Just Like Mom

   I watched the blur of green flying past my window, adjusting my legs so that both were in the seat, nestled underneath me. A break in the trees left me searching for the white spots of cow that flew past as fast as the forest. I looked in to the backseat at Mom and heard her say “Put on your seatbelt. Do you want to be killed?”

 

    I reached around and pulled the seatbelt across me, listening for the reassuring click.  I turned to Nate. “Hey, how about you slow down a bit.” I said.  One dead person is enough for me, thanks.”

 

    Mom always said to be a backseat driver. I looked back at her again and wondered if I would have said anything at all if she wasn’t here. He was driving really fast, but I never scold my brother. The spoken rule of being the oldest is that your little sister isn’t allowed to correct you. Or so he believes.

 

“Nicole, you sound like Mom. How about you let HER tell me to slow down,” he said, but down shifted anyways.

“Yeah yeah, but she’s right a*****e. Moms always have the answers.”

 

   I felt my stomach begin to grumble a bit, requesting some sort of nutrition. Road trip food never has sympathy for a weak stomach.

 

 “Hey Nate, do you think we could grab some lunch? McDonalds or something?” I asked my brother over the thump of the stereo. He kept his eyes on the road and adjusted the volume, higher this time.

 

“Oh Nate, you’re so thoughtful,” I said, straining to even hear myself. His quivering lip exposed a crooked smile and he turned the volume up, yet again. For two songs, or roughly seven minutes, I pretended I had been struck deaf. My attempts at being stubborn were in vain. I reached over and reduced the music, waiting for the click of the knob into the off position. Before I could pull my hand back from the knob, Nate’s fist propelled downward onto my unguarded thigh. Charlie horses were his specialty.

 

“Do NOT touch my radio. This is my car, we listen to what I want. Had you wanted to drive your brand new Mini, then we’d be listening to what you want,” he turned to me, swerving a little off the road. “Have some respect, Nicole.”

 

“Have some respect, my a*s.” I began raising my voice, despite the silence of the radio. He always took the opportunity to remind me that I have it better than him. My “mini” he said…like I didn’t work my a*s off for that car. “How about you NOT hit me when the car is in motion? You’re going to send Mom half over the seat back there.” I waved my hand towards the back hoping it would add more impact to my prediction.

 

“Nicole, it’d be a little hard to send her everywhere since you strapped her in like she’s an infant. Now, do you want to eat or not?” he said, taking exit 35B. We were headed towards the McDonalds that graced every first lunch stop on our family trips to Ohio. Mom’s family lives in Ohio and she made it a point to visit once a year. I was really hoping we would have stopped somewhere new, but his flushed face silently suggested I keep quiet.

 

We pulled into a parking place and mechanically climbed out of the car, neither of us making eye contact. I stretched a little, feeling the tension of the argument and the prior contortion of my body in the car seat. I shoved my door with gratifying aggression and turned to open the back passenger door.

 

“Hell no,” Nate said, two steps behind me, shutting the door before I could get it open a decent amount. Christ, he’s fast.

 

“There is no f*****g way you are bringing that in McDonalds,” he grumbled at me, eyeballing the neighboring cars for passengers. “That’s morbid, Nicole.”

 

“That’s life, a*****e, and don’t call her ‘that.’ She’s our mom.” I shoved my butt and back into him to knock him off balance. I threw the door back open and unbuckled the Maker’s Mark bottle that held our Mom, holding one hand out to brace any further attacks. “You don’t want me to spill her right here in the damn parking lot, do you?” I warned.

 

“If you bring that inside, I will leave your a*s. Put her back and we’ll go through the drive-thru,” he said.

 

“Then leave me,” I said, walking towards the door as I hugged the giant bottle to my chest. Dead people’s ashes are a lot heavier than they seem. I really didn’t want to bring in the bottle, but I wasn’t ready to leave her in the car. That’s my Mom. Moms don’t get left behind.

 

I didn’t have to turn around to see my brother drive away. I heard the slam of the passenger door I left open, the slam of his door as he got back in. I heard the turning over of the engine as he turned the ignition and the soft lurch in sound as he threw it in reverse. “Some things never change,” I mumbled, echoing the words Mom often said about Dad. I walked inside and set Mom down on the counter. The girl, popping her bubblegum, eyed the urn and asked in her best monotonous voice “Can I take your order?” never breaking her eye contact with the large liquor bottle.

