Life was about taking care of a consistently drunk mom and living without a dad. A mom who used to love me and care for me as much as any other mother. I think that’s what hurt the most: I used to love her and know her, but she disappeared from my life. I spent so much time dealing with the present that I didn’t even know why mom turned to alcohol. What could there have been to hide from?
I had a few happy memories with her, but I was young. In result, they are now faint. I look upon them as the best parts of my life. Not now. Not here.
Seven nights ago, I met Leila. Mysterious. Beautiful. The girl who would send me to another place. A place other than the wretched life I have now.
I kept walking until I reached the end of the road. Soon, I turned around with my mind set on returning home. Against the wind. What would mom say – the real mom, the one I used to know – about my late-night excursions? What would she say about Leila?
As I asked myself this, I realized I didn’t really care. Because the mom I know right now isn’t the mom I knew. Why should I care what she thinks?