Freeing Carter

No matter your battle, this book is dedicated
to everyone fighting to be free.

Acknowledgement

Thanks so much to my friend
s
and family. My beautiful little girls. My critique partners Wendy Higgins, Kelley York and Jolene Perry. Another huge thanks to the people who pre-read this for me: Kristy, Andrea, Valerie, Jen, Janette, and Mary. You ladies rock.

"
Carter
,"
Mom mumbles as I struggle to carry her up the stairs.
"
I
'
m sowwy.
"

I tighten my grip around her waist
,
not surprised she sounds like a three-year-old. Still
,
it
'
s not a fun thing to go
through. Every time I come home to this
,
it
'
s a fist to the gut. Like someone
'
s tied my hands behind my back and
is
swinging at me. Like my
mom
is punching me in the gut over and over until I
'
m puking up blood.

But the kicker? I know
how sorry she is.

This isn't what she wants, who she is, or who she wants to be.

People think alcoholics are violent. They don
'
t hold down jobs or they
'
re out drinking every night. No offense to the people who believe that
,
but they don
'
t know jack. Sometimes
,
people do it to
deal
. Because fate sat down and decided
,
'
hey
,
let
'
s see how much shit we can throw at this person before they break.
'
Before all the skinned knees and bruised limbs keep them from getting up after one last fall.

At times like this
,
it feels like Mom is broken
,
but tomorrow she
'
ll be fine. 99% of the time
,
she
'
s the one taking care of everyone and everything
,
so I tell myself
,
once in a while
,
I can be strong enough to take care of her.

"
It
'
s okay
,
Ma. Let
'
s get you to bed so you can get some sleep.
"

It
'
s always like this when Bill
,
my sister
'
s dad
,
takes Sara for his part of the joint custody. It
'
s hard for Mom to let her go. Just another way life dealt her a bad hand
,
in her mind. Which I don
'
t get. He only lives five streets down and it
'
s not like Bill isn
'
t a good guy. He loves Sara just as much as she does. He would have loved Mom too
,
but she could never get over losing my dad.

On the last stair
,
our feet tangle
.
"
Shit
.
"
Both of us almost dive headfirst into the landing
,
but I manage to catch us. Luckily she doesn
'
t seem to notice. Probably thinks we
'
re on ride at the fair. Mom
'
s always liked the rides.

Getting my footing
,
I head toward her room. Even half hanging in my arms she
'
s out cold
,
snoring in my ear
,
the scent of alcohol burning deep into my memory and stinging my nose. When I finally make it to her room
,
I lay her down. She kicks her foot when I try to pull off one of her shoes.
"
Come on
,
Ma. Let me get your shoes off.
"

M
y voice seems to sooth
e
her because she stills.
"
Tommy
,"
she sighs. You
'
d think it would be strange to hear her moan my dead dad
'
s name
,
but she does when she gets like this. I
'
m the closest thing she has to him.

One shoe drops to the ground
, followed by
the other. I pull the blanket up to her chin.

"
Carter
...
sowwy. Love yooou.
"
Then it
'
s another snore. My stomach wants to retch like
I
'
m
the one who took a few too many Tequila shots tonight.

This sucks. Sucks so fucking much
.
But
what am I gonna do? Tomorrow she
'
ll be fine and I probably won
'
t have to worry about this again for a little while. It
'
s not often she drinks the whole time Sara
'
s gone
,
even though that
'
s the only time she has to do it. And when she does it? It
'
s always this. I
'
m pretty sure there are people in the world who were never meant to touch alcohol. She
'
s one of them. She can
'
t do the one-drink thing. One
always
turns into two
,
three
,
four
,
and five.

Another lesson I
'
ve learned: you don
'
t have to drink every day to be an alcoholic.
E
ven though I hide it
,
even though I never bring it up to her and act like it doesn
'
t happen
,
I know this isn
'
t normal. Most people will never in their lives have to carry their drunk parent to bed. People always say it
'
s good to be different. Screw that. I want to be like everyone else. And when Mom isn
'
t drinking
,
I can pretend I am.

I bend over and kiss her forehead.
"
Night
,
Ma. I love you
,
too.
"
Blood pumps fiercely through my veins
,
but my voice is calm. My whole body itches
,
like it
'
s about to bust
out of my skin. Who was that Avenger guy
? The Incredible Hulk—it
'
s like that. I want to burst free from myself. Transform into that big ass green guy and thrash whatever
'
s in sight.

It
'
s after ten at night
,
but I don
'
t care. I can
'
t sit in my room—in this house where the air is thick with the tang of alcohol. A scent no one else would notice
,
but one that makes me want to explode. My basketball is waiting by the door. One scoop and I have it in my hand
,
slamming it into the ground bounce after bounce until I
'
m in the driveway.

I dribble
,
spin like someone
'
s guarding me
,
shove off an invisible player then run at the basket. As soon my feet
are
off the ground
,
I
'
m free. There
'
s no one but me
,
the ball
,
and the basket. No tangy scent
,
no tears
to
make me feel guilty for being angry. No sister who always smiles because she
'
s sheltered from the shit that rains down on us. Which is what I want
, by the way. Her to be sheltered. Sara
doesn
'
t deserve the clouds. I want her to have the sunshine.

When the ball slides through the hoop
,
I catch it
and start
again. Over and over I run at the basket.  Free throws
,
three pointers
,
lay-ups. My feet slam against the pavement the way I want to throw my fist through a wall. Sweat stings my eyes
,
but I keep going. Keep going until there
'
s nothing left in me to give.

***

"
Carter fucking Shaw. What
'
s up
,
homey?
"
  Travis nudges me from behind
,
then rubs his eyes. I
,
on the other hand
,
am trying not to laugh my ass off at him.

"
Homey
? Did someone forget to tell me it
'
s
'
Back to the 90
'
s
'
day or something?
"

Travis twists his Kings hat around backward.
"
Homey is a cool word. I already brought sexy back
,
so now I
'
m bringing homey.
"

"
Dude
,
you can
'
t bring the Kings back
,
what makes you think you can bring back homey?
"
I flick
the
hat off his head.

"
Whatever.
"
Travis shoves me
,
but I
'
m too busy laughing at him trying to pick up his hat to care. When he retrieves it
,
he slides it back on
,
and by then we
'
re at our lockers down senior hall.
"
So
,
what
'
s up? Where
'
s your girl? Did she loosen the leash enough to let you walk to your locker by yourself?
"