 

“It’s my mom,” I said. “And I’ll take a number two to go.” I needed the confrontation. I stared coldly at her mouth which hung half open in mid chew. “To go,” I repeated and the cashier came back to life, pushing the buttons to ring in my food. “That’ll be $5.35. Why is your mom in a Maker’s Mark bottle?” More gum popping. “Well, darlin’, that’s where she always wanted to be” I said and tossed six dollars on the counter. “I don’t need change, I have my hands full as it is.” I picked up Mom and walked over to the condiment stand. The parking lot held no evidence of my brother’s return. I felt a small knot of panic begin to grow in my throat. Unpredictability, I thought. Nate’s just like Mom.

Years before I had been at this same McDonalds taking a lunch break during one of our uglier road trips. Dad told Mom she was number one…complete with the exaggerated flipping of the bird. Clever, but definitely not humorous. Mom refused to get back in the car. We spent four hours sitting in the rental car while Mom sat on the curb glaring at us. At him for his comments and us for our unsaid judgment of her actions.

 

“Number two, to go,” I heard the gum-chewer call and I walked over to my food on the counter. With my pinkie I grasped what I could of the bag and held it against the bottle. Man, dead mom is heavy. The cashier stared at my balancing attempts, gawking too much to offer help. The bottle slipped a bit under my arm and her face lost some color. I walked backwards out the door, pushing it with my butt and dropped my food on the curb. Slowly I inched Mom towards the ground.

I stretched the burn out of my arms and looked around the parking lot. Mom is too heavy to carry by myself. I spotted the car parked in the back parking spot. Nate held up a bag from Taco Bell. He waved to me and started heading my way. That a*****e. My heart began rattling my rib cage in anger. I picked up my bag from McDonalds and launched it at the windshield as he pulled up. The split bag sent fries scattering over the hood. Nate leaned over and popped the passenger door open.

 

“What the hell’d you go and waste your lunch for?” he said laughing. What a f*****g a*****e. Suddenly I wasn’t just mad about him leaving. I let out a scream that gurgled in my throat and his face went white.

 

“Our Mom is dead, our dad is gone, I’m lugging around a liquor bottle filled with my mother, trying to buy McDonalds and you leave me and LAUGH ABOUT IT!” I kicked the door shut, denting the panel. I pulled my foot back and aimed for the dent again. “You don’t give a s**t at all, do you? Mom is gone and you couldn’t be happier!” My voice rasped out, still recovering from the scream. “You’re the one who put her in this damn bottle!” I yelled. Nate cocked his head, looking past me and waved his hand. I turned around and through the glass the bubble-gum chewing cashier stood with her mouth open. I flipped her my favorite finger.

 

“Get in the car, Nicole. We have a lot of time to make up.” Nate said, pushing the passenger door back open. “And if there’s a dent in that door, I’m going to make a new one with your head.”

 

“I’m not getting in unless you pick her up and strap her in.” I said, taking a deep breath to calm down. “You put her in, or I’ll hitch.”

 

“Fine, Ace, fine. Whatever you want,” he said and got out of the car.

 

“Don’t patronize me,” I said. “She deserves some care from you, even if she is dead.”

 

Dad used to call me ‘Ace.’ Nate started calling me that when Dad left. He thinks it calms me down. I guess in a way it does.

 

I waited until I heard him lock in her seat belt, then sat down in the front seat holding my grumbling tummy.

 

“You shouldn’t have thrown your food,” Nate said as he climbed back into the car. “You over-reacted a bit, don’t you think Ace?” he said, and tossed a taco bell bag into my lap. “I thought you might like something different. I got you some soft tacos with extra cheese, just like you like.” He smiled at me but I only returned the smile with a mumbled “Thank you,” and a rustle of the taco wrapper.

 

Nate flipped the stereo on and we pulled back on the interstate in silence. I devoured the tacos in record time which did not go unnoticed by my brother.

 

“Damn, Ace, you act like no one feeds you. Don’t you make enough money to eat at that fancy job of yours?” he said, poking me in the side. I pushed his hand away and turned towards the window. It’s not my fault you didn’t go to school, I thought. I didn’t ask you to stay. I pulled my feet into the seat and hugged my legs to my chest, resting my head against my knees. I heard my mother’s voice. It said “put on your goddamn seatbelt.” But I didn’t. When you pass away because of your own actions, I thought, you lose the right to order me into wearing a seatbelt.

