"The Broken Son: Bound by Strings

Chapter 13 Breaking Strings

It was supposed to be just a month—one month spent in Ohio with my sister for Christmas. But even in that short span of time, things began to shift. My mother, once deeply rooted in the trailer, started talking about moving there. At first, I didn't think much of it—after all, she'd made plenty of empty promises before. But when she came back, something had changed in her. I could feel it.

She explained that my sister and her husband were trying to get her to move up there so she could earn more money and see more doctors. I was careful not to get my hopes up—after all, she'd lied to me before. But I couldn't help thinking, I'll be free. Her strings will finally be cut. When she gave me the day she was planning to leave, I knew it had to be real. She had made her plans, and my brother was going with her. It was going to be just me and my husband from now on—no more worrying about Momma, no more worrying about her trying to create a narrative for my life.

The strange thing was, I knew it couldn't last long. I had started my new job the week she told me she was leaving, working night shifts—three twelve-hour shifts, from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. I was tired during those first two weeks, getting off work and trying to deal with everything at home. During this time, my mother changed her moving plans three or four times, leaving me in a bind.

A couple of days before she left, she made sure to remind me to pick up the trailer as soon as she left. She didn't want anything to happen to it. She was worried it might go back to the previous owner of the park, even though I had reassured her that wouldn't happen. She knew how much the trailer meant to me.

She decided to leave on a Tuesday morning at 4 a.m., and I didn't get off work until 6 a.m. This already put me in a bind. Before she left, I had asked her to make sure the tanks were empty, there were no cups with liquid that could spill, and that the yard was clear so I could easily unhook the ramp my brother had made for her after her back surgery, unplug everything, hook up the trailer, and go. It was supposed to be simple.

She told me there was just a small mess in the house that I would have to clean up. I thought, Okay, it can't be that bad, and told her I'd handle it when I got it back to our house. The morning of the move, I got a message at work saying there was a small mess outside and they couldn't do anything I had asked them to do because they didn't have time. It upset me, but I figured it would only take a few hours to get things done once I was off.

I had no idea how wrong I was.

I left straight from work to home, grabbed something to eat, picked up the tools I needed, and then got the Escalade to pull the trailer. I cranked it up, did a quick test drive (since it hadn't been run in a while), and headed down the road. I didn't get far before the brakes started locking up, and I had to turn around and go back. When I returned, I called my cousin for help, but he wouldn't be able to get there until late that afternoon. I had to be back at work by 6 p.m.

So, I went to the trailer. When I pulled in, I sat in the car for a moment, stunned by the mess left for me to handle. Not only did I have to remove the ramp, but there was trash and cords all over the place. I got out of the car, walked around the yard, and then went inside the trailer. My mouth hung open in disbelief. I called my husband, explained the situation, and told him how long it would be before I could get back home. I stood inside the trailer, on the verge of tears.

A million thoughts ran through my head—every time Momma had left a mess for her other landlords to clean up, and how, even then, she had never left one this big. I was hurt, angry, and stunned all at once. All I could think was, If she loved me like she says she does, how could she do this to her own child and think it's okay?

For four hours, I worked frantically to get things cleaned up. I had been up all night working, and now I had to deal with this. How could she do this to me? My husband told me I should've left the trash in the yard because it was hers, but I cleaned up the best I could. I needed to focus my anger on something, and that seemed like the only logical choice.

I was almost to the point of driving off and leaving the trailer where it was because of everything my mother had put me through over it—leaving the trash, controlling my every move. What had once been a place of solitude became a home of control, regret, and hatred. I didn't finish until almost noon. I headed home, exhausted, having not eaten, showered, or slept. Once I got home, I finally did just that: slept.

My cousin went to pick up the trailer later that evening and had a little trouble. I had to call my job to let them know I was going to be late, but we finally got it moved to the house. We had a little trouble setting it up, and when my cousin saw the inside of the trailer, he was disgusted. His displeased look was clear. He turned to me and said, "You're going to have to clean and fumigate this place before you do anything else."

We thanked him, paid him, and he went on his way. I didn't know what else to do. It was over. Momma was gone. And even though I was mad and running on only four hours of sleep, I thought, It's finally over. All the strings have been severed. Now I'm free

But my mother always had a way of surprising me.