Rise by Cassandra Robbins

 

 

 

 

RHYS

Past – Twenty-seven years old

Burbank, California

I roll my neck and it cracks as I wait. The camera that hangs in the top right corner blinks red as the door opens. A woman in blue scrubs looks confused, her mouth hanging open.

“Mr. Granger, I… no one told me you were coming.” Her hand goes to her hair, which is pulled up into a knot on top of her head. It seems to be all the rage with women lately.

“I’m sorry. It was spur of the moment.” She nods, then steps aside as I walk in. My eyes scan the room. The large flatscreen I bought her is on the wall. The house is almost unrecognizable.

Jesus, it really has been years since I’ve been back here.

“Call me Granger.” I’m not sure I even said that out loud as my eyes sweep the large room.

It’s spotless. The walls are painted a pale green, almost celery color. Black-and-white photos of me and my old band, the Dicks, hang on the walls. On a separate wall hangs my first platinum record: TSM.

I vaguely remember having one of Rafe’s assistants deliver it to my mom for her birthday. Or maybe it was Mother’s Day. The hardwood floors are new. That was one of the first things I insisted on when she refused to move. I agreed but had the carpet removed and added a new kitchen, along with the two bathrooms. I would have done more, but apparently the more I changed, the more it upset and caused anxiety for my mom.

I stopped the construction after she disappeared for four days. They finally found her in Las Vegas, in some sty of a hotel, fucked up on heroin and cocaine.

“I’m Lisa.” She smiles, looking at me like I walk on water.

“She in her room?” I don’t know why I ask. I know the answer, can feel her depression, her fucking agonizing mental pain from here. And just like that, I have to grab the back of a chair as I hear my grandfather’s voice.

“Rhys, make sure you got them all. My eyes aren’t good enough to see them all. She hides them, you know.”

“Yes, I hope I got them all. I think I got them, Grandpa.” My hands open revealing the razor blades. He pats my shoulder and wipes the perspiration from his forehead, then holds the garbage can for me to dump them in.

“Why does she do this, Grandpa?” I whisper. One slices me and some blood spills from my palm.

“Rhys, I told you to be careful. I have enough to deal with,” he snaps. Grabbing my hand, he squints to see how deep it is.

“Sorry, Grandpa. I was super careful.” I watch as the blood drips down my arm. My grandfather tries to move without groaning. He has a bad back and he’s old.

“Here, wrap your hand.” He hands me a tissue. “Now you go watch TV, or maybe do that music you have such a gift for. Your mommy needs to sleep.”

“I will, Grandpa. Do you want me to start dinner?” I jump at the loud scream and the sound of things being thrown in my mommy’s room.

My grandfather looks pale and worried. I bite my lip to not cry. I’m a big boy. I just turned six, and my grandpa says that’s big enough to not cry. That I’m gonna be the man of the house, so no crying. But she scares me when she’s like this. She scares me a lot of the time. I go to hold his hand, but he’s holding both of his together, praying.

“Pray with me, Rhys.” I close my eyes and try. I try to say the words my grandpa says all the time. Instead, I ask God to make sure my grandfather lives forever. We need him. I need him.

“You go now. Do your music, Rhys. Lock yourself in your room until Grandpa says to come out. Go.” He pushes me toward my room.

The door flies open and my mommy stands in almost no clothes.

“You go, Rhys. Go to your room, son.” I can’t move as I stare at my mommy. She looks wild, and she’s covered in brown stuff. Maybe it’s red?

“Now, Christie, you be a good girl and give Daddy that razor. You don’t want your son to see you like this…

“Mr. Granger? I mean, Granger, are you okay?” I blink at her, trying to breathe. I look around the room. Jesus Christ, how old was I? Six? I was six years old, running around trying to get the razors before she did.

I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Why haven’t I been notified? Clearly she’s not doing well.” I turn and look at her. She’s probably late twenties, but who knows these days.

“They tried… the doctors. After this last time, they wanted to put her in the hospital, but she refused. They left messages with your assistants.” She looks over at my mom’s shut door, much like I used to do worrying at any moment what would emerge. The sad, loving mom, the wild and fun mom, the angry, bitter mom… on and on.

“She’s down, I take it?”

The nurse nods. “I think she definitely should be hospitalized Mr.… um, Granger. She doesn’t eat. She can’t get up to use the toilet. You’re spending a fortune on nurses, but in my opinion, she needs a doctor to watch over her, or at least help with her meds.”

“I pay for the best doctors.” Because I do, and heads are gonna roll if they have been billing me and not treating her.

