Freeing Carter

"Mom!" I stumble, ru

"Hmm?" she mumbles, and then rolls over. Her eyes flutter, but then close again.

"Ma?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" Thump, thump, thump. My heart slams into my ribcage.

"Sick... Flu or something."

Or something. My heart is still hitting hard, but now for a different reason. I'm pissed. Pissed that she's so hung over she didn't hear the phone and I thought she could have been dead. What's wrong with her? Why does she have to be like this? How hard is it to just quit?

And then I'm scared. Scared because I think I could start to hate her. I always got it before, but it's getting harder and harder. What kind of son hates his mom? "Get some rest. I... I gotta go."

"Need anything?" One of her eyes opens. The look makes me want to throttle her. To yell at her at the top of my lungs because even though I don't think that's what it is this time, I've seen it before.

Double vision becomes single if you close one of your eyes.

"No." My voice is as tight as my fists.

"Carter... I'm really not feeling so hot. Can you open the store for me? I'll...I'll try to come in later." She doesn't even try to look at me now. Because she's really sick or is it shame?

"Yeah. I have to do something first and then I'll head over." That easily, my day is taken away from me by Grandpa and Mom.

"Thanks. I don't know what I'm going to do when you're gone..."

Ignoring her, I keep walking.

***

For five minutes I linger outside Grandpa's room. It shouldn't be this hard to control your own body, but no matter how much I try to force it, my legs just won't carry me inside. Which pisses me off. Grow a pair, I tell myself before finally pushing into the room.

"What the hell do you want?" he grunts when he sees me walk in.

"Hey, Gramps. Good to see you too." I can't help but be pretty proud that I don't add something else to that sentence.

"Ha! Good to see me? You're just like her. Selfish, the lot of you. Guess she was too busy to come down herself, huh? We gave her everything and she can't even be bothered with her own father. Ungrateful little—"

"I'd stop right there if I were you." The calm in my voice is gone. Rage pushes through my body, threatening to erupt. It's his fault. I know it. My life, Mom's problems. It all started with the angry asshole in front of me.

The asshole that’s room is decorated with Mom's stuff, some of the knickknacks, a bookshelf she painted. She did it for him, I know it because there's no way he'd care enough to do it. One of her paintings leans against the wall—not hanging though. My guess is it fell, but he didn't put it back up. There are no pictures: not me, Sara, Mom or even Grandma.

His shirt is dirty, his huge stomach pushing it out. He doesn't have a beard, but probably hasn't shaved in days. His hair is all white now and it wasn't the last time I saw him.

Grandpa throws his arms in the air. "It's true! Always been like that! Always wanting everything from Mary and me, and nothing was ever good enough. I worked damn hard for my family, but neither Delilah or her mother saw that. Complain, complain, complain. And then the second she could, she ran. Just abandoned her family and now she's stuffed me in this place to rot. What kind of daughter is she? She's an ungrateful, little witch!"

Mom's going to kill me, but I don't care. I'm quiet with her. Don't talk too badly about Grandpa. Don't tell her how angry she makes me, but him? I don't owe him anything. All my anger at Mom, Mel, myself—it gains strength inside me, pushing me until nothing can hold me back from saying what I want to say. "Maybe she complained because you were a drunk."

His whole face turns red. "What did you say to me, boy?" His voice shakes and I'm pretty sure it's because he's never had someone talk back to him before. Mom or Grandma didn't. The staff here only call Mom to deal with him. But this time—this time he has to deal with me.

"I said you're an asshole. The whole time she was growing up, you'd drink until you passed out every night and until then, you treated them like crap. You're so miserable you had to make their lives miserable, too."

"You little bastard. How dare you talk to me like that! Your mom and grandma were both spoiled women who drained everything out of me. Once I didn't have anything else to give, your mom moved right onto your daddy. Drove him to an early grave, she did! What man's heart gives out that damn young unless he's got a woman pushing him too hard!"

My whole body is on lockdown. I have no control over any of my limbs to move them. They're hard...stone, itching to break free and let all my anger out on him. Show him what he's done to all of us. How he started the cycle and now Mom's trapped in it, too. That even though she's not hateful like he is, she's broken. That all her losses have stemmed from him. He's the reason she struggles. The reason she didn't know how to live without my Dad. The reason she ended up with Bill even though she didn't love him. She needed someone and she couldn't go to him. And my Dad was dead and now she's lost Bill too and Sara could be next.

"Nothing to say about that, do you?"

Talk! Op en your mouth and say something , Shaw!

"You're just like she is," Grandpa continues. "Soft, selfish. Want, want, want but never strong enough to do anything for yourself."

Finally, my body is jerked into movement when the door creaks open. "Excuse me? It's time for your meds. Would you like me to come back?" The nurse says from the door.

I don't answer. Can't because I don't know what to say. There's no reasoning with his screwed-up version of life. That even if I could, I wouldn't want to because unlike her, I want nothing to do with him. I'm not going to give him any part of me, especially when I don't have much to give anyway. Without a word, I push past the nurse, hating myself for being as soft as he accused me of being.

***

My hands shake the whole way to the store. Of course it's my responsibility to take care of it. I don't turn on any of the lights. I run into a stupid wrack of chimes, making them ding a

Why did I even go talk to him? Why does she still take care of him? He ruined her life and she still puts up with that crap from him.

And her. I picture her at home, the one-eyed look when she told me she was sick, and she definitely is, but not with the flu. Collapsing against the wall, I realize for the first time she really is sick. The drinking is getting worse.

I don't even know if that's normal. If they usually get worse and worse like that. But then... Grandpa's been on her mind lately. The assisted living place threatening to kick him out and all. And me. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm definitely going to college somewhere so I can play ball. That has to be what it's about. Not that she's getting worse, but that she's stressed. I'd be stressed too if I had to worry about everything. I am freaked out about it.

So it'll get better. It always does. Just a phase. I have to find a way to deal with it until it's over.

After stacking all the boxes again, I head out to the main part of the store and get it all ready to open. Seriously, there should be some law against kids having to work in places their parents own. I'm probably the only guy I know who has to work in a place like this, which doesn't make my mood much better.