 

I watched the trees again, unable to make out their proper shapes, only seeing the blob and blur of color. I recognized the orange and white checkered water tower as it sped through my field of vision. We have made this trip so often, and never without a good argument, I guess. It’s nice to stick to tradition.

 

Nate reached over and thumped me on the hand. I pulled my eyes away from the window and looked at him. He let his eyes glance from the road to my face.

 

“You ok, Ace? You look a little sick. I can roll the windows down if you want. I don’t feel like smelling your puke all the way to Ohio.”

 

“Aw, so genuine,” I said, throwing in a few fake heaves just to shake him. With his right hand he palmed my face into the window, sending the car bumping over the grassy side. “STOP!” flew out of my mouth as fast as my hand went towards the steering wheel to catch us. He was already there, both hands re-adjusting.

 

I turned sideways in the seat and stared back at my mother. “Nate,” I said, “do you remember when we were little, and mom used to lock us out of the house so she could watch her soaps?”

“No. I didn’t want to go inside anyways. I never wanted to be there.” He reached over and turned the radio back up, the thumping of an Aesop Rock song beat through the seat and into my legs. I set my feet on the floor and gave whatever stretch I could muster. Florida to Ohio. Was this a bad idea?

“How can you not remember? I fell of the monkey bars and bit a hole in my lip! You rushed me home and we couldn’t get inside because the door was locked. And Mom had the television up so loud that she couldn’t hear us knocking and yelling! Remember?” I recalled the event so easily, why couldn’t he?

 

“No, I don’t remember. What I remember is Mom would lock us out so she could break into the bourbon and sit in the bath tub.” He gave me a hard look and turned back to the road. “Ace, Mom locked us out to get drunk, not to watch her soaps. What I don’t understand is how you don’t remember SMELLING it on her every day when we came in for dinner.” Nate turned the radio up and stared at the road.

 

My stomach began to feel a little nauseous. I could hear Mom telling Nate to turn off his music. I could hear Mom saying “How is it that even on a thirteen hour car ride where you are stuck with your family, you can still refuse to socialize with us. Are we that bad?” I guess we were.

 I leaned my head back, slowly forced my seat back. I felt closer to her. Felt her there with me.

I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her.

 

I felt a sharp stab in my stomach. “Pull over,” I said. “Please, pull over right now.”

 

Once again we bumped over the grass as my brother hit the window button so I could breathe. I threw the door open before he could stop the car and stumbled into the roadside weeds to feel alive. Air hit my face and I could feel my blood in my temples. I felt my body tense with every heave, the salty tears mixing with my tacos.

 

“You ok, Ace. You’re puking in your hair.” I felt his rough hands grab the loose strands around my face. He squatted beside me, letting my cry it out.

 

“I’m all you need Nicole. I’ve never left you, I’ve never forgotten you, I’ve never hurt you. I’m all the family you need.”

 

Lifting my head I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. He let my hair go and it fell around my face.

 “Never left me?” I asked. “Nate, you act like you are so much better than her. You act like you cared so much more than her.” I felt the tears stinging my eyes. The force of throwing up left my head pulsing and my eyes burning. The sound of his arrogance left my stomach nauseated once more.

 

I don’t blame her.

 

“Just let me up,” I said. “I’m too tired for this conversation.” I started to stand up but using the hand he had been supporting me with, he shoved me back into the roadside bramble.

 

“You sound just like Mom.” He turned his back to me and walked towards the car. Maybe I do sound like Mom. I just don’t see why that’s so repulsive.

 

I sat in the grass for awhile, a safe distance from my leftover lunch. The soft bump of the stereo vibrated towards me, the original melody wiped away by passing traffic.

 

“Get in the damn car, shithead,” he yelled through the still open passenger door. All the way to Ohio, I thought. This really was a bad idea.

 

I sat down and slammed the door. I flinched when he lifted his hand towards me but felt silly when I saw he was only holding out a tissue.

 

“Nicole, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know we don’t see the same. I know you forgive her. Just know that I can’t.” He put the car in drive and edged back on to the interstate, rapidly picking up speed.

 I took a deep breath and turned towards my brother. I pulled my feet back underneath me, setting my hand on his arm.

 

“Nate, it’s not easy for me either,” I began, watching his face to see if he softened. “You say you never left me, but you did. You weren’t there, just like she wasn’t there, and that’s ok. You always chose to be somewhere else, even if you were sitting right beside me.” His mouth opened and I waited for a rebuttal, but he just blinked slowly and closed his mouth.

