Clean. That’s what she was. Mom was clean. No pot. No meth. No drugs.
But she still had an addiction. And it wasn’t me.
“Just give me an hour, baby.” Mom spoke softly as she pushed me out the door.
“It’s ten, Mom. You really want me on the streets at night?” I shook my head.
Mom yelled to someone behind her, “I’m coming!” She looked at me and smiled. “No, I don’t want you on the street. You can sit on the stairs if you want.”
We didn’t live in the same building where Dad died. We lived in the one next door. The setup was the same. Except my room had a door, and my bed was off the foor.
It only took me two weeks of sitting on the stairs to realize Mom hadn’t changed at all. I still didn’t matter to her.
“Why did you bring me home?” I asked her as she was pushing me out the door again. Anger was rising.
“Because I love you.” She tried to smile. “I miss your dad so much.”
I gave her my coldest stare. “Doesn’t look like you miss him at all!” It took her one second to slap me. I didn’t move. I felt the sting. My cheek felt like it was on fire. But it only pushed the anger inside to the surface.
“Don’t you dare talk that way to me, Thomas Jahmal! I loved your father. Why can’t I love others too?”
“Whatever!” I turned and left.
I remembered a small card in my back pocket, and I had an idea. I knocked on a neighbor’s door. I didn’t know the old lady, but she had been watching me for the past two weeks.
“What do you want?” She was peeking at me from behind the chain on her door. Her little white face looked so pale I was afraid she was going to have a heart attack.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I was wondering if I could use your phone.” She stared. “I need to call social services and report my mother.” I waved the small business card I had gotten from Miss Miller before she left.
I could tell the lady was thinking. I waited. She finally said, “Okay, but wait there!” A few moments later she handed me a cell phone through the crack in the door. She continued to stare at me as I dialed.
“Hello?” Miss Miller’s voice sounded like I woke her up.
“Listen!” I said. “This is TJ and this is not working. You need to take me back to Miss Dixie.”
Miss Miller put on her best counseling voice. “Now TJ, let’s talk about this. What’s going on?”
I told her. I told her how I spent my evenings in the stairwell. Finally I sighed, “So will you come and get me?”
The voice on the other side spoke slowly. “It’s not that easy. I will call the police, and we’ll do a home visit.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” Before she said anything else, I hung up and cussed.
I handed the wide-eyed lady the phone. “Thanks,” I said and turned. I heard the door close behind me.