I flip on the light above the kitchen sink, and let my eyes adjust to… “Jesus,” I whisper, looking around what used to be my house. Only, it’s not my house anymore.
It’s a literal garbage bag.
Half eaten lasagna sits on the stove, the cheese turning hard from sitting out so long. Paper plates stained with grease sit on the table, and empty soda cans are crushed next to them. It looks as if Tanner has been throwing things toward the garbage from the couch, but it’s clear that basketball isn’t his sport. Napkins, tissues, water bottles and all sorts of things litter the floor around the relatively empty garbage can.
Where Archie’s boots were there is also a heap of dirt, and a pair of dirty socks, balled up and cast aside. The kitchen sink isn’t fully off, so the soundtrack to my house of horrors is an aptdrip, drip, drip. A jug of milk sits on the counter, half drunk, the lid nowhere to be found, and on the wall, over the phone, a piece of paper is taped.
“Mom, Archie has a field trip tomorrow and he needs a sack lunch.”
I yank open the old yellow fridge and find an emptypackage of bologna, a scattering of sauces and dressings, a ziploc bag filled with something green and hairy, two apples, a loaf of white bread with duct tape keeping it closed, and— I reach in and pull out a tube of lotion. “Why?” I ask aloud, setting the tube down on the counter.
Part of me contemplates tackling the kitchen right here and now, but I opt for checking on the boys first.
Archie is asleep in bed, wearing the clothes he wore to school. Since I didn’t implicitly tell Rawley to make Archie bathe, he didn’t, and I add one more task to my list for the morning.
Rawley’s door is shut, but light shines from beneath, and I knock gently, waiting for the okay. When he opens the door, he sizes me up. “You’re home,” he says.
I yawn. “Thanks for rearranging your schedule to help today.” I refrain from lecturing about the mess, because it’s late, I’m tired, and he did watch his brothers for me.
“Tanner took a muscle relaxer before bed. I helped him into his room,” he tells me.
“Okay, thanks,” I say, peering around him in his room. “Jo Jo went home?”
He pulls the door open so I can see his room is empty. “Yeah.”
I nod, then kiss his cheek. “Thanks Rawley. And by the way, I talked to Donna, and you can start at the diner next week.”
He sighs and by the time he’s closed his door, I’m already checking on Tanner, the back of my hand to his forehead. He’s sleeping soundly, his color is good, and according to Rawley, he took the meds he needed when he needed it.
I wanted to be here, but the truth is, they managed without me. I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad.
Then I get to my room.
Every single piece of laundry we own is dumped onto the bed, my dresser drawers are open and my closet door is wide, the light on. I’ve walked into this scene once before. Archie likely spent most of his afternoon playing dress up, and this is the outcome.
The entire house is an absolute pig sty.
Laundry needs to be done. The dishes are filthy. We need groceries. Sheets need to be changed. Sack lunches need to be made.
I sink onto the bed and work the buttons of my uniform one by one, then tug my hair from the ponytail it’s been in all day. My lower back hurts, my feet ache and my neck is sore. I’m tired, and I’m hungry, but mostly, I’m exhausted.
I decide as I roll off my socks that before I tackle the house, I’m going to treat myself to a hot shower, with the good soap, and maybe even a face mask after. I think I have one under the bathroom sink one of the boys bought me a year or so ago.
Standing up, I strip off my panties and bra, and stand next to the shower as I twist the knob. I wait a second, eager for steam, ready to step under the hot spray of sweet relaxation.
I wave my hand under the water, but after a minute, it’s still cold.
Naked, cold, sore and tired, I give the shower one more minute before stepping inside, because surely it’s warm by now.
“Mother fucker!” I scream, as icy water rains down on me, turning my body into a suit of goosebumps, my nipples into ice cutters. There is no hot water.
Lovely.
I reach for the good soap, determined to leave my ice shower at least smelling nice. I’m already here, I’m already wet, I may as well wash.
When I squeeze the tube of lavender silk soap into my palm, it comes out…blue. I bring my hand to my nose and inhale.
“Dish soap?” I murmur, inspecting the liquid before screwing off the lid of my soap and looking inside. Definitely the neon blue glow of Dawn dish soap.
