She loved that boy. God knows she loved that little boy. The connection that she felt with him was so strong that she would get goose bumps all over her body whenever breastfeeding him, singing a song to him, bathing him, changing his diaper, or just watching him sleep peacefully. Without a doubt, Presley Pirajon Sillow had filled a void in his mother’s once-hopeless existence. Ever since his birth, she put nothing before him - not even herself. But there was always that one thing in the back of her mind that was fighting to grab her attention; and, no matter how much she tried, she didn’t have the mental fortitude to ignore it. There was just one other thing on planet Earth that she loved almost as much as she loved her son. In fact, she loved it so much that she would end up turning to it again, despite having told herself that she wouldn’t for her son’s sake. Nevertheless, her mental weakness easily allowed her to succumb to her vice. And this time around, the devil planned on finishing her off for good.
The reunion between the needle and her vein immediately took its toll on her jaded vital organs. The poison the she had just shot into her bloodstream almost instantaneously sent her body into violent convulsions. Next, things in her world began to spin around at an extreme rate of speed. After that, Sondra remembered nothing. She fell to the ground in an awkward position, her skull bouncing up off of the cold, hard tile floor upon impact. The recur addict was suffering a seizure, and there was no one around to stick a finger in her mouth so that she didn’t swallow her tongue or to tilt her head forward so that she didn’t end up aspirating her emesis. Fortunately, neither of those things happened. Some three minutes after she fell into her epileptic fit, Sondra regained consciousness. Her eyelids flickered almost mechanically as her brain struggled to make out the moldy living room ceiling of her run down apartment from the unusual position she was lying in on her back. Then, the immensity of what had just happened hit her. She had come out victorious against yet another face off with death. Some higher authority had been gracious enough to smile down upon her and bring her out of her seizure. She quickly got up to her feet after wrapping her brain around the fact that she was in a state of perceivable consciousness.
Because of her inability to exercise self-control, Sondra had inadvertently placed both the lives of her and her son in jeopardy. Had she died during that seizure, her son would have eventually starved to death if no one was to drop by the apartment to check up on her within a few days after she would have passed away. Had she died, no longer would she have had that chance to prove to herself that she could overcome her addiction once and for all. Had she died, she would have, by default, forfeited her dream of proving to other addicts they could turn their lives around if she was capable of doing so. But, of course, all of this was suppositional. The fact of the matter was that she was alive and breathing. Grateful to have been given yet another lease on life, Sondra rushed into her bedroom and scooped Presley up off of the bed as she reveled in the fact that she was still able to see him, kiss him, and hold him. But most importantly, she was grateful that she still had the opportunity to raise her boy into a fine young man, for the last thing she ever wanted was for his growing-up experience to be anything like hers.
Knowing that Presley appreciated the job she had done as a parent was the one thing that Sondra wanted to make sure of before she died. Not long after Mr. Peck had uprooted his family out of Yarmouth, Sondra was surprised to find out how she really felt about her own parents. For a long time she had hated her father. That was no surprise. But Sondra was surprised to find out that she had such a great deal of hatred stowed away in her heart for her mother. Those feelings of resentment were what had always held her back from picking up a phone to make a call to the cottage like she had told herself she would. The more that she reminisced on her upbringing in the weeks that followed the move out of Yarmouth, the more she actually tried to forget that telephone number. She was disgusted as she recollected how her mother had become so complacent in such a hostile relationship with her father. What bothered her even more was the fact that her mother remained in that kind of a relationship when she had a child at the center of all of this mayhem to protect. Looking back on things, Sondra felt as though her rights as a child to be nurtured in a wholesome, loving, and caring atmosphere had been blatantly violated. Stricken with an enormous sense of guilt for having just violated her own child’s rights, Sondra cast the blame for her inexcusable actions a few minutes ago on her mother. In her mind, had her mother set a better example for her as she was growing up, what had just taken place in her apartment more than likely never would have happened. But that was just the typical mind-set of a druggie. They would blame everybody in the world except themselves for their problems and their irresponsible decisions. No matter how Sondra looked at it, though, she was still the one who would have to make things right in the aftermath of her debacles. Even though she wasn’t capable of keeping promises that she would make to herself, as she held her child in her arms, she said to him: “Presley, baby boy, I know that you don’t understand what I’m saying to you right now, but I need you to listen to me for a moment. Your mother can be pretty fucked up at times, ya know; but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you with all my heart and soul. I put your life at risk a moment ago.” As she made that difficult confession to her boy in her state of highness, Sondra wept. “I will never ever be able to forgive myself; and I would completely understand it if you were unable to forgive me as well. But, what I can promise you is that a situation like that will never rise again. Before I put cocaine in my system again I would give you up for adoption. You can put my life on that.”
Either Sondra was full of shit or she the worst mother in the world. Or maybe she was both. About 20 minutes after making her convincing promise to her boy, she was tying a torn T-shirt tightly around her arm in preparation to make another injection in any vein that would pop up. She would inevitably go on to become the type of parent that she was desperately hoping she didn’t turn into all because she couldn’t shake that darn devil. She had turned out to be no better of a parent to Presley than her mother or father had been to her. The only thing Sondra truly cared about in this world was cocaine.