Tears in the Sun

by Owenby, J. A.

  Tears in the Sun

  By J.A. Owenby

  Copyright 2013 J. A. Owenby

  License Notes

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  I stood at the bottom of the steps leading to our front door, my school books growing heavier in my arms. My stomach quivered at the thought of opening it. Each day brought something unexpected.

  I shifted my weight, and wondered if Mama had a good day. Had she left her favorite chair, or planted herself, praying for those souls in need of saving? Those souls consisted of mine and Patsy’s most of the time. On occasion, they included my sister, Krissy, but overall she remained the golden child.

  Mama said that God had spoken to her years ago, calling her to a life of prayer. She’d convinced her friends she had a direct 800 number to God. She didn’t work, just sat in her chair day after day, praying. Some days, most days, she didn’t even shower or brush her teeth. Her ministry demanded most of her attention, and when God wasn’t requiring her attention, she would flip a coin, selecting the unlucky subject needing deliverance. That’s what it felt like anyway. We never knew who would receive Mama’s wrath, or what mood drove her.

  My heart pounded, sending an ache through my chest. I knew Mama loved me. She’d just had a hard life taking care of me and my older sister. My chin jutted upwards as I ascended the stairs. I steadied my hand on the doorknob and plastered a smile on my face.

  “Mama, I’m home,” I said walking through the door. Her chair sat empty. I heaved my books onto the cluttered kitchen table. The kitchen smelled of dirty dishes that littered the counters and stove. Our house stayed in a constant state of clutter.

  I proceeded to Mama and Patsy’s bedroom. They had met eight years ago when Krissy had Patsy as a math teacher. Before I knew it, they’d bought this house together. I dreaded explaining to my friends why they shared a bedroom. No matter what I said, they drew their own conclusions, and so did their parents. I didn’t have my friends over often. I preferred going to their houses.

  I stopped at the door when I saw Patsy sitting at her desk.

  “What are you doing home?” I asked. “Is Mama okay?”

  “She’s outside,” Patsy said. “Your mom had a long day. You should go study.”

  Those were code words for an argument brewing.

  I chewed my lip, pondering how I could intervene before it got started.

  “What happened, Patsy?” I leaned against the door frame.

  “I got the phone bill. It’s over nine hundred dollars.”

  My jaw dropped open. “Good Lord, why?”

  “They’re long-distance calls your mom made.” She tossed the bill on her desk, her brow furrowing.

  Mentally, I calculated my checking account. I’d worked for the last five years cleaning classrooms after school. I hid that fact from most people, since the cleaning crew ranked beneath trailer trash, but I had to buy my clothes somehow.

  “I can help pay it, Patsy; just don’t say anything to Mama.”

  “It’s not your bill, Lacey, and I have to talk to your mom. This can’t continue. I can’t afford it to continue.”

  Patsy stood, signaling the conversation finished.

  I walked back to the kitchen table, and flipped through the rest of the mail. I bit my lip, seeing the letter addressed to me from the University of Oregon. Their decision of acceptance and scholarships would provide my ticket out of here. I’d move 2000 miles away from everything I knew, and start over.

  I ripped it open and read the letter. Tears pricked my eyes. I sat down and pinched the bridge of my nose to stop them. I held the letter out, trying to focus on the words. I needed to read it one more time, to make sure I understood it.

  The screen door creaked, announcing my presence on the back deck.

  “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, honey, did you have a good day?”

  “Yes, did you?”

  “I don’t feel well today. There’s a heaviness in my spirit.”

  “I’m sorry. I have some good news though.” I waited for her response, but she continued staring at the trees in the back yard. I sat down next to her.

  “I’ll graduate soon.”

  “Well, I know that, silly.” She turned towards me, smiling. “I’m really proud of you, Lacey. You have so much potential.”

  “I got accepted to the University of Oregon on a full scholarship,” I blurted.

  Mama didn’t say a word. The silence cut through me.

  “Mama?”

  “Lacey, I’m sorry honey. You aren’t ready to go to college away from home. You’re too immature, and not capable of making good decisions.”

  “They gave me a full scholarship, though. I’ve saved money over the last few years to pay for my move.”

  Her jaw clenched, and she turned to look at me.

  “Lacey, I don’t care what you’ve done, you’re not going.”

  “That’s not fair, I’m almost eighteen!” I jumped up, sending my chair skittering backwards.

  She yelled, “You pick that chair up, and sit down right now, young lady! I’ll tell you what’s not fair,” she scolded, shaking her finger at me. “I’ve done everything for you, and all you give me, is heartache and pain. You’re my worst enemy!” Her face burned hot with anger.

  “Mama,” I whispered. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

  “You go downstairs, get on your knees, and pray. You ask God to deliver you from your selfishness.”

  I nodded, and walked back into the house. I folded my tear-stained letter, placed it in its envelope, and slipped it in between the pages of my English book. Fear nagged me, whispering Mama was right. I couldn’t make it out there. I still needed her, but at the same time I wanted to leave.

