Mother's Poison

Autumn. The word rings of beauty. Delicate leaves caress the ground and absorb the sun's rays. The leaves use the sun's energy to create swirls of color. The crisp air blows all cares away. Yet it didn't seem to blow the scent of alcohol off of my mother. As a matter of fact, when the scent of alcohol hit it, the beauty ran. No longer did the leaves dance or the colors sparkle. Alcohol polluted the air.

The breeze brushed my brown locks. It made me think. Only a moment ago, all of the responsibilities of being a mother were upon me. I was to watch my little brother and help him with his meals. I was to plaster a smile so he wouldn't worry. But my mother was no longer passed-out. She regained consciousness and brought us outside. Now my act no longer worked.

"Get in the car, NOW!" She screamed. And because of her condition, she was a mess. Her hair was unkempt and her clothes were wrinkly. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them and her voice was loud. Her voice made courage run and it slapped my conscience. Yet, it wasn't really her voice. It was the alcohol speaking. It was the alcohol that consumed her. It took a strong hold of her body. It was a poison to her physically but perfume to her soul. It was her escape yet her trap. It was her fortress and her debris. It was the destroyer of our lives.

"No. We're not going anywhere." I said, while desperately trying to catch my fleeing courage. At the same time, my eyes locked on my brother grasping my mother's leg and when I saw the fear in his eyes, I caught the fear, too. Fear had been running toward me and I mixed up my emotions. I let fear replace courage and my brother's pleading eyes replace my answer with my mother's next scream.

"Didn't you hear me? Get in the car, NOW!" I no longer resisted. My brother and I gravely went into the car. Silence was fog in the vehicle's atmosphere. No one wanted it, yet it was there. No one could do anything about it. We were getting in the car. We were leaving our home, and at six years old, I was praying that we would make it back. And the silence only laughed, because not even the neighbor's around us could hear our frozen screams…

My mother, through days like this, taught me responsibilities and how to fear. My mother taught me to stray from alcohol by showing me how it can mess up the lives of the drinker and the drinker's family. Although I am left with scars, I don't think I would ever change my past. Without the memories of my past, these essential traits wouldn't be a part of me. I wouldn't be myself. So for memories like these, I thank my mother for teaching me the ways not to live.