car and drive over to where my boyfriend works. I slip him a note that says, My mom has cancer. Then I walk out, leaving him to put toppings on pizzas without any further explanation. 

I drive, and soon I find myself atop that same hill that I once cried upon after that first sexual encounter. That hill has seen a lot of my tears; it’s a home of sorts in that way. 
I stay up there for a long time, and when I finally leave and go home, I find the boyfriend waiting. 

So there is someone after all. She’s told him the story, this boy who doesn’t deserve my sloppy seconds. But that’s what he gets. I don’t even love him. What a terrible burden both of us must carry, he not knowing and me understanding it in a way he’ll never know. 

Still, the two of them sit there, looking at me expectantly. He left the pizza shop to look for me, and that led him here. He will be a good man someday. 

And me? Will I be good someday, with my mother’s quivering lip and sad eyes to watch over me? 

And suddenly, I know the answer, and I know why, too, because I stand up and leave that house, my only home. I leave them and all of it behind. 

I am gone.

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Dear Readers,

It may not be a happy story, but it’s what happened. Sometimes joy is difficult to find, and sometimes fear rules over everything. Today, I am strong. Not fearful. Not angry. Just damned ok. It’s a beautiful day out, and after I post this, I’ll spend some time outside so that the dogs can sunbathe. Yesterday was rough, but these reprieves I’ve been enjoying are more common now.

Thanks for reading. Out I go…

Jen