Dirty Cowboy

by Alycia Taylor

  “I know. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to move out?”

  “I want you to get some help. If you choose not to do that, then yes Mom, I’m done. If you agree to the help though, I’ll do whatever I can. I want you to get better.”

  “You mean that you want me to go into a rehab or something?” The word “rehab” seemed to stick on her tongue. Just the thought of getting clean scared her to death.

  “Would you be willing to do that?” I asked her. Then I re-iterated, “You can’t do it for me though, or just so I won’t cut you out of my life.. You have to do it for you, Mom. It won’t work otherwise and it won’t be easy either…”

  “I know, I’ve been there before once, remember? It was hard as hell. I was clean for over a year and then I got into that bad relationship and he hurt me and I just fell right back into my old patterns.”

  She was still giving the same old excuses too. “If you’re really serious about changing your life you have to change all of it, Mom. You can’t keep cycling through these bad relationships. You can’t keep depending on someone else for your own happiness. You have to learn how to love yourself and take care of yourself. No one else is going to do that, Mom. These men you’re with don’t respect you because you don’t respect yourself. If you listen to your therapists, I’m sure they will tell you the same.”

  Mom was nodding. She looked terrified and I was trying to ignore that and stay strong. She was quiet for a while and eventually she said, “I want to stop using, for good. I want to try and make amends to you for everything I’ve put you through. I really don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to die and I don’t want to live my life this way forever, I’m just scared.”

  “I know you’re scared Mom. I’m sorry about that, and I don’t need you to do anything for me except get better. I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think it was the best thing for you…for both of us. I want my mother back. I love you. I will always love you. But I’m done with all of this. I can’t…I won’t watch you destroy yourself any longer. You need to do this before this addiction kills you.”

  “I want to make you proud of me. I want to be a real mother. I know it’s hard to believe, but I do. I always hated that I wasn’t that to you. When I was high, it was easy to believe it wasn’t my fault, but it was…it still is.”

  “I know you want to do right by me.” I really did. For years I could see in her eyes that my mother was still in there and fighting to be let out. I knew she loved me. “Can I call around and see if we can find a facility for you to go to?”

  “Yes…I’m scared though, Jessie,” she had tears spilling down her cheeks again and I realized at that moment I did too. I went over and sat down next to her on the couch. I put my arm around her and pulled her against my shoulder and held her while she cried. Kissing the top of her silky red head I said, “I know, Mom. I’m scared too. But I have faith that you can do this, and I’m going to be there by your side, every step of the way.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll pay for it…”

  “I have some money in my savings. I’ll pay for it.”

  Sucking in a huge sob she said, “I don’t deserve you, Jessie, but I’m so grateful for you, honey. I will pay you back for all of this someday. I really will, I promise. I love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Chapter Two

  I spent the rest of the evening after Mom and I talked, researching and calling rehab facilities in our area. There were a lot of them online. Some, like the ones in Malibu and that area were like fancy spas. It’s not that I didn’t think my Mom deserved that, but they cost upwards of ten grand for a month’s stay. I had to find something I could afford. She didn’t have any income, so she couldn’t use the sliding scale places and she had no insurance. They didn’t make it easy. I couldn’t see an addict doing all of this for themselves.

  Mom took a long, hot bath and had gone to bed. Some sleep would do her a world of good, I hoped. Looking for a rehab for Mom was good therapy for me too. It restored some of my hope that she would get better and move on with her life and it kept my mind off of what was going on with Paul and his little family. Every time I thought about that, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returned. I’m not much of a pray-er, but I even said a little prayer that they got out in time. I didn’t want to think about what may have happened if he found them. If Paul never chose to talk to me again, I may never know.

  I finally found a facility that had a bed and was willing to take her in the morning. It was a nicer one and in a decent neighborhood too. It was pricier than I’d hoped. It was going to take nearly all of my savings, but I had to do it. We wouldn’t make it any further as a family if I didn’t. I’d been saving for my future. Taking care of Mom was my future, so I guess I used it for that, in a way. The facility wasn’t too far from me and once she was doing well and the drugs were all out of her system, I could visit her often. They wouldn’t let me visit her until they deemed her to be “stable” in her recovery process. I was almost afraid to tell her that. I was afraid she’d change her mind. She cried again, but she was still willing to go. We stayed up late talking. It was the first time in a really long time that I had hope for our future as Mom and daughter.

  I woke up the next morning exhausted from tossing and turning all night and with a knot in the pit of my stomach. I still hadn’t heard from Paul and I was dropping my mother off with strangers in hopes that they could do what I had failed at time and time again: “Fix” what was wrong with her. I looked at the clock and knew I needed to get up and get this over with. I pulled back the covers and let my feet hit the floor.

  I called Greg before I got into the shower. “Hey Greg,” I was trying to keep the quiver I was feeling out of my voice. I didn’t want my employer to know just how messed up my life was although he was a compassionate guy and I knew he would do his best to understand. It was too embarrassing.

