Point of You - A Collection of Short Stories

Rosie

Your name is Rosie.

Your mother abandoned you for a crack pipe.

Your stepfather beat your mother.

Your real father was either in prison or with another woman. A woman who used him. A woman who stole his money. A woman with an aggressive son. The aggressive son touched you but your father doesn't believe you.

One day, when you're older–around 7 or 8–your father visits you at your mother's house with another woman. This woman had a dog. A wonderful dog. You and your sister decorated him with party streamers. The dog was good. The dog let you. You loved the dog. And then your father left, bringing the dog with him. The woman would later steal everything and leave him with nothing but the clothes on his back.

But you were still at your mother's house. The house that really belonged to your grandmother. Your maternal grandmother. But she isn't your grandmother to you now. She is your mom's mom. Nothing more. Maybe less. And at this house, there was an angry man. An angry man who drank and drank. He would drink all day, every day. He would even roll his own cigarettes. You helped him sometimes. He lets you watch grown-up shows. He pushed out of the front door in the middle of winter where there's snow on the porch. He pushed you out the door because you let your own dog outside to pee. He would kick you out on Christmas when he was drunk. When he didn't drink, he was nice. He was kind. He would play The Floor is Lava with you and your sister.

The sister that is older than you but acts younger. The sister your step-father beats. Your sister thinks you need her, but it is her that needs you. Your sister moves out to live with her father. She's gone.

Your father is still gone. But now he's on the other side of the country.

You're still with your mother. But you're not at your grandmother's house anymore. You're at your mom's friend's house. The friend you went to the Christmas you got kicked out on. Your mom and gets high with her friend. She won't wake up when you say you're hungry. She won't wake up when her friend says he gave you a pocket knife. She won't wake up to anything. So you stay hungry. But hey, now you have an obsession with knives.

One day after dozens of ER visits for constipation and stomach pains, you find your bowels have blood and only blood. You tell your mother. Your mother tells your stepfather. Next thing you know, you're throwing up everything you ate that never digested. Now you're in the emergency room and the nurse tells you you're dehydrated. You go to the children's hospital. They try to take your weight and down you go. You wake up. Your stepfather is here. The nurse wants to know if he can come into the room. You want to say no but your mother says yes. Now they're putting a tube up your nose and down your throat. Now you're in a big room with a red wall and a big TV. Now you're taking a full-body scan to find out what's wrong with you. Now you have three IVs at all times, you can't eat, and you can't stand up without passing out. Blood transfusions don't work. They told you that you have Meckel's diverticulum. Usually not fatal but you almost died. You had surgery. Now you have a fear of belly buttons. They discharge you from the hospital and you go to your grandma's new home, without the angry man. You eat popcorn and watch Criminal Minds, your favorite show.

Your dad comes down for a visit with his girlfriend. He picks you up. You three spend the day together. You go back to their hotel. He tells you "You aren't going back to that hotel, Rosie." The hotel with the orange wall and the blue painting. The hotel with your mother. Your beloved, drug-addicted, neglectful mother. The mother who can lie to you as many times as she wants, make as many empty promises as her heart desires and cry alligator tears. You know this yet you will believe her every time. The hotel with the antibiotics for your recent surgery because that's right, you almost died recently. Oh, and your mother left for hours at a time and probably was only actually present maybe half of the time you were there. Half the time you were fighting for your life. A chaplain came to see you to ask if you believed in God. But you don't believe in God. And you forgave your mother. Again.