Joel, born in 2011, was ten years old when his father joined the Navy Seals. It didn’t make much sense to him at that age, but a kiss on the forehead and a promise from his dad to return with gifts was enough to satisfy the boy. When Joel turned 11, his father wrote him a birthday card from a country Joel couldn’t pronounce. On his 12th birthday, neither he nor his mother had heard from Kieth since the year before, and when Joel turned 13, he saw his mother smoke meth for the first time.

  He never got an explanation from his mom about his father, but the kids at school always taunted that he fled the country and married a richer woman. As much as Joel didn’t want to, he sometimes began to believe them. After school, he would walk home the long way, make himself dinner (which consisted of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and bruised apples for the majority of his childhood), and lock himself in his room to do his homework. His mom didn’t bother him much, and as he got older, Joel preferred it that way. He could have girls over, or stay up all night playing video games, and she didn’t seem to care much about it. The only thing she ever got on him about was leaving his shoes in the middle of the room, or not caring about her anymore. Joel would scoff at her remarks. She knew he loved her, and Joel knew she loved him too.

  Things in Joel and Judith’s life stayed fairly stable throughout his highschool years. Surviving off of disability checks and child support from a silent Kieth, his mother was what some may call a “functioning addict.” She did her best, and some weeks were worse than others. But as Joel got older, the more he grew to understand why she did what she did. He didn’t condone it, and in fact, he all but scolded her for her addiction every chance he got. But, deep down, he understood.

  Joel had moved out in August of 2029, like most do after graduating high school. He tried to visit his mom as often as he could, but his freshman year of undergrad studies had kicked his ass. He had started a casual relationship with a girl from his history course, named Blaire, and had done his best to stay ahead in his classes. He scraped through his sophomore and junior years with mostly B’s, and in February of his senior year, his mother had invited him and Blaire over to celebrate his turning 21. She sounded different on the phone, so he arrived back to the familiar trailer park, cautiously awaiting to see her. It had been 7 months since Joel had last visited. Guilt crept up into his throat as he knocked on the worn and familiar door. He held his breath and stepped backwards to stand awkwardly next to Blaire, shoving his sweaty hands into his pockets.

  When Judith had finally made her way to the door, a hollow ache bloomed in Joel’s chest. Judith had probably lost 20 pounds since the last time he visited her, her back hunched over steeply, her neck almost too stiff to meet Joel’s gaze.

  “Oh, ma,” he crouched down, and secured his hands under her forearms for support, as if helping a newborn mare take its first steps.

  She shooed at him. “Oh, bah, quit it son.” She waved her trembling hand at him and shuffled past him, grabbing Blaire’s hand in greeting. Blaire didn’t falter, and clasped her other hand on top of Judith’s cold fingers.

  “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miss Videla.” Blaire did her best to meet the old woman’s gaze, but she was having to crouch considerably lower than could be comfortable. Joel’s mother didn’t say anything, just slowly turned and coaxed the couple inside.

  It became clear very quickly that the trailer had fallen into disarray. The air was stale and musty, the floors he once skipped over were cluttered and stained.

  Blaire and Joel watched Judith hobble to the kitchen, they assumed to prepare the meal she had promised. Blaire watched, suddenly grateful Joel had made her eat before they came. Through the almost foggy room, she could see dishes in the sink piled so high it covered the spout, and Judith’s old yellowing fridge was taped shut, the door that once covered the top freezer nowhere in sight. Blaire glanced to her right to gift an apologetic look at Joel, but his gaze was locked on his mom; she could tell he was close to tears. Blaire followed his gaze, her eyes suddenly widening; Judith was holding a glass pipe, carefully attempting to fill it with a powder from a small plastic baggie. Joel was already halfway across the room.

  “Mom, mom, please!” He carefully ripped the things from her hands, and she seemed frightened that he was even in her house. He felt sick to his stomach, more so than he ever had. He placed the pipe on top of the fridge, shoving the baggy in his pocket to dispose of later, and turned back to the poor woman who stood confused and weathered. Blaire watched, too shocked to do or even say anything. She knew this was a delicate moment, and she risked making things much worse if she did or said the wrong thing.