  “Hey Jessie,” he said. With concern in his voice he said, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound more upbeat. “Why?”

  “You just sound a little strange like you’re upset. What’s up?”

  “I just have to take care of a family matter this morning. My first appointment is at nine with a lady named Michaela. I hate to cancel on her because she’s got a big race coming up this weekend and she wanted to do some work on her calves…She’s a new client too…”

  “She’s a runner?” he asked.

  “A cycler,” I told him. “Anyways, is there anyone available who can take her for me? I can probably make it back by ten thirty or eleven if not…I could re-schedule her. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got your back. I’ll take care of her myself. Are you sure you’re okay though?”

  “I’m sure, thank you so much, Greg. My mother is having some medical problems…nothing major, but she needs me today.”

  “Then go and be with her. Family comes first, always, you know that. We’re a big family around here.” I knew that and I was grateful. I thanked him again and then I went in to see if my mother was up. I was pleasantly surprised to see that not only was she up, but she was making breakfast. From the few times I tasted what she’d actually tried to cook for me, I knew that she was a terrible cook. This was one of those things though where it was the thought that counted.

  “Well, look at all of this,” I said of the spread she was sitting out across the table. “It looked like she’d been up cooking for hours.”

  She gave me a nervous smile. It made my heart hurt to think about how scared she must be. I had to be strong and remember this was the best thing I could do for her. It was even harder when she was being so sweet.

  “I wanted to do something…motherly, for you.”

  “Pancakes and oatmeal are the best. Thanks, Mom.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re welcome. I wish I would have done more of this when you were a kid. We missed out on so much because of my problems.�
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  “You know what? There’s no going back. I’m here, alive and if I do say so myself I turned out all right. Everyone makes mistakes, but unfortunately life doesn’t let us go back and correct them. We have to just keep moving forward. So let’s make a pact now, okay…no looking back.”

  She handed me a glass of orange juice and held hers up and said, “To brighter days for us both.”

  “Here, here,” I toasted her with a smile.

  After we ate I helped her pack her things and we headed out. The ride to the rehab was a quiet one, both of us wrapped up in our own thoughts and our own hopes and fears. I drove into the small lot next to the big residential house that had been turned into a rehab and I parked. At first we just sat there, neither of us was overly anxious to do this. Finally after about five minutes of staring at the place she said, “It looks nice.”

  “Yeah, I think this is going to be a good place for you. Are you ready?” She took one last deep breath and said, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

  Once inside we spent about forty five minutes meeting with the therapist and doing paperwork. I had to make my first payment and then I would send or bring in a check a week after that. I would have to hustle for clients to build my savings back up but I wasn’t going to stress over that right now. When it was time for me to go, Mom and I were both fighting the tears.

  I hugged her tight and said, “Things are going to be okay for here on out. I know you can do this. You’re a strong woman. You’re stronger than the stuff that keeps getting in your way. Believe that for me, okay?”

  “You know what, honey? For a change, I’m going to make sure that things are okay so you don’t have to worry so much. I wish I was as strong as the woman you have become. I know I have no right, but I am so proud of you I could bust.”

  I was in a melancholy mood on the drive home and after I got there. I thought about going to the gym, but it was after eleven already and I didn’t really see the point in going in to work. I trusted that Greg took good care of my client. I drove to my apartment instead. I parked in my usual spot and looked around as I got out of the car. Telling myself that this was getting ridiculous, I walked up to my apartment, checking behind the bushes that lined the sidewalk still and slipped the key in the door. What happened next seemed both like it was in an instant…and that it went on for days. As soon as I turned the key in the lock I felt the hand of a giant on the back of my neck. I was propelled forward and with that one hand, Mitch threw me across the room and into the wall. I hit the wall with my face and bounced off, landing on my back on the floor. He stepped inside and slammed the door behind him.

  I was stunned. I was not sure what was happening at that point. I started to lift my head and that was when his boot connected with my ribs and I heard him say, “You lying, fucking little bitch!”

  My brain processed what was happening at last. Mitch was here, and he was pissed. Obviously, Paul and Marie and Victor had been gone when he got to the gym. Good for them, I thought as I tried to roll away from his next blow. I was in pain and moving too slow to completely avoid it. I think I helped myself a little however because instead of connecting again with my ribs that were screaming out in pain, his boot connected with my lower back. Even on the carpet, the impact sent me skidding across the floor.

  I lay there trying to get my bearings. I knew that I needed to try and get up…I needed to run. He was seething with anger, now pacing in a circle around me, telling me what a “stupid bitch” and a “red-haired lying ho” that I was. I thought about denying I had called Paul, but that was just going to make it worse, I was sure. I lay there trying to breath and at the same time trying to curl into a tiny little ball so that I was a smaller target. The whole time, I was watching his feet. When they landed in front of me I knew it was my only chance. I reached out with both hands and grabbed his calves. I caught him off guard so he stumbled backwards and nearly fell. He was able to get his feet loose before he did, but he was at least a foot away from me now. I flipped onto my other side and got up on my hands and knees. I did a fast crawl towards the front door and I was almost there…when I felt Mitch’s hand wrapped up in my hair.

