Then one evening late, the door flies open and there stands Stoner. Surprising me in my T-shirt and underpants eating a bag of Cheetos in bed because why the hell not, if that’s all there is. Reading an Avengers that I’d read, oh, nine thousand times already.
“Your mom wants to see you,” he said.
Interesting, I thought, what’s the catch. I had no intention of getting out of bed, but there he stood. I’d not realized he was home. Stoner had been going out in the evenings a lot, working some weird-shit hours or more likely carousing, because who needs their beer delivered that close to closing time? He must have come back to the house without my hearing his truck or his bike. Obviously. I asked him what Mom wanted, and he said she was wanting to show how much she loved me. A weird enough statement to make me nervous. I yelled for her. No answer.
“Mom!” I said louder, bolting out to the living room. Nobody, nothing. “MOM!” And now I’m thinking, Goddammit, she’s moved out. She marries the bastard, and I get stuck with him. In the kitchen there’s crap everywhere, dishes in the sink. A gin bottle on the table, oh shit. Oh hell. Empty. Not a new sight to my eyes. Stoner has this look on his face I could kill him for.
She’s in the bedroom. Lying there in her clothes, shoes and all, passed out. Faceup, not dead because that’s the first thing I checked. Breathing, so she didn’t drown herself yet. There’s pill bottles on the thing by the bed, closed, so I screw open the childproof caps one at a time, three bottles. I don’t know what they are, Xanax and shit she should definitely not have around, but the bottles aren’t empty, thank God. She didn’t down the whole batch, so she’s just going for a Cadillac high, not the total checkout. But God knows she could get there anyway. Mom being not the most careful driver.
“Call nine-one-one,” I tell Stoner, and the damned fool asks why.
“Call nine-one-one!” I scream at him. “Christ, you ignorant asshole! She might have OD’d.”
At this point I’m not even thinking what “ignorant asshole” will get me in the Stoner rewards program. I already know. Life as we’ve lived it is over.
8
I was the one to grab the phone, with Stoner slinging punches to stop me, the two of us loud enough to get Mr. Peg banging on the kitchen door. Stoner said I’d regret making that call. I’ve wondered. Would Mom really have died? Or just followed her true colors and hurled up the works, living on for more Seagram’s-and-nerve-pill fiestas? Could I have lasted Stoner out? At the time, I thought my life couldn’t get any worse. Here’s some advice: Don’t ever think that.
I rode up front with the ambulance driver, trying to get my shoes tied. I’d managed to pull jeans on before the EMTs got there, but had to run out of the house carrying my shoes. That’s how fast it all went down. The Peggots’ truck followed on our tail. Stoner got to ride in back with Mom, because by this time he’s all “Yes, sir, I am the husband,” so much bullshit coming out of his mouth I was choking on the fumes, starting the minute they showed up and asked who made the call. Stoner did, of course. （Wait, what?） Patient’s name, date of birth, pill bottles pulled out of Stoner’s pocket where he’d stashed them quick. Names on the bottles confirmed by him to be Mom’s coworkers, and they would be getting a piece of his mind. All respectful and oh my gosh and those so-and-sos, like he’s a damn Sunday school teacher. It was the most words I’d ever heard come out of him without an “asshole” or “motherfucker.” Was this a whole new Stoner, shocked by dire events into manning up? Not a chance.
We tore down Long Knob Road, siren screaming, past all the little settlements of people in bed. In Pennington Gap we ran straight through the red lights and then were at the hospital with all parties running around six ways to Sunday. I wasn’t allowed in the ER, or the room where they moved her after that, due to being a child. I sat in the waiting room with the Peggots forever. We were starving, so Mrs. Peggot went to get whatever they had in the vending machines, and hot coffee for Mr. Peg. We ate four packs of nabs each, then Maggot stretched out on the connected plastic chairs and conked out. Mrs. Peggot felt we should go home, since we had school tomorrow. Right then the lady from DSS showed up, saying she needed to speak with me.
I didn’t know this lady at all. She said her name, which I instantly forgot. She had on a green jacket and skirt, two different colors of green, and looked like she needed to go to sleep for a hundred years to get over what was eating her. Baggy eyes for real, like you could stash spare change under each eye. We asked for Miss Trudy that was my caseworker from a few years ago, and she said Miss Trudy was no longer with the department of social services. I’d get a new caseworker in the morning that might or might not be herself. She just happened to be on call at this hour, which I reckon explains the eyes. She told the Peggots they could go home, she would get me where I needed to go. Which freaked me out. Who the hell was she, to think she knew where I needed to go? I said thanks but no thanks, I’d go with the Peggots like usual if Mom was in rehab. The lady gave me this look like, Sorry kiddo, your money’s no good where I come from.