 

“We all dealt with Dad leaving differently. I don’t blame her for drinking. I don’t blame her for wasting away. And I’m trying very hard not to blame her for leaving us too.” I wadded and un-wadded the tissue in my hand. I could feel tears backing up to my throat, waiting for their exit. “That’s what we’re doing Nate. We’re trying to forgive together, right?”

 

“I see it less like forgiving, more like forgetting,” he said and poked me in the side with a smile.

 

“Remember the day Dad left, Nate? I can’t believe how hard mom threw that flower pot.”

 

“Yeah,” he said, “she launched it right into his back window, shattered the whole thing. And he didn’t even hit the brakes. Just kept driving.”

 

“She didn’t start off with Maker’s Mark,” I said softly. “First it was Jack Daniels. It was sweet on her breath when she leaned in to kiss us goodnight. I can’t drink the s**t. Makes me sick.”

 

“I think I actually hated her,” Nate said, turning off the radio. “When we couldn’t wake her for your graduation. I think I actually hated her.”

 

I stared out the window as we passed the ‘Welcome to Kentucky’ sign. “Let’s detour,” I said, staring at the changing scenery. We never got to stop anywhere when we were younger. We’d been through all these states and I had never really seen anything but some shot glasses in a gas station with painted landscapes on them.

 

“You got it, Ace,” he said and pulled off on the first exit we came to. “Left or right?” he asked as we sat at the blinking red light.

 

“Right,” I said but then “No, left,” as he started to turn. No one was on the road so he did two donuts before continuing left, sending me into giggles.

 

Sighing, I stared out the window.

 

“Nate, I hated Mom when she broke your nose with the phone. All because you were talking to Dad.” I reached over and put my hand on his. “You never deserved that.”

 

“Nicole,” he said “we didn’t deserve any of it.”

 

I looked back at Mom. I could hear her telling us how ungrateful we were. How selfish we were. How she never wanted us in the first place.

 

I squeezed Nate’s hand telling him to pull over. “Please, pull over right now,” I said with my eyes wide.

 

“Are you getting sick again?” he said as he coasted towards the guard rail.

 

“No, I think I’m feeling a lot better” I said, and winked at him. I opened my door and climbed out, peering over the guard rail at the rocks and weeds below. Nate got out of the car and stood by my side.

 

“What’s goin’ on, Ace?” he asked as I opened the back passenger door.

 

“This isn’t forgiving,” I said. “This is forgetting.”

 

I unbuckled Mom from the back seat and picked up the bottle by its neck. I held it up to my brother and I said, “She may have not wanted us, but having her as our mother wasn’t our choice either.”

We stood there in silence staring at the bottle. The day mom was diagnosed with liver disease she went home and opened a new bottle of single malt scotch. A change for her. It was the day she replaced the Maker’s Mark. Nate wasn’t a match. I wasn’t a match. Mom would not be getting any of our livers. Apparently, to use mom’s words, we were “too much like” our “f*****g father.”

 

“Say goodbye, Nate,” I said holding the bottle out to him.

 

“Rest in peace, Mom,” he said, leaning in and kissing it.

 

“I love you, mom. Enjoy sobriety,” I said, edging my toes to the guard rail. Nate led the “one, two, three” and I sent mom crashing to the rocks below like a flower pot through a windshield.

 

We stood in awe as the wind picked up ashes, here and there, swirling them over the broken bottle.

 

Nate reached down and squeezed my hand. “This is forgetting,” he said and he walked back to his side of the car. We both climbed in and drove off in silence.

 

“You know her sister is going to be pretty pissed when we show up without her,” I said staring out the window.

 

Nate looked over at me. “Ace. Your seatbelt,” my brother said as he poked me in the side. “What, do you want to be killed or something?”

 

I looked at him and saw his eyes coated with fresh, waiting tears.

 

“You sound just like Mom,” I said.

Reviews

[PENS FOR PEACE /TJ CALI..]

Great story, very artisic! Keep writing from your soul, for your soul!

[coldLIGHT]

I found this had a really good flow to it and everything was in the right place. I think that made it easier to read too. Goooood job, I'm looking forward to see more of your work!

[Anton Cancre]

Damn. You do a great job of setting up the situation with vague clues, drawing the reader in and then dropping the bomb on them. This has just the right balance of anger, resentment and survival to it.