  I descended the stairs to my bedroom, and kicked the pile of clothes over to make room to kneel for my appointment with God. Mama would check on me soon, making sure I did as told. I had to stop disappointing her, make her proud.

  I’m not sure how much time passed while I was on my knees, but a loud thud and angry voices thundered through the house. Remembering the phone bill, I darted up the stairs two at a time. I reached the living room as the front door slammed closed, and moments later, a car started. I looked out the window, seeing Patsy’s Toyota driving away.

  “Mama?”

  “What Lacey?”

  She sat slumped over on the side of their bed.

  I crossed my arms and hugged them to me.

  “What happened?”

  “Patsy told me I can’t call Donna except a few times a month,” she whined. “She’s jealous, Lacey. She’s jealous that I have a prayer partner who knows God like I do.”

  “Mama, are you sure it’s that? I think the amount of the bill is what upset her.”

  Mama stared at me, her eyes hardened, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

  “You don’t understand either. God told me, when he gave me this gift, that people wouldn’t understand me. I just thought my own daughter would.”

  I didn’t see the lamp fly across the room until it lay in pieces at my feet. My mouth gaped open as I looked at her. In a matter of seconds, her face shifted into awareness of what she’d done. Her shoulders began to shake with violent sobs and she slid to the floor.

  “Mama, I’m okay.” I wrapped my arms around her. I rocked her, waiting for her emotions to run their course. When her
sobs turned to sniffles, I sat up and smoothed her hair from her face. “Mama, I know you didn’t mean to do that. If I go with you, would you go to a counselor and talk to someone?”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it for you.”

  I thought I’d feel relieved with her agreement, but the lump in my stomach refused to dissipate.

  “Let’s get you into bed so you can rest. I’m sure Patsy will come home soon,” I assured her, as I tucked her in. I kissed her on the cheek, and closed her bedroom door behind me. I grabbed the phone, and went downstairs to schedule an appointment for her. I’d already researched a psychiatrist, just in case.

  Dr. Unger’s office hid towards the back of the psychiatric hospital. I don’t think that helped Mama feel comfortable. The sterile smell and pristine white hallways reminded me of straitjackets and people muttering to themselves. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought Mama here.

  Dr. Unger had mentioned over the phone that Mama would complete testing and a one-hour session. I’d brought a book to keep me occupied, but the morning crept by. I’d leafed through the pamphlets on the wooden coffee table. The information ranged from depression to schizophrenia. Mama didn’t seem to fit those two at least. It hadn’t occurred to me that she might have a mental illness. I’m not sure what I thought. I just knew that most of the time, she didn’t seem happy.

  I must have dozed off in the chair. Mama startled me when she touched my shoulder. Her eyes looked flat and her cheeks were flushed. It wasn’t a good sign.

  “Are you all done?”

  “Yes, let’s go home.”

  The bright sunshine greeted us as we exited the building. We walked in silence. I had a million questions circulating through my head, but I knew I had to time them right.

  I opened the car door for her, and then slipped into the driver’s seat.

  “Would you like to get some lunch? It’s my treat.”

  “I’m not hungry. I’d like to go home.”

  I knew any opportunity of further conversation had just shut down. I’d try again later.

  Mama spent the rest of the day in her rocking chair. I excused myself to my room needing to study.

  The phone rang, interrupting my English paper.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m calling for Lacey Beaumont.”

  “This is Lacey.”

  “Hi there, this is Dr. Unger. I’d like to discuss the test results and session with you concerning your mother.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes, she signed a form that I could speak with you and Patsy.”

  I paused, waiting for him to proceed. I didn’t know how all this worked.

  “Lacey, the test results show that your mother suffers from Borderline Personality Disorder.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Okay, borderline personality disorder is a condition in which people have long-term patterns of unstable or turbulent emotions towards themselves and others. Let’s take the example of her behavior the other day. When you came home, she seemed fine, talkative and engaged. Shortly after, her mood shifted in a moment, and she threw a lamp at you. Lacey, do you understand that this behavior isn’t normal?”

  “Yes, I mean, I know it’s not right to throw things at people. I just thought she’d had a bad day.”

  “In many instances, the family becomes so acclimated to the behavior, they learn to avoid irritating their loved one. Let me ask you something, and please be honest with me so that I can help your mother better.”

  “Okay.”

  “When you come home, do you wonder what kind of mood she’ll be in?”

  “Yes, everyday. I never know what to expect.”

  “Do you feel you are the cause of her anger?”

  I paused, wondering if I could trust this man. I didn’t want to say things about Mama that would hurt her.

  “She’s told me on more than one occasion, that I’m the reason she gets so angry. Last week, she said I’m her biggest problem. I try really hard to make her proud of me, but it’s never enough.” I bit my lip, trying to push the lump from my throat. I wouldn’t cry with a complete stranger.

  “Do you feel responsible for her? When she gets angry do you take care of her afterwards?”

  “Yes.” My voice betrayed me, sounding thin and strained.