  Joel began to lead his mother slowly to her bedroom, but halfway down the dingy hall, she began to cry. Blaire watched solemnly as Joel cradled Judith’s head against his chest. Joel’s mom sobbed quiet words into her son, and when Joel finally met Blaire’s stare, he couldn’t stand it. He pulled his eyes away embarrassingly, and angrily, too, because he knew that this was going to change things. He wished silently in his heart that Blaire would be understanding; his girlfriend seeing his mother’s addiction up close and personal like this was never Joel’s intention. Guilt pinched at him—part of him was relieved Blair had seen the state Judith was in. It meant he wouldn't have to explain why he had to leave. His mother needed help, and he worried it could be too late for Judith in her old age to make a full recovery.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Joel managed to calm his mother enough to finally guide her into her small bedroom, aiding her until she sat still on the edge of her mattress. Her tears had subsided, but he noticed a tremble in her body that came from deep within her. He sighed, wholly unsure of what to say. He hated himself for letting her get this bad.

  “Joel,” Judith reached her arm out and grabbed her son's elbow with surprising strength. Joel was shocked at her shift; she was suddenly lucid, speaking clearly, her eyes locked with precision to his own, instead of the typical glassy and vacant gaze she held when she was high. “Joel, I need to tell you something.”

  Joel sat himself down beside her, the weight of his body shifting her frailty into his shoulder. Gently, he took her hand and waited.

  “That girl out there, who was with her? There’s people after me, Joel, I can’t risk it anymore. You have to let her go, and, and, they’re getting closer, she told me so.”

  Joel’s mouth tasted bitter, and his jaw tightened. He had heard his mother say disjointed things in the past, mainly in the months leading up to his high school graduation. But she had been high, then, and he was sure she couldn’t have been that inebriated now.

  “Mom, you just need to sleep this off,”

  “No, Joel, I’m not fucking high.” She almost growled it, and Joel did his best to hide his mounting fears. As Judith softly continued her delusional rambling, the voice of Joel’s father echoed in his skull.

  “She’s going to get sick one day, Joel. Her dad, her uncle, even her great grandma for fucks sake; they all caught it. It’s like. . . one day they wake up and they’re just gone.”

  Joel hadn’t fully understood what his father meant, but his mother had shared glimpses of her childhood with him over the years.

  Schizophrenia. It had all but torn her family apart, and it was part of the reason she had moved to America from Chile at a young age. But Joel doubted she would ever have to deal with it again; his mom was healthy, his hero, his idol, even through the haze of meth, he promised himself Kieth was wrong.

  He couldn’t bring himself to admit it, now, but, there was a chance he was right.

  + +  +

  “It’s your senior year, Joel, you’re so close to being done.”

  Blaire and Joel had stayed with Judith until almost midnight, returned to their respective apartments, and promptly fell asleep. Blaire had arrived at Joel’s apartment early the next day, knocking on his front door, yanking him from a restless sleep. Over coffee, they discussed the topic of last night’s predicament, a conversation Joel was dreading the moment they had left the night before.

  “I know, I know.” He set his mug down on the kitchen table and rubbed his palms against his thighs, unsure of how to approach things. He watched as Blaire leaned over the kitchen sink and stared out the window. She shook her head.

  “She doesn’t have anyone else, Blaire,” He tried to reason with her. “I–I mean, you saw her! She was. . . I’ve never seen her that bad.” Joel could sense what was coming. Blaire, in her stubbornness that Joel once had coined endearing, couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  “If you leave, Joel–”

  “If I don’t leave, she’s going to fucking kill herself the way she's living!” Joel’s fist hit the table, louder than he intended it to. “I can’t live here and take care of her, I just–I can’t do both right now, Blaire.”

  “You’re about to graduate, for fucks sake, you’re gonna throw away your college education for–” Blaire hadn’t thought her sentence through, and swallowed her words.

  Joel allowed the silence to sit between them. As bad as it stung, she had a point; maybe if he could get her a caretaker, or in a home, perhaps then he could graduate and they could figure out the rest after that.

  “I don’t know what to do.” He felt frayed at the seams.

  Blaire sighed and walked to the table. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaned down and kissed him on the head. “We will figure it out. I promise you that.” She whispered into his brown curly hair. Joel stayed quiet, the weight in his chest unchanged. Doubt still clung to the edges of his thoughts, but her voice—steady and certain—gave him just enough to lean on. He didn’t fully believe her. Not yet. But he wanted to. And for now, that would have to be enough.