I Wish I Could Hear Her Clinking Grapes

**for the #WelcomeToTheBlumhouse Contest**

     Mother knew I wasn't special when I was born. After all, she and Dad had wanted a son, not an ambitious, deaf daughter too tall for anyone to marry her. And as she thought it couldn't get worse, Dad died - she didn't recover well. So, she drank. Heavily. There were nights when she would come home at eleven, clinking her glass, dazed, stumbling, murmuring things she considered happiness. Clink. It's times like those when I thank the Lord for making me deaf. That thought would quickly depart, however, when I would notice a looming figure standing at my door. Maybe being blind would be better? I wouldn't know. Getting out of bed- out of comfort - I would walk up, take one of her arms, and drag her slowly to her room down the hall.

     One would wonder how I managed to get through life like this, being deaf at age 17, still managing to get through studies, having a mother who drinks and gets high all the time, one would wonder. But to be honest, it wasn't all that bad. Not until I found Arlo.

     He was a tall boy, nerdy, but tall. He had round glasses and messy hair; my dream guy. This took quite the toll on Mother, when I brought him back home one day.

     "Imposter. Imposter! Get him out!"

     "Mom, let me explain-"

     Of course she wouldn't let me explain. What was I thinking? Bringing him here?

     Months went by, and I found a job at a grocery store. Not the ideal dream job, but it was close to Arlo's so I stayed there often. Sometimes, I would stay there for weeks, knowing Mother was probably drinking and stumbling around the house, finding her way to my bedroom and staying there for all I cared.

     One week, in mid-August, I decided to go back home. Arlo and his parents were leaving on a family trip, so it was in my right to return to my home, with my mother.

     Opening the door, I noticed a tall, lanky figure coming out from the hallway. Her eyes were circled in black, her teeth were the color of dark daffodils, her back was arched. She smelled of grapes. Clink. Smiled as she walked past me.

     A sense of fear suddenly sprang through me. Not of my mother, no no, I wasn't afraid of her. I was afraid of something that she was afraid of. While at Arlo's, I never thought about the Mother's mentality when I was gone. Nor did I ever think about what she felt; loneliness.

     I went to sleep that night, filled with guilt, yet confusion as to how Mother felt, when something I noticed in the hallway woke me up. Clink, clink, clink.

     My eyes barely opened as I walked into the hallway to see dark, black liquid spread across the floor. I walked closer, and closer, and closer.

     Clink.

     "Mom?"