Free Angel by Jamie Canosa Page B

assaulting my ears the moment I opened the door. Shrill, cackling misery, drowning out my thoughts.
    “Mom?” I followed the gut-wrenching sounds to the kitchen.
    She lay in a crumpled heap on soaking wet tiles, a bucket of soapy water beside her. A yellow sponge was still gripped tightly in one fist.
    “ Mom! ”
    Her entire body shook with the sheer force of her grief.
    “Mom, it’s okay. I’m here, now.” What the hell was I thinking leaving her alone after the day she’d had? Prying the sponge from her vice-like fingers, I tossed it into the bucket and pulled her onto my lap. “Shh. It’s alright.”
    One thing that couldn’t be said about m y father was that he was a deadbeat. Despite being absent from our lives in every way, he did send those checks every month. And more than just child support for Kiernan. A lot more. Mom didn’t need to be on her hands and knees, scrubbing a floor. She wanted to be. It was her coping mechanism of choice. Always had been. Which didn’t bother me in the least.
    Until tonight.
    Even with only the moon’s pale light filtering through the large bay window, I could see how red and raw her hands looked. Tortured for hours by unknown chemicals and cleaning supplies.
    For a long time, I thought it was her way of getting a little privacy. Kiernan and I saw housework and we generally went in the opposite direction. But this was something else, entirely. This was my mother punishing herself. Because there was no one else to punish.
    It shook me right down to my foundation. This woman—this insubstantial body—wailing with misery, clinging to me in desperation. This was my mother. My mom . The strongest person in the world. The person I’d looked up to my entire life. The woman who had held me, and loved me, and rocked me as a child. The woman who had cheered me on and supported every decision I’d ever made, right or wrong. The woman who taught me about the type of person I wanted to be. That woman was falling apart right before my eyes.
    I wished I could reverse time. Go back to when I was the one who cried in her arms. When all sorrows could be healed with a kiss and a popsicle. I wasn’t her little boy, anymore. Her little boy was lying in a hospital bed. And I was there. Holding her together, while she fell apart.
    The weight of responsibility settled firmly on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. A deep, painful ache clenched the back of my throat and the sting of tears forced my eyes shut.
    “Please, Mom. I’m here. I’m right here.” But I would never be enough. No matter what I did. No matter what I said. Kiernan would leave us. And when that happened, I’d never be enough to fill the hole it left in her heart. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
    And it broke. The solid cement casing around my heart splintered into a thousand pieces, slicing my insides like shrapnel. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    A black cloud settled over us. With each breath, I drew it in. Felt it filling up that hollow place inside of me with cold, unrelenting darkness. I knew that darkness. I’d been fighting it off day and night for over a year. But my defenses were down. I’d shown a moment of weakness. And it wasted no time invading.
    The darkness had thorns and needles and claws and fangs. It shredded me from the inside out. Tearing away at my heart, my soul, my flesh. The pain was excruciating.
    I wanted to scream, but the sound died on my parted lips. I needed to cry. To weep and wail like my mother. To find some sort of release. A way to spit out the vile blackness devouring me. But the tears wouldn’t come. The agony, the fury, the bitterness, the grief. All of it, caged so tightly, would never find an escape. It would only grow and grow until I couldn’t contain it anymore. And then . . . Then, we were all in trouble.
    Silent shudders wracked my tormented body. As the moon sailed silently across the window, I fought a private battle against my despair, while Mom