Free Shattered and Shaken by Julie Bailes Page B

the kitchen. I flip on the television and put in “The Call” DVD; it's our movie of choice this week.
    I go over to take a seat on the floor ready to dig in.
    “I don't know what's going on with you and all your bitchiness, Al, but if you've got something you need to say to me, say it," she hisses.
    Ohmygod....I'm choking, on chicken! I can't believe the words that just left her mouth, Mom never curses - I'm rubbing off on her. Is it sad that I'm choking because I heard the word “bitchiness” leave her lips? I sucked in a breath to begin laughing, but sucked down some chicken instead. It's like catching the little old lady who attends your church dropping F-bombs in the middle of service. Oh yeah, it's happened before; funniest shit ever.
    Mom doesn't attempt to help me dislodge the chicken from my throat, because according to her, I'm not in any danger. She says if you can tell someone you're choking, or you're able to cough, you aren't actually choking. Yeah, well, tell that shit to the person whose airway is constricted by a fucking piece of Chinese chicken! Oh shit. I'm seeing spots. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
    Placing my hands over my throat, I give her the national I'm choking sign, but she doesn't help me. It’s official; she's trying to kill me off. After about five minutes of coughing, I finally cough out the foreign object. “Thanks for the help,” I wheeze.
    “Oh please, you weren't choking; otherwise, I would've helped you, you know that.” Do I? Do I know that? Hell, I'm not even sure I know the woman standing before me anymore.
    “How many people die from choking?” I ask curiously.
    “Well statistics say around 2,500 each year.”  
    You've got to be shitting me! “2,500?” I confirm.
    “Yeah. Why?” 
    “Well the amount of deaths would decrease significantly if you'd perform the Heimlich maneuver while the person's actively choking. You know, when there's coughing and difficulty breathing from something like, umm, I don't know, a piece of chicken in their throat!” I don't know where medical personnel come up with this shit. Coughing, gasping for air, pleading for help, equals choking. No words, no coughing - that shit equals death!
    “Clearly, you're fine." She's laughing at me like I'm some sort of joke, but I'm as serious as a heart attack. In fact, I'm going to do some research on how to educate the people that come up with the guidelines for performing such things as the Heimlich maneuver and CPR - the shit needs to be revised.
    We take our places on the couch and begin the movie, and let me tell you that Halle Berry plays one bad-ass operator. I don't want to give away the details and ruin it for you, but it's a must-watch. Mom has been unusually quiet tonight. It must have something to do with the bitchy childish vibe I’m letting off.  As the movie ends, we say our goodnights and head to bed. While I climb the steps, she speaks to me for the first time since my choking incident. She asked me out to brunch tomorrow morning; there's someone she wants me to meet. I'm hoping it's her mysterious friend. I seriously need some answers into what the hell is going on with my mom and who has taken her hostage. Because I’ll be damned if I believe that the woman I spent tonight with is the woman who gave birth to me. Nope. Something is most definitely off.

 
    Chapter Six
     
    I’M WOKEN BY LOUD pounding coming from outside of my bedroom door. I reach over to grab the pillow and place it over my face, trying to drown out the sound, and it works; for a second that is. The pounding becomes louder. “Allie! Get up! We're running late,” my mother shouts from outside my door. Shit, I forgot to set my alarm. I pry my eyes open and see it's 11:00am; looks like we're going to lunch instead of brunch.
    I get out of bed and stumble over to open the door. “Shit, sorry. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
    She shakes her head in disapproval at my profanity usage. “Okay, well I'm going to