The skin behind my ears prickles as I reach for the coffee maker again. This time my fingers make contact with the pot.
I jerk my hand back and my eyes strain to focus on the source of my pain.
I blink twice and recenter.
I reach for the pot a third time, forcing my mind to connect to my hand to connect to the object in front of me.
My ears prickle again.
“Mom.”
I shake my head.
“MOM.”
I spin around to find my son’s hand on my forearm. Which is connected to my hand. Which is holding a spatula.
“What? Sorry.”
“The pancakes are burning.”
“Shit.”
I flip them hastily and set the spatula down.
Jay sighs. “I got it, Mom.”
“Sorry,” I say, pressing a hand to my temple, trying to bring back whatever important thoughts had pulled me away from my kids’ breakfast … and something else … coffee.
“You seem off today,” my oldest says in a somber tone. “Do you want me to stay home?”
“What? No,” I say with a forced laugh. “I’m fine. Just … a little distracted.”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”
I look him in the eye … or the whirling space around his eyes … and smile. I think.
“I’ll be fine. I just need you to drive your brother to school this morning.” I return to the coffee maker and manage to pour a serving into a mug that’s already half-filled with coagulated hot chocolate from the night before.
Fuck.
“What happened?”
I said “fuck” out loud?
“Nothing.” I take a sip of the lukewarm sludge and tell my face to smile again.
He takes the pancakes off the griddle and drowns them in syrup before yelling something up the stairs I can’t make out.
My sightline collides with the digital clock on the stove.
Oh, shit.
“DEVON!” I bellow from the kitchen. “Come down for breakfast, now!”
Jay’s hand is on my arm again. One of us is trembling.
“Mom, I just called him down.”
“Oh.” My left ear buzzes and I tilt my head toward it instinctively.
Jay’s eyes widen. “I’m staying home.”
I blink him into focus. “What? No. You’re going to school.”
“Mom … Mom? … MOM!”
“WHAT? I heard you.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.” My heart races behind my ribcage.
“What did I say?”
“You said … I set my gaze hard on his worried expression. I don’t want to let him down. “You said you just called Devon downstairs.”
“What did I do?” Devon chirps from the dining room.
“Devon, shut up and eat your pancakes.”
“Don’t talk to your brother like that—”
“Mom, listen.” He takes both of my shoulders in his hands. “I’m going to call Dad.”
I wriggle out of his grip and head for the sink. But he washed the dishes already. When the hell did he do that?
“He said he’d be here if we needed him. If you needed him. You need him today. Please, Mom. Just to help you get through it.”
“Through what?” I take another swig of coffee and gag on it.
“Through this. You can’t focus on anything, your ears are ringing, you’re shaking. Jesus, Mom, you just drank a cup of dish water!”
I gag again and realize my stomach is empty. I can’t remember the last time I ate. Or showered. I can only remember the last time I …
“No,” I say. “I don’t want your father giving me shit about this.”
“He’s not going to give you shit, Mom. You need someone here today. So, you don’t…”
“So, I don’t what, relapse?” I laugh like a deranged cartoon character. “How would I even do that? You and your brother have taken everything out of this house that could possibly cause me to relapse. I’m fine. I just need some time to myself.”
He leans in close to me and whispers, “I found your burner.” My back goes rigid. “I know you’ve been talking to Mike.”
My eyes dart toward the dining room. Devon is singing Brian Jordan Alvarez’s Sitting. My chest aches with longing.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Mom, you don’t have to lie. I get it. It’s really hard to cut down. But you promised me you’d try. You promised Devon. And we promised Dad we’d help you.”
I meet his eyes and am flooded with guilt that I’m going to break his heart today.
Then with glee that it will be totally worth it.
“Don’t go to Mike’s house today,” he pleads with me.
I bring a temporarily steady hand to his cheek. “I won’t,” I lie.
I put on a good show, fixing my hair, successfully making a fresh cup of coffee, drinking it, eating a bowl of cereal, and packing Devon’s lunch just the way he likes it. I wave my boys off from the driveway and wait until they’re out of sight before I dig my dinosaur flip phone out of my dresser and text Mike with shaking fingers.
I don’t trust myself behind the wheel, so I half sprint, half skip to Mike’s trailer, my heart leaping with anticipation. Any sense of remorse I had about betraying my family has been replaced by hunger. Deep, driving, dark, debilitating hunger. It’s been too long. Too many days, hours, minutes without. My fingers itch. My eyes burn. I’m literally STARVING for it.
“That was fast.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Mike. Just give me what I came for.”
He steps back and lets me pass him in the doorway.
The glow of the tablet beckons me to the stained sofa in the middle of Mike’s rat-infested living room.
My ears buzz and my skin tingles happily as I sit down and press my sweaty index finger over the icon.
My blood rushes hot, my pupils dilate, my face breaks into a triumphant smile.
“Okay, Baby. Show Mama what she missed.”
Welcome back to
, the short fiction, nonfiction, poetry, humor, and multimedia publication inspired by stock photography.I had COVID last week. First time. It’s as shitty as they say. Makes me appreciate my generally good physical health and my moderately fair mental health. I have been making a concerted effort of late to spend less time CONNECTED to social media, which now includes Substack. Remember when Substack promised it wasn’t social media? That was a fun day.
I even went as far as to use a handy little app called Freedom to render Substack inoperable on my smart phone. It was becoming a distraction, and I have PLENTY of those already.
The good news is, I can still write stories for you without being plugged in. And I can still visit my peeps on Substack via my laptop or desktop computer anytime I want. I just don’t need you guys in my pocket all the time. 😜
Am I missing out on a bunch of juicy chatter on “Notes” by keeping my distance? Probably. But the truth is I don’t walk into other people’s conversations at random or shout non-sequiturs into crowded spaces IRL either, so I’m actually just being myself by maintaining a mysterious loner status, watching from the shadows, until an opportunity to go viral1 presents itself.
See … now I’m intriguing. Take that, FOMO.
A firm and hardy handshake to all who showed up for my Substackiversary Party on Sunday. ICYMI and are experiencing heart-stopping FOMO as we speak:
There’s so much good stuff to look forward this year, and I’m excited to have you along for the ride. As always, you can (and should) expect the unexpected from me. So sayeth the middle child.2
I hope you enjoyed today’s story. If you did, let me know by smashing hearts, dropping comments, or restacking me to that crowded space I mentioned earlier. I will happily appear there when summoned. 💜
Shout-outs to my big sister, Carey, and my little brother, Rob, for becoming paid subscribers. Thanks for supporting your dork of a sister in her creative pursuits. Love you, guys. 💜
Every dealer's named Mike.
Smashing hearts!❤️