Page 42 of Finding Parker

“What did you mean? The whatever you’re doing to me, it’s working comment?” I asked as I opened my eyes.

With his hands clasped behind me, continuing to hold my waist to his, he leaned away from me and looked into my eyes.

“You make me weak, that’s what I meant. By merely being, Victoria. You make me weak,” he whispered.

I smiled.

“And you, Parker Bale, make me feel strong – more and more with each passing day. When you hold me in your arms, I feel as if I’m growing. Odd but true.”

He leaned forward and encompassed my lower lip between his and kissed me deeply. My entire body tingling, I pressed against his shoulders, slowly pulling free of his kiss.

“See? Strength,” I said as I gripped my clutch in my right hand.

I shook my head and smiled, “I damned sure need it to leave a kiss like that. Goodnight, love.”

I continued to shake my head as I walked toward my car. I unlocked my car and tossed my clutch into the passenger seat. As I looked over the top of the car toward him, he acted as if he fainted against the side of his car. I rolled my eyes and waited anxiously to see what he had to say.

As he stood up straight, he grinned, “See? Weak.”

My elbows resting on the top of my car, I smiled, “We’re perfect for each other.”

And in my heart of hearts I knew that to be true.

VICTORIA. “You should turn the television down, mother. It’s so loud,” I suggested as I walked past her.

She looked up from her position in the chair as I walked by, but offered nothing in response to my statement. In recent weeks, her dependency of narcotics and reliance on my provision of them was becoming rather stressful. I’m sure my having lost my job and the amount of time I was now spending with Parker wasn’t helping matters. Stress always brings on a change in attitude with me, which in turn manufactures more stress. Frustrated with my mother’s condition, I shook my head and stepped into the hallway.

“I’m going to shower and go try to find a job,” I screamed into the living room.

She reached for the bottle of OxyContin on the table beside her. As she fumbled with the lid of the bottle, I shouted again. It seemed as if the extent of our communication had become small bursts of shouting and never an actual discussion of any nature. What Parker and I had developed provided me with a sense of peacefulness I have never felt here. My interactions with my mother had become much more torturous since meeting Parker.

“I said I’m going to shower,” I hollered.

“I heard you,” she yelled as the lid snapped from the top of the bottle, dumping the contents into her lap.

I rolled my eyes as I turned to walk into the living room and pick up the mess of pills. Something as simple as opening a bottle had become difficult for her in recent months, it was as if her need for the narcotics had become greater, or her pain had worsened. Either way, she was now in a more medicated state and her motor skills were deteriorating.

“I’m fine. I’m a grown woman, Victoria. I don’t need you to do everything for me. Take your shower and go get a job,” she bellowed as soon as she realized I was walking in her direction.

“Mother,” I sighed.

“Don’t mother me, Victoria Lillian,” she hissed.

“Fine,” I huffed.

For me, nothing has ever compared to taking a shower. From a relaxation standpoint, life couldn’t possibly offer anything greater than warm beads of water beating against my naked body. The sense of security I felt in the shower was second to none. Or me, it was a reminder that this was my time alone, and as long as I stood in the water, I was alone and would remain alone. The warmth of the water softened me mentally and allowed me to find a tranquil state I was incapable of finding elsewhere. Since childhood, I have always looked forward to my time in the bath or shower, and I often showered twice a day. Generally, I would stand in the stream of water and sing until there was no hot water remaining.

Today was no exception.

As I patted my hair dry, I considered what I may wear to meet Parker and Kenton for lunch. Something about being in Kenton’s home caused me to feel as if I needed to dress up, and not wear my typical casual attire. I’ve never looked at myself as ugly, and I haven’t felt I lack self-esteem, but dressing up always made me feel a little more beautiful. As I pressed the towel into my skin, I mentally dressed myself.

The little dress I bought for my job interview would look cute. It was a few years old now, but I had only worn it once. I could wear it with my little flats I got at the mall last year. It would at least look to my mother like I was going to look for a job, and not going to lunch.

Draped in a damp towel, I walked through the living room toward my bedroom. Jerry Springer blared from the television. I didn’t need to see or hear what was on the television to know exactly what was happening. Someone was screwing someone else’s girlfriend, and there would definitely be a baby involved. One of the two male hillbillies, the one emotionally committed to the trashy female, would succumb to a DNA test. After a commercial break, he would find out he was not the father of the child. A fight would ensue, and be broken up by the staff just prior to the knockout punch. The crowd would cheer through the entire debacle for more. Angry, I shut my bedroom door and provided what little barrier I could to filter the noise as I got dressed.

Ridiculous.

To think my mother’s life had become this – permanently positioned deep in her recliner, high on narcotics, fumbling for her next pill as she watched yet another episode of Jerry Springer. I yearned for something normal with her, but was well aware life with her would more than likely bring nothing more than this.