Fireworks

We pulled up to the house. The yard was brown and in need of mowing. The window flower boxes were empty. The scrubs flanking the sidewalk were wild and needed trimming.

“Has your mom been sick?” I asked as Jonah put the car in park and killed the engine.

“No. Why?” He asked

“The house looks sad like no one lives here.”

Jonah surveyed the house and yard as we walked up the flagstone path and rang the bell. “You’re right.”

Maureen answered the door in black suit pants with her pale blue silk blouse half untucked and a snifter in one hand. “Hey guys,” she said pulling us both into an enthusiastic embrace. The smell of liquor seemed to seep out of her skin.

“Wow. What’re you drinking?” Jonah asked stepping into the foyer.

“Just some of your dad’s cognac,” she said. “He won’t be home for awhile.”

“Where is he?” Jonah asked.

“At work. Where else would he be?”

We entered the parlor. The coffee table was a mess of magazines and empty wine glasses. I settled into an armchair moving more magazines onto the floor. Jonah sat on a nest of pillows on the floor. Maureen stood draining the rest of her glass.

“How rude of me. Would you like a drink?” she asked walking over to a roll-top desk she’d made into a make-shift bar.

“No thank you,” I said.

“Come on, Brigid,” she said refilling her glass from a Hennessy bottle. “You can’t let an old woman drink alone.”

“Isn’t that dad’s good stuff?” Jonah asked.

“Yeah, he was saving it for his first grandchild. And well … that’s not going to happen. You sure you don’t want a glass? He’ll be really pissed when he realizes it’s all gone.”

“Are the sprinklers broken?” Jonah asked.

“No. The lawn looks like shit, doesn’t it?” Maureen giggled settling into a sofa and cupping her glass to her bosom like a beloved child. She propped her feet on the coffee table digging a heel into the walnut finish.

“Mom, are you okay?” Jonah asked.

“What? Can’t a girl relax? It is a holiday.”

“Do you want to go see the fireworks, Maureen?” I asked.

“First of all, call me Mom,” she said leaning forward and staring at me.

“Okay,” I said holding her gaze. “Do you want to see the fireworks … Mom?”

“Fuck the fireworks.” With this she flicked her glass spraying cognac on the sofa and pale rug. Jonah jumped up and headed to the kitchen.

“Leave it,” she yelled at him. “It’s all your dad’s stuff anyway. Who cares if it gets stained?” She swirled the glass and sniffed. “This is so much better warmed up. It fills the palate.”

“Mom, what’s going on?” Jonah asked sitting on the couch next to her.

“Well, let me see. My son has finally met the love of his life and now he’s dying. My life has been spent being the trophy wife for a complete asshole who happens to be Xerox copy of my dad. Fucking abusive bastards. I think it’s high time that I have a little fun. Since I’ve married my father, I should turn into my mother, right?”
Maureen looked to me for an answer. Stunned, I was unable to offer her the affirmation she was looking for.

“Brigid, did you know my mom was an alcoholic?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Alcoholism is the fate of Irish Catholic women with cocksuckers for husbands and they’re all cocksuckers. You can take my word on that one. I’ve got to use the restroom. Please excuse me.”

Maureen stood, wobbled, and headed for the bathroom. Jonah dropped his head.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen her like this,” Jonah said as he stood and began pacing. “I’ve always wondered when this would happen.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s too good for him. She’s smart and beautiful. She’s right. She’s turning into my grandma.” Jonah stopped pacing at the roll-top bar. He picked through the bottles shaking his head. “Nana was fine, leading the life of a lady, then one day she lost it. First she started drinking the cooking sherry, then cough syrup finally she knocking back bottles and bottles of Jamison whiskey. My mom’s too classy to drink cough syrup, so she picks two-hundred-bucks-a-bottle cognac.” Jonah picked up the Hennessy. It was a hefty glass bottle with the graceful curves of a Porsche traced by etched grapevines. He uncorked the top, sniffed it and winced. “Yuck.”

Jonah slid the roll down, locked it, stuffed the key into his pocket and peered out the window. “Shit, my dad’s home. Will you go check on my mom?”

“Sure.”

The guest washroom door was half-open. Maureen knelt on the floor, resting her head on the toilet seat: the alcoholics’ confessional. The aromas of whiskey, Thai food, and bile conspired to gag me. Stomach acid rose to the back of my throat.

“Maureen … Mom, David’s home,” I said kneeling beside her. She lifted her head and heaved. I rubbed her back as she puked. She put her head back down on the seat, snuggling with the porcelain.

I stood and searched the vanity’s drawers. A box of Alka-Seltzer hid under washcloths in the bottom drawer. I dropped the tablets into a Dixie cup and went back to rubbing her back as the medicine dissolved.

“Mom, you gotta drink this,” I said.

Maureen looked up at me, her eyes were dilated and bloodshot, vomit clung to her long chestnut hair and dripped from her patrician nose. She shook her head.

“Plop, plop, fizz, fizz,” I sung snagging a wad of toilet paper and wiping her nose.
She sat up, snatched the cup from my hands, and began drinking it. She stared at me like a child who’d finally been talked into taking her vitamins. I imagined Jonah sitting in this same position as a child fighting his Flintstones.

I grabbed a hairbrush and stroked her hair into a loose ponytail. I knew this was the wrong thing to do. I was an enabler, one of those people who help someone hide their alcoholism. I was pretending to be someone who would soften the resounding thud of an addict hitting bottom.

“Get up! David’s home,” I said lifting her to her unsteady feet.

“You mean my good for nothing, shithead husband,” Maureen said her breath smelled like a sewage treatment plant.

“That would be the one. Here rinse your mouth out,” I said.

She took the mouthwash from the cabinet: rinsed, swirled, and spit. I helped her tuck her shirt back in and we walked to parlor.

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