Forevermore

Thirty Three

Ezra – 12 years old

My mom smelt like pot.

It was two in the morning, a week before I was starting seventh grade at a brand new middle school, and my mom smelt like she'd just smoked a ten pound blunt as she sat on the kitchen counter, eating out of a gallon-sized tub of cookie dough ice cream.

She didn't even like ice cream.

"Mom?" I said, stepping into the barely lit kitchen.

She looked up, her eyes wide for a few seconds before she burst out laughing. "Oh, baby, you scared me!"

Her brown hair, which had gotten a lot thinner over the summer, sat short on her shoulders. I missed braiding her hair, only because she loved it, but now I couldn't even touch it without her flinching away.

"Were you smoking?" I asked the question I already knew the answer to.

There were a few silent seconds of her smiling at me and me giving a confused stare right back.

"My love, my heart," she half-mumbled as she hopped off the counter, leaving behind the ice cream, to pull me into a hug. "Don't worry about me, everything is fiiiine. You're such a good boy, you know? You have better discipline than I ever had, and I love it. I admire the young man you're growing into."

She pulled her head back to kiss the crown of my head.

My mom, she was affectionate, but this was definitely random, even for her.

"I'm so proud of you, Ezra," she whispered. "No matter where I am, no matter where you are, I will always love you." She held me for a few more moments and I stood there awkwardly, until I heard her sniffle.

"Mom?"

She straightened up, putting her arms at her sides, and I looked at her. Had I grown taller than her? What else did I miss over this summer?

"Never give up, alright?" she said, wiping her eyes. "You're the best pitcher in the world, I promise you that. Never give up on baseball if you still love it."

She wasn't making much sense. I had no idea where this was coming from, it was so out of the blue–I just wanted some snacks to fuel my all-nighter.

But when I breathed her in again, dread welcomed itself into my bones as well.

There'd only been one other time–that I could remember–where she smelt like weed.

"Mom, why are you..." But I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to say it. "Did...Is it..." My heart was pounding and it only took a few seconds for pieces to slide into place. "Is it back?"

Again, she seemed to be frozen for just a few seconds.

Then her face crumpled and she nodded, bringing her hands to cover her crying.

I wrapped my arms around her cold body and felt the weight of our world come down. Just like that. It killed me that all I could do was hug her.

"The treatment," I said after a couple of silent moments. "It's gonna work. It'll work again, just like it always has."

But she shook her head.

"It will–" My voice cracked, and all I could do was whisper as my eyes went blurry. "It will, Mom. It will work."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so so sorry."

"It's not– Stop apologizing, don't apologize." The tone in my voice was desperate because I was. I was desperate to process and make sense of this. Desperate to make it better.