  He used it to drag me back across the room. I felt like it was coming loose at the roots. I finally found my voice and I began to scream.

  “Shut up!” he told me. I didn’t. If he was going to kill me, I was going to make enough noise so that he was at least caught as he left. “I said shut up!” I opened my mouth to scream again. He let go of my hair and drew back his fist. The sight of his hairy, meaty knuckles coming towards my face was the last thing I saw before my world suddenly went black.

  *****

  The first conscious thought I remember having is why the hell does it hurt so much to breathe? My lungs were burning like they did after I’d gone on a really long run but when I tried to suck in enough oxygen to keep them inflated I felt like a long, sharp knife was being shoved in between my ribs. My next thought was why my eyes were closed and why I was having such a hard time opening them. They felt heavy like they do when you’re sunbathing and you fall asleep in the sun…a little bit hot and swollen…I had to struggle to send the message from my brain to my eyes and for some reason, creating that simple thought made my head feel like it was going to explode.

  After several tries I finally wrenched one of them open. It felt like it had been glued shut and I had broken the seal. It would only open a slit and everything was blurry. But I could see enough to know that I was in my own apartment. I was looking up at everything. I could see the window and the pictures on the walls like I was lying flat on my back in the floor. Why the hell was I lying in the floor? I tried to lift my neck and my arms so that I could push myself up off the floor. I got my neck up a few inches. It was sore and the muscles were tight. I tried pushing against the floor with my arms and when I did, I felt something pop in my right one. I think I cried out…I’m not sure, but it hurt like hell. I tried to move the left arm next, but it was completely numb. What the hell? Was I in an accident? Did I fall? The simple act of trying to remember was causing my head to pound violently as if someone was slamming a hammer against my skull from the inside and I felt like whatever was keeping me from getting in a good, deep breath was sitting on my chest now, crushing it.

  I let my head drop back to the floor. Neither the motion of it nor the thud of the floor against the back of it, improved my situation. I lay there, taking in slow, shallow breaths and feeling myself getting light-headed. I started to close the only eye that would open, but something was nagging at me, telling me not to. I got the sudden, dreaded feeling that if I did close it, I’d never be able to open it again. I willed myself to relax. Although I had no idea what was happening right now, I was able to remember that when I was tired or anxious controlling my breaths helped control my emotions. While I did that, I tried to remember what day it was and what I had been doing before I decided to take a nap in the living room floor.

  I remembered picking Mom up from the police department. Was that today? We came back to the apartment and we talked. Fuck! My head hurts so bad, and my right arm…and what the hell is stabbing me in the side? I picked Mom up at the police department…why was she at the police department? Why the hell was I on the floor? I finally let my tired eye close again. I couldn’t hold it open any longer. When I did, it triggered something…a memory. Mitch was here…he was angry and he…Oh shit! Mitch fucked me up! Oh shit! I worked on pulling that eye back open again. Where the hell is my phone? Very slowly and carefully, but not without copious amounts of effort and pain, I turned my head to the right. I scanned the floor through my blurry lens but there was nothing there. I could see that the front door was closed and it looked like there was blood on the handle. Shit! I was going to have to turn the other way. I’m pretty sure when I came through the door I had my phone and my keys in my hand. Did I set them on the table? I looked up at it and although it was only four feet tall, it may as well have been as tall as the Empire State Building. T
here was no way I’d be able to reach up there. No fucking way. One of my arms still wouldn’t move at all and I’m pretty sure that the other one was broken.

  It probably took me a full five minutes to turn my head to the other side. The first thing I saw was the hole in the wall. I remembered now. My head had made a hole in the drywall as it slammed into it…after Mitch threw me across the room by the back of my neck. The good news was I could see my phone. The bad news…how the hell was I going to move the three feet that seemed to stretch out between me and it. I closed my eye again and summoned every last bit of strength I had in my body. Then I concentrated on my legs and with a loud grunt and maybe a little scream, I pushed against the floor, moving my body about four inches in the direction of the phone. I kept moving like that over and over again for what seemed like an eternity with each movement becoming more excruciating than the last. My head was not only pounding now…it was spinning. I was going to pass out again. Before that happened, I had to get to that phone and call for help.

  Chapter Three

  I tried to lift my heavy eyelids as the strong smell of anti-bacterial cleaner burnt my nostrils. My mouth was so dry. It was the first time in my life that I actually understood what the term, “cotton mouth” meant. I tried to swallow, but my neck hurt. It was just as well, there wasn’t enough spit to coat the back of my throat and force down the knot I felt there. Something was beeping….was it my phone? I suddenly remembered that I’d been on the floor before. I was trying to get to my phone…I needed to call for help. I bent my knees, or at least I tried to and I tried to get my feet to meet the floor so I could get some leverage. The floor was soft now…that didn’t make any sense.