  “Lacey, its okay. This is common with families that have a loved one that suffers from BPD.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to process the information.

  “The good news, there’s treatment for your mom. I’d also work with the other family members as well.”

  “What’s the next step, Dr. Unger?”

  “Let’s schedule another appointment for a treatment plan. I need to discuss everything with your mother. Explaining things to her is my job, Lacey, so don’t try and talk to her yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”

  “Thank you.” I replaced the phone in its cradle and sat on my bed, trying to process the information. My stomach growled, pulling me away from my thoughts. I needed to check on Mama anyway.

  Mama hadn’t moved from her chair when I approached her in the living room.

  “Hi Mama, how are you feeling?”

  “Who called, Lacey?”

  “Dr. Unger. We have another appointment tomorrow morning.”

  “I won’t go back, Lacey. He makes me uncomfortable.” She lifted her head and stared at me, daring me to challenge her.

  “I’ll go with you again. I don’t have school tomorrow either.”

  “I didn’t ask you if you had school again, dammit, I said I’m not going.”

  Her voice carried a tone I knew well. The warning sign of another episode reared its ugly head, and I needed to approach with caution.

  “Mama, I think he can help us.”

  “He needs to help you! I’m not the problem, you are. I should schedule you the appointment!”

  She stood, and I watched her hands close into fists. I stepped backwards without realizing it. Nausea swelled in my stomach. Patsy wasn’t home yet. The realization of being alone with her split me open, but I had to try and reason with her.

  “Just one more time Mama, please, for me.”

  “I hate you!” she screamed and moved past me, and into her bedroom. Against my better judgment, something inside me propelled me forward. I reached her door in time to see her grab a bottle of medication and remove the lid, dumping a handful of pills into her hand. Everything moved in slow motion as she turned to look at me, her hand hovering near her mouth. One of the pills dropped from her hand, landed on the floor, bounced and rolled to a stop at my foot.

  I caved. I couldn’t do this. I needed Mama alive, not buried beneath a tombstone I visited once a month.

  “Don’t Mama,” I pleaded. “You don’t have to go. I’ll call him right now; just put the pills back in the bottle and give them to me.” I extended my hand towards her. I knew she could see my entire body shaking.

  “You won’t make me go?” she asked, her voice so soft, I strained to hear her.

  “That’s right, I won’t make you go. We’ll fix this together, you, me and Patsy, okay?”

  “I don’t need fixing!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re scaring me and I wasn’t thinking. I need you Mama, don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

  “You promise me Lacey, that you won’t make me go back?”

  “I promise.”

  She didn’t say another word, but the sound of the pills landing in the bottle spoke enough for both of us. Mama replaced the cap and handed me the pills.

  My body had failed me, my shaking so severe I almost couldn’t close my hand around the bottle. My breath released in a rush. I clutched the bottle to my chest and willed myself the strength to smile at her.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I turned and walked away. I left her standing alone.

  Mama had done better after the last episode. We seemed almost normal for
a few weeks. Her mood had lifted, she and Patsy got along, and we planned my graduation celebration. I hadn’t brought up Dr. Unger or the university again. I made a huge attempt to keep the peace. I tried not to think about Dr. Unger’s diagnosis. Maybe the test results weren’t accurate.

  ****

  I glanced at the clock’s glowing red numbers and realized it was Saturday. I pulled the covers over my head, trying to block out the noise.

  I peeked over the top of my blankets at my bright yellow bedroom walls. They radiated such cheeriness and warmth, but not today. Not in this house. I listened as silence filled the upstairs of our home, hoping the fight had ended. A moment later, the silence split open with a scream.

  I hopped out of bed and rounded the corner into our cluttered den. I slowed, and made my way up the narrow stairway, holding my breath with each additional stair. I paused on the next to the last one, pressed myself against the wall, and listened. I heard Patsy’s whimper and peeked around the corner. The kitchen came into view. I covered my mouth, catching the noise that tried to escape me. Patsy lay sprawled on the floor, Mama straddling her. Her girth didn’t allow Patsy room to move. A slow trickle of blood slid down Patsy’s face, from her nose, I thought, but I couldn’t tell for sure. A reflection of light caught my attention, and that’s when I saw it. Mama gripped the butcher knife above her head, her knuckles white, and her face dark with rage.

  “Don’t move or I’ll kill you!” Mama screamed.

  “Mama,” I whispered, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t hear me.

  “Mama,” I said again a bit louder. I eased from my hiding place, and stood at the top of the stairs in the living room. My stomach churned at the scene in front of me. I still didn’t have her attention. I took another step forward, the floor creaking underneath me. She didn’t turn her head, but I could see her eyes cut to the corner. I didn’t dare take another step. The knife remained over her head, her breathing came in bursts. Mine was so shallow, I had to remind myself to breathe.

  I forced myself to make my voice heard. “Mama, put the knife down. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  At last she’d heard me. “I can’t. She said something mean, something awful. She’s evil, and I can’t allow that filth in my home.”