She takes a breath. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you’re here. I’m such a fan. Do you think you could take a picture with me?”

My eyes dart to hers. She must understand her mistake by the disgust on my face. What the hell is wrong with people? My mom is a fucking train wreck, a woman who can’t take a shit or piss by herself right now, and she wants a selfie with me?

“Get her doctor on the phone. I don’t give a fuck that it’s Christmas.” I walk past her and don’t bother knocking. I know what I’ll see. The room is dark, save for a small glow from a light in the corner.

My eyes adjust enough to see that in her large room, all the walls are bare. There’s nothing but her bed.

As I enter, I see a small lump. The bed looks to be made, except for the lump.

“Mom?” I take a breath, amazed at how clean it smells. At least it appears they’re keeping the place, and her, clean.

I walk around. I know which wall she will be staring at. It’s the same wall she always picks. Once, when I was angry as a teenager, I taped a picture of a naked woman over the spot she always stares at to see if I’d get any response.

“Mom.” I sit and pull the comforter down to see her.

She lies on her side, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her temples are tinged with gray. Her skin is pale as if she’s been locked in this room for a long time.

“Fuck.” I close my eyes and let this sink in. Let it all sink in. I reach into my pocket for my cigarettes and light up, inhaling deeply as I look at her. She pulls herself into a tight fetal position.

Her movement doesn’t change, and she remains staring at that spot. “So, here’s the deal, Mom. It’s Christmas and I came to see Janet because Gia, you remember her, the Brat…” I inhale again. “Yeah, the Brat fucking showed up and rocked my world, just tore it up. I wasn’t gonna come see you because I knew this is what I’d find.” I lean forward, my thumbs touching together, and decide to keep going and voice it all. She’s not hearing me anyway.

“So, you’ll be shocked to know that Janet hates me. Well, maybe not hates, but certainly doesn’t want me with Gia. And I was sitting in her fucking crazy house as she told her daughter what scum I was, and all I thought was I don’t belong here.”

I look over at her. She blinks but there’s no other response. “Yeah, it sucked. It hurt, and all of a sudden, I wanted you.” I take another inhale because no matter what, I do want her.

“I knew you’d be like this. But that’s okay, Mom. Because there’s one thing about you. No matter what I do, how bad I fuck up, I know that you’ll understand.” I look out her window. It has bars on it, but the shades are slightly open.

“And that’s good. Because it’s a crazy fucking world out there.” I nod as I look down at my hands. One holds the cigarette; the other reaches out to touch her hand, which hangs at her side.

“I’d have liked to talk to you sometime.” My chest is tight, as if I have the flu and I can’t get a good breath.

“I’d have liked to tell you things. Instead, I left you. And look at you. You’re alone in this room staring at that goddamn spot again.” My vision is blurry. “I wish I was a better son. I wish you had been a better mother, but I get it… because every day I live with the fear that one day I’m gonna wake up and be staring at a spot, not wanting to move.” Something wet is on my jeans. I can’t be fucking crying. I don’t cry, ever. And I certainly don’t cry over her.

“Fuck. I’ll see you around, Mom.” I go to take my hand away, but she holds it.

I freeze.

“Mom?” I let the tears come. I let all of it come. Like a raging storm it pours out of me, and I weep for the first time since I turned six.

I weep for her, me, Gia, because deep down Janet is right. I am my mother’s son.

“I’m sorry.” I lean down to kiss her cold cheek as she keeps staring at her spot. If my hand wasn’t warm from hers, I’d think I imagined her giving me that.

I turn and she stands in the doorway, her eyes a mess, her mascara and tears running down her face, her lips red and puffy. This is when I should make her stay with her mom. Fuck, everyone is right. She is light and doesn’t need all my shit.

“Gia.”

She moves toward me. Her hands, which always seem to take my pain away, touch my face.

This is when I walk away from her. Her hands reach for my cheek, trailing down to touch my lips as if she knows I’m going to speak something she can’t hear.

“I’m not good.” I’m raw. This room is like a death chamber, sucking the life out of me, yet I can’t seem to move.

One of her hands goes to touch my hair. She stands on her toes to look me in the eyes.

Hunger.

It crawls through me as I lean into her touch.

“You’re good and kind. You’re the one, Rhys Granger.” Her eyes look like giant pools of green water as her hands soothe me.

“Fuck.” I pull her tight, nuzzling her neck as I give in to my famine.

I’m not good.

My brain is at war with my heart. But there is no war with the heart. It’s strong, and powerful.

And mine beats for her.