Pinwheels and Dandelions

Complete Darkness

My momma died today. As I sit on my aunt Donna's couch, I do not know if I should be happy or sad. That lady put a hurting on me with her selfishness. Instead of her taking care of me, I always found myself

taking care of her and my little brother. She was the worst mother in the world. She never was good for anything. Maybe I shouldn't say that well, on second thought, I have every right to speak my mind, at least to myself anyway. I always told myself that I would be a better mother to my children than my mom ever was to me — but she made me not want to have children. Ever.

For as long as I can remember, my mother was a drug and sex addict. When I was six years old, my mother had so many men coming in and out of our home, I couldn't keep count. She always told me that they were my uncles, but I knew better. Not only were they in and out of our home, but most of the time, they lived with us for a day or two, maybe a week — sometimes as long as a month. My mother never cared about me — she loved her drugs more than her own flesh and blood.

So many times, I saw my mom's pale brittle body slide down our kitchen, living room, or bathroom walls because the drugs knocked her out cold. Nearly every day, she would wrap a thick rubber band around her tiny arms, which were covered in marks. She would effortlessly insert a long needle filled with a clear liquid into her arm that made her sleep for hours. Those hours used to lead up to a couple of days leaving my mom passed out on the floor. During those times, I had to take care of myself.

I believe I learned how to use the microwave at the age of three. I was eager to learn how to read — so I taught myself because that was the only way for me to survive so that I could read the instructions on whatever we had in the cabinets to eat. Red beans and rice were my saviors. When the power was off, I would eat cold canned goods. I can't complain, because eating cold food was better than having an angry and empty stomach.

If my mom wasn't sliding down the walls, she was either throwing up in the sink or on the floor. I was so tired of constantly cleaning up her toxic vomit. When I was seven years old, she begged a white man who always came by the house to bring her some heroin. He had filthy fingernails, dirty facial hair, and always wore the same checkerboard black and red shirt, nasty smelly blue jeans, and black boots with white paint on them. When he walked through the door, he would walk very slowly, with a cigar in his mouth. He always used to crack a creepy smile at me and wink his dark brown eyes, but this time it was different. He opened the broken wooden screen door yelling my mom's name, dangling a small clear bag in her face. "I got what you want, JoAnne." He winked his left eye at me.

"Oh my ... oh ... oh ... oh ... my, Dan, I need this," said my mom while scratching her right arm, then her chest, her head, and back to her right arm as she moved uncontrollably from side to side.

"What are you offering in return?" asked the guy, smirking and licking his chapped lips.

My mom fell on her knees, looked him in the eyes, "I am at your mercy, Dan. Whatever you want whatever you need ... I am ... I am at your mercy."

He pulled my mom up by her dirty blond hair and yelled at her as he slapped her across the face, "You desperate slutty whore!"

I screamed. I don't know why, because I was used to it, but this time it was different. He yanked me by my arm and threw me across the room. I called for my momma, but she swiped her hand at me, basically telling me to go away and leave her alone. I crawled into the corner of the kitchen. I pulled my knees towards my chest. I put my pink dress (it was my only dress...my favorite dress — it had watermelons on it) over my knees, and I stretched it as far as it could go. I was crying, and I was so scared. My hands were shaking. I didn't know what to do. I watched my mom get on her hands and knees as the white man forcefully put his penis in her mouth. He balled my mom's hair around his fist and told her to be a good bitch. My mom was choking, and saliva was coming out of her mouth; her eyes were rolling to the back of her head. I thought she was dying. He told my mom to open wide as he ejaculated in her mouth and all over her face. He had a scary laughed as he told my mom to swallow her salty dinner. My mom did as she was told — and the man zipped up his pants and threw the drugs on the floor. My mom crawled to them as if she was a homeless and helpless dog. I stayed in the corner with my knees pulled up to my chest as I watched my mom once again pass out for days.