Fortress of Solitude

I support her through the door, kicking it shut behind me. She clutches to me as we stumble though the living room, navigating our way around endless piles of bottles, cans, and needles. She puts a hand against the wall to stop herself from falling once, and lets out a small yelp when the dry-wall crumbles underneath her fingers. I catch her, but she doesn't acknowledge me. She looks at her hand, covered in dust and paint.

“I'm strong,” she whispers. “I must be Superman.”

I don't tell her that the walls have been deteriorating for years. Instead I lead her to her bedroom, sit her on the bed, take off her shoes, and tuck her in tightly, so she doesn't get up later.

“Have you ever thought maybe being drunk isn't all bad?”

My hand's on the doorknob behind me. One quick pull, and the words will stop. One fast tug, like a band-aid.

“Don't go.” She mewls like a kitten, pulling the threadbare quilt higher around herself. She looks to all the world like a bewildered and flustered child. Sour, stinging bitterness bleeds onto my tongue. I should be the one looking like that. I'm the child. Not her.

I look at her. Bound in her blankets, tucked deep into the mountain of pillows cushioning her head, she seems so small. I let go of the doorknob and walk back to her bed, sitting as far away from her as I can.

“Welcome back,” she croons. A too-wide smile distorts her pasty face, and she looks straight through me at something only she can see.

I don't respond. It's best not to anyway, after she reaches this point.

“So I was thinking,” she continues. “Drunks. Everyone thinks they're such bad people, right? But you see, they just. . . they've had bad things happen to them.”

I watch her blankly, playing my part, waiting for her to fall asleep so I can leave to tuck Jesse in.

“They don't know what to do. They don't know what happened. Or what will happen. Or anything. They don't know anything.” She giggles, tracing patterns on the quilt with her trembling pinky. “So they drink. And then they know. They know everything, and it feels so good.”

She grabs my arm suddenly, startling me. She looks serious now. “But knowing doesn't make anything better,” she whispers. “That's the bad part. It feels so good, but it doesn't help at all.”

Her bloodshot gaze shifts focus and she stares at me, her eyes softening.

“You're a good listener, dear.”

I freeze. Was she calling me dear? Was she actually seeing me, not a delusion of her mind? Me?

“You're a good listener, and I'm a good talker, and that's why we make such a good team. Right, Superwoman? That's how we defeated Lex Luther.” She giggles, her eyes unfocused once more. “Superman and Superwoman, together.”

I laugh. Just for a second, I laugh. I cut off the sound once I realize it's only hysteria.

She giggles again and nestles down into the pillows, yawning. I get up and cross the room, turning off the lights. I open the door, but before I can escape, I hear her slur sleepily.

“G'night, partner.”

I pause, then shut the door softly behind me.

“Goodnight, Mom,” I whisper to myself.

I walk to Jesse's room, but when I open the door, I see he's already asleep. I pull back the covers and lay down next to him. When he curls into my side, I turn my face away. I don't want my tears to wake him. He shouldn't have to be a part of this. Besides, I can stand it alone.

After all, I am Superwoman.