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By the following week, things have not calmed down in the house. My mom has gone out and found herself a small apartment. Grandma has tried to reason with her, to convince her that despite their contention that is—and always will be—welcome in her home. My mom, of course, isn't having any of it.
She's been working on moving her things and today is the last day. She didn’t even ask me I want to go with her, she knows that she’s in the wrong with this one. I just don’t want her to uproot Brent again. Kids with Autism do not handle change well, and the move here was disastrous enough, not to mention going back to spend time with Don frequently. The poor kid is a nervous wreck. He’s barely eating, and despite his normal paleness, he is even more pale. Grandma has been betting my mother to see a doctor, but she will not listen.
I skipped the Wicca meeting last week to try to quell the issue here, to no effect. I’m sure that Lilja is irate with me, but family has to come first. What good is my power if u can’t live even a fraction of a normal life? I wish that there was a spell to just make all this drama go away. Well, I mean, there is. I could try my hand at s memory cleansing spell and erase all this from our memories, but I refuse to invade my mom and grandmother's brains like that. That is a total invasion of privacy, and who am I to decide what people should and shouldn’t remember?
I sit at the bottom of the stairs, watching my mom carry the last fee boxed out to the Lincoln. It's a wonder that that car is still running. It's been on quite a few road trips and it's almost twenty years old. Don had bought it for her last year, after her prized Cadillac had started to go to shit. She had loved that car more than anything—more than she loves me, I suspect—and had cried the day it had been towed away. I still can’t fathom being attached to something like that, although, few people understand my attachment to Romana.
Brent is playing with a few of his Hot Wheels, oblivious to the events going on around him. I won’t admit it out loud, but sometimes I envy him. I know that sounds bad, but it would be fantastic to not be aware and stressing over every minute happening. Sometimes I fear that I’m going to drive myself insane. Between and bottling up my emotions I’m either going to end up crazy or a sociopath. Maybe I’ll turn evil like Faith on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Grandma comes into the room, wringing her hands fretfully. She doesn’t want mu mom to go, she's worried—rightfully—about Brent and what will happen if they can’t hack it on their own. Why does my mom have to be so damned stubborn? Can't she see that she’s not only hurting herself, but the rest of us, too? Does she even care?
“Beverly, come on,” she implores, her eyes wide. “Stop this.”
“Nope,” my mom says simply, shoving past Grandma with Brent's TV in her arms. Normally, I’d have helped her, but I don’t condone what she’s doing and won't play a role in it. If she wants to abandon this family, then she's going to do it on her own. She'll have to get used to it, anyway.
“You're being irrational!” Grandma exclaims, throwing her hands up and stamping her feet
“That’s me. I’m always the irrational one, right?” Mom throws over her shoulder before going out the front door.
Grandma turns to me. “I don’t know what to do, chicken,” she says, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
“She won’t listen, you’re wasting your breath,” I say emotionlessly. I know that I should he more upset about this whole thing than I am, but I am so tired of the constant drama, the incessant fighting. If my mom leaving will stop it, then fine. I don’t hate her or anything, but the old saying absence makes the heart grow fonder could just turn out to be true. I just hope that things don’t blow up in her face and Brent gets taken away. If she loses him, it will absolutely destroy her. I don’t want that to happen.
She comes back in and grabs another box—the last one. She carries it out to the car and then crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on, Brent, it's time to go.”
Brent looks up at her, his icy blue eyes analyzing her as if he can see something that the rest of us aren't privy to.
“Come on!” she grunts, pulling him to his feet impatiently. “We're leaving.”
“No!” Brent cries, throwing his cars. They scatter all over the room. “No!” His face burns red as his tempter flares and tears pour from his eyes.
“I am not doing this,” my mom hisses, hefting him up into her arms. Brent starts thrashing and bucking like a wild horse in her arms. Lucky for her, she has good arms and is able to keep ahold of him.
“Beverly, he doesn’t want to go,” Grandma points out.
“Too bad. The world doesn’t revolve around what he wants.”
“You're upsetting him! Can't you see you’re distressing the poor child?”
“Don’t you tell me how to parent my child.” Her words drip with venom and unspecified accusations.
“Fine, Beverly. If you want to go, then go. You’ve always done what you wanted in life. Why should this be any different?”
“Don’t patronize me, Mother. You and I can’t live together. We don’t even like each other. You can’t forgive me for what happened that day. I can’t forgive myself for what happened that do. We're at an impasse.”