deja vu

Southbound on the Veteran's Memorial Highway, we were on our way to visit my mom who was currently residing at the local county jail.  Eyes fixated out the window and seeing nothing at all, I was equal parts silence, apprehension and guilt. 

Silence because what is the thing to say in this particular moment of going to see mom in jail?  You know what I mean.  In most human situations, there is a thing to say.  When you run into an ex, you force conversation and tell them that they look great, even if how they look isn't appealing to you at all anymore. I'd seen it in shows and movies.  But, at this point in time, I had yet to find a script for this particular situation.

The apprehension stemmed from me totally hating the place. I guess it wasn't meant to be like-able.  But I hated the white walls and the inordinate amount of authority figures with suspicious facial expressions and the way everything echoed in an erie, unsettling manner.  I hated the cloudy, bullet-proof plastic-glass barrier between my mom's face and mine.  I hated not hugging her.  I hated seeing her so full of fear and sadness that she couldn't hide it from us.  I hated watching her try to hide it from us.  I hated when she teared up.  I hated tearing up.  I hated leaving without her.  I hated driving back to a home where she wasn't. Most of all, I hated the helplessness.

Because seeing the person in your life appointed to comfort you completely unable to comfort even herself is about as helpless as you can feel.  If ever there was a moment completely devoid of a thing to say, that would be it.  A sort of paralysis just hangs around weighing on everything, especially the heart.  The point is, I hated it.  I hated it all.  Especially the orange suits.

And the guilt?  Well, the fact that I was so worried about me, me, me felt pretty stupidly selfish.  I wasn't the one who had to stay there for six months.  But being not selfish at the age of 15 is biologically impossible I'm pretty sure.

*     *    *

There was one time a few months before where she was driving me to a friend's house for a sleep over.  I had a lot of those because I sometimes liked to pretend I was apart of other people's families - The Unofficial Orphan.

She had had a few (which is an adult phrase that means had been consuming alcohol, recently), and her driving was acting like it.  Things like speed limits and stop lights didn't seem to have the usual effect.

I was considerably angry with the police officer at the time, but now that I think about it, he probably saved my life or something.  All I could see, then, is that he was about to tear my mother away from me, all drama and tears, right on the undignified side of the road and I wasn't having it. Even though I was pretty pissed at her, too.  And it was at this point in time I decided my life was like a bad movie. 

It was all a blur, really.  But I do recall my not-boyfriend (What do people say here?  It's complicated?) calling me three days later, asking if I was okay.  I told him, Uhhyeah, I'm fine.  Why?  And he said Because I was driving by when your mom was getting arrested the other night.  And I don't know if you've put this together yet, but he was a pretty crappy non-boyfriend boyfriend.  Because anyone who decides to wait three days before checking if you're okay after seeing your mom get arrested right in front of you is a pretty crappy whatever-the-hell-they're-supposed-to-be in your ridiculous life.

That was by far the worst jail visit.  When I had to tell my mom that I was back with the non-boyfriend I was now calling boyfriend again.  I wasn't planning on telling her, but something about the orange suit and the fact that her eyes could actually focus on me for the first time in years just pushed the truth out of me like the ocean pushes garbage onto beaches.

Why? she said, clearly not looking for an answer.  Because it's easy?  Because it's convenient?

Well, yeah, probably, is what I thought, but didn't say.  And also maybe because I'm a teenage girl who isn't getting attention at home because of the whole mom-in-jail situation and so she keeps settling for attention from secondary sources, like non-boyfriend boyfriends is what was really going on, but my brain wasn't developed enough to see.  Something about the Frontal Lobe.

In reality, I just gave this stupid guilty grimace and stared at the floor, really resenting that her eyes had chosen this moment to actually see me again.