Hunger Pains

Food Poisoning

     I watched as the darkness engulfed the remains of what was left of the day, dragging down the sky's perfectly painted orange, purple, and pink canvas. The night had taken over and all that remained were the streetlights. After every few blocks, there was a brand-new light that would soon zoom right past us moments before I could enjoy its presence. I couldn't help myself except to enjoy the cool breeze that brushed against my warm, tan skin as it reminded me that summer was coming to its end. It gave me some form of relief...something that I hadn't received in a long time. It was like coming up for air after sinking your head in a chlorine infested pool. The stench of my mom's cigarette made its way towards the passenger side of the car as I listened closely to her humming along to Help Me Believe by Kirk Franklin that was quietly playing on the radio. For once, it was just her and I. A mother and her first-born daughter driving through the night. I had missed these moments where it was just her and I. Most of the time, I had felt like a ghost wondering around the halls of our three-bedroom townhouse, waiting for her to acknowledge that I was there. Yet, when she did see me, she would pull me into her pale colored arms and hold me tight. So tight I could smell yesterday's cigarette smoke embezzled into her T-shirt.

    I hadn't had the opportunity to spend quality time with my mom like I had before. During the two weeks I had stayed with her, Monday through Friday I was in school which left only Saturdays and Sundays. But I was in a constant battle between my stepdad, Chris, my sister, Ariana, and my baby sister, Nailah, to have just ten minutes with her. It felt like I had to claw my way out of the comfort of my bedroom, crawl my way into the smokey living room, and gain enough courage to ask her to watch a movie with me. Most of the time, I would lose those battles and would retreat to my bedroom to recover from the continuous 'no's' and 'maybe later's'. This time, something was different. This time, she had encouraged me to come along with her. I could feel my stomach flipping, my throat letting out a low groan as I clenched my round stomach. What was going on with me, I had no idea, but it felt like my stomach was swishing around the food that was scarfed down an hour ago and it wouldn't stop. But I wasn't going to let my stomach or the extra saliva piling in my mouth stop me from sitting next to my mom in her old two door, light blue Mazda. I think the most frustrating thing was that Chris had insisted that she drive all the way up North Powers to get him Chick-Fil-A while she fed her daughters Tostino's Pizza Rolls. This happened every time he came over. She would spend so much time and energy in the kitchen cooking two different meals. One for him and the other for us "scrubs". It was like eating the same food as us was a lifelong punishment.

    I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that she was spending all her time and money on someone who didn't give her anything except headaches and heartbreak. It seemed like every time she got paid, he would be on her shoulder whispering in her ear to spend the money on take out or to buy steak for him to devour. I felt bad for her sometimes. For a woman who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, to tell anyone the truth, and who was a free spirit, it was shocking to hear her cry in her bedroom at night because a man, this man, had left her...again. Maybe she was trying to find this thing called true love, but couldn't find it as easily as they do in the movies like the Notebook? Maybe she was just looking in all the wrong places? Maybe she should be like those girls in the books and was waiting patiently for her knight in shining armor? Or she could just get back together with my dad and forget all about this lazy piece of crap...But, it wasn't my life...although, it did become more of a shit show (is that what my mama says when bad things start to happen in her life?) when he decided to show up three years ago.

    After ten minutes of staring into the endless night sky, I glanced over at my mom. I never understood the importance of skin tone, but when my mom made the constant joke of being "pale as shit", she wasn't joking. She looked like Casper the friendly ghost wearing women's clothes. I had to do a double take to make sure my feet weren't becoming pasty white and that I still had some color left in them. Still, I considered my mom beautiful. Her long darkish brown hair was waving back and forth with the wind, her dark brown eyes focused on the road in front of us, and her fingers occupying the lonesome cigarette that she would occasionally press against her light pink lips. I was sometimes shocked that this woman was known as my mother because she was truly something else. She wasn't like the other mom's that I had seen on last night's episode of Disney Channel who hugged their daughters so tightly that they had a hard time breathing; she hardly cuddled me, she disciplined me...a lot (like taking a belt to the butt type of discipline), and she would always act like a friend to me. Yet, I still felt like I wanted something more from her. What that 'more' looked like, I had no idea. I just knew that the relationship that we did have...wasn't enough for me.