family

NaNoWriMo Day 11

Me and Mephistocles

My grandmother dying was probably the worst day of my life. She was always more like a mother to me. While my actual mom was more concerned with men and drugs of all sorts, my grandma stayed behind and picked up the slack. She never made me feel like I was any type of burden or inconvenience. Maybe she was my best friend when I think about it in hindsight. Or maybe she was just an excellent Abuela.

Most people have one set name that they call their grandparents. Like Dad’s mom is Grandma, Mom’s mom is Abuela or Dad’s mom is Nanna and Mom’s mom is Mawmaw. My mom’s mom, my only grandparent at all, didn’t go for any of that though. She figured there would be no confusion since she was the only one around anyway. She could never decide on what she wanted to be called because she never thought she’d get here. She never wanted to be a mom and my mom didn’t either. She wasn’t supposed to ever have to decide. So we decided together when I was 3 that we’d just call her everything.

When she died my mom was high. I was in the hospital, at my mawmaws bedside. Reading to her from her favorite book, the Bible. She asked me to do that. She looked so frail and spoke so soft and felt so weak, I had a feeling it was a last request. Otherwise, I would never have been caught reading a bible. Especially not in public. I’m no a believer even in the slightest. Still, I sat there, uncomfortably cold with my dying grandmother reading the book of Psalms while my mom was across town in a bando shooting up crack.

How do I know this ? Because she was texting and calling me incessantly. Promising she would be here. That she didn’t want to disappoint her mom. As if she hasn’t been doing that for the last 30 years. In the midst of those promises, she was also promising that this was her last time shooting up. She’s tired of it. She’s so tired of this life and she’s going to make a change. She made a bargain with God and her mom was going to make it and she was going to get clean and she was going to find my dad and they’d work it out and we’d be one big happy family. That’s what she was saying. And I was ignoring her. And reading the bible to her mom.

She died that night.

And that night my mom was in her house, rummaging through everything with reckless abandon. With her “friends” taking everything they thought they may be able to sell or trade for drugs. Which was everything, I fear. When I made it to my grandmothers 3 days later, nothing was left but this cactus. Hanging out in the middle of the floor and surrounded by trash. Clearly moved from its original location. So I took it. That’s all I touched. All I took. The first thing I saw. As a memento.

I guess life is just sad like that sometimes but it’s hard not to wonder exactly why.

NaNoWriMo Day 4

I see Dusty most when we’re at work. I work there full time and he just picks up shifts here and there as needed on weekends. It’s a customer service call center called Schwifty’s. Our main client right now is a company that provides all of the uniforms for the Air Force base in our region and a few close by.

I started working here during my senior year of high school. I thought it was going to just be a thing that I do while I support myself through college. I was just working part time then. I didn’t plan to retire here or anything crazy but I knew I’d want to eat more than just noodles. I wasn’t sure if that was a myth about college but I wasn’t willing to find out the hard way. So I did stay here all throughout college. I picked up extra hours during winter, spring and summer breaks from school. I worked holidays, opened, closed, weekends and even on my birthday. Because of this, after I got my degree they decided to offer me a full time position. And much to my surprise, I accepted. So I’m still here.

Dusty just started working here last year. We had a few people walk out at once and I asked if my friend could maybe just fill in. Apparently, that’s illegal. But they did put him through the hiring process and pretty much told him that they’ll accept him working whenever he has time until they figure something else out. They never figured out anything else and he just picks up shifts when he has a thing he wants to buy.

Today is one of the days that we get to work together. He’s already there when I walk in. I greet him with a shy smile, per usual. I hate drawing attention to myself even though everyone already knows that we’re best friends and that I’m the one that got him here. I already know it doesn’t make much sense but I just can’t help it. I’m grateful that he doesn’t mind.

We don’t have assigned seats. There are endless rows and columns of cubicles. Each with one desk, one chair, one phone, one computer and one box of tissues. I choose the seat across from his, sitting where we’re able to face each other, in case I feel like talking. I never feel like talking while at work. But I know he’ll want to talk to me and I enjoy making him feel valued, I suppose.

“You look like shit,” he so lovingly points out.

“Gee, thanks. What would I do without you ?”

“You’d be a lot more lame. I can guarantee that.”

Right as I was about to reply, he got a call. Perfect. I actually didn’t know what to say. I really would be a lot more lame without him. I’m okay with the fact that I’m still lame with him too. I’ve always been pretty lame and he’s always been pretty cool. Sometimes that just tricks people into thinking I must be cool too. In a way that’s a secret. A way that they could never discern themselves. So they just trust the proximity of our friendship.

I start settling into my temporary office suite for the day and let my mind wander. I use the term “let” very loosely here. I start wondering if my dad ever worked at a call center. I wonder if he ever had a job at all. Maybe my mom met him at work and they were a normal teenage couple at first and then things just got out of hand. Who knows. Besides them. And maybe my grandma. My grandma. I miss her so much. The dreams I have about her always feel so real. Death is a crazy experience. To witness it in someone else. Maybe there’s a better way to word that. I just can’t get my thoughts completely straight when I start to get anxious. I’m anxious a lot. My words are never right.

Before I know it, Dusty is asking me if I want a ride home. What fucking time is it ? I look at the clock and it’s 5:03 pm. Wow. How does this always happen ?