Musical Alcoholism

It was always three. Three more songs, until she was done. Three more drinks, then she would not remember. Three A.M when she would play “The Middle,” by Jimmy Eat World. It was the Karaoke machine that would constantly display 1...2...3... before any song would begin. It was the fact that for the first fifteen years of my life. My mother was a musical Alcoholic. Music and I have had a consistent love hate relationship. There have been a couple times in my life where music stood out the loudest. However, the one that claims center stage and shaped me took place repeatedly during the first fifteen years of my life.

The month of November was always the hardest. Growing up I was the middle child of four. My brother Jered was the oldest and liked to leave me in charge of my two younger sisters. My siblings and I learned to adapt to our mothers hopeless romantic dating tendencies. Whenever our mom was going through a breakup. My brother always knew when to leave. Looking back at it now, he knew what our mom was going through due to our mom’s singing after school. It was during this stage in that our lives that our mom's favorite breakup song was one of Shania Twain biggest; “Man I Feel Like Women.” I recall all of us getting off the bus and being able to clearly hear her from the bus stop. On those days, my brother would either lock himself in his room and play video games; or he would go over to a friend's house. Overall, leaving me alone and in charge of my younger sisters.

The breakup days always started out as fun. My mother would take us girls to get whatever food and movie rental we wanted. She would say, “we’re having a girl's night.” As we walked through our local grocery store. I was always hopeful that it would simply be just a movie and junk food night with our mom. However, I remember the pit of my stomach sinking every time we would turn down the wine and drink Ile. She had put not one, not two, but three bottles of wine in the cart. My sisters felt it too. They learned to express their frustrations more by getting fussy and having fights in the store. Which created more stress for me. So, I learned to help them cope by making it fun. I would separate the girls from our mom and tell them that we were having a secret sister’s night in Sissa’s room. Once our mom was finished in the store, we would check out our groceries and go home.

The fun would last while mom was making dinner. I remember hearing her humming and singing in front of the stove as she prepared our dinner. The smell of the kitchen and mom cooing always helped calm my nerves. The first bottle of wine would be finished by the time my sisters and I would sit down to eat. Once, we were distracted by eating dinner. Our mother would escape to her bedroom and get all dressed up. I still remember the smell of her walking past me in the kitchen. Like her smell; she had, always became sweeter whenever she was drinking. She knew I hated cleaning up dinner especially nights like this. However, I felt like she also knew that I was the only one capable of taking care of the home and my sisters. As she carelessly made her way to the living room. She was already halfway into the second bottle of wine by the time The Echo of the microphone being plugged in and plugged out of the karaoke machine echoed throughout the house. She dimmed the lights and like a band getting the stage ready for a concert. My mother was getting ready to pour her broken, and drunken heart out into song.

Our mom always began the evening show with music. My sisters and I would love to listen to it. Our favorite was when she would sing anything written by P!nK, especially her hit song, " Don't Let Me Get Me". I remember us girls all singing the lyrics on the screen: Never win first place/I don't support the team/ I can't take direction/ and my socks are never Clean/ Teachers dated me/ my parents hated me/ I was always in a fight cuz I can't do nothin' Right. (1-6) I remember by the time we finished singing how our stomachs would be so sore. The love hate relationship with music really showed the most in this next part.

The laughing and dancing we did with our mom during her benders were also some of my favorite memories. With hope filled eyes my sisters would sit and watch our mom continue being the star of the show. What my eyes saw was a mother getting ready to leave. “Alright girls Sissa’s in charge I'll be back in a little bit.” My drunken mother would say as she would grab her purse and keys and headed out the door. My sisters would begin to cry and beg for her not to go. I remember having to hug and pull them away. While whispering to them about sisters' night. Trying to protect them to the best of my ability. While also trying to protect my own heart that was filled with hurt. Knowing that my night would not be over until I heard the lyrics, “It just takes some time/ little girl you're in the middle of the ride/ Everything, everything will be just fine.” Written by Jimmy Eat World but sung by my mother at three A.M. Once I heard those lyrics, I knew my mom was safely home. However, the nightmare wasn’t over just yet.

There were always three things that indicated she was home. You could hear her get out of her car, high heels clapping on the pavement. Then the force of her drunken body stumbling onto the front door. Then the jingle of her keys as she tried to unlock the door. Knowing I did not want my sisters to wake up and see her like this, I would quietly leave my room and unlock the door. The smell of her was no longer sweet like strawberry wine, it was now contaminated with smoke from a pack of marble reds she had in her hands. “Sissa, my sweet baby girl lets sing some more songs together” she would slur. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before she’d find whatever remnants of wine she left at home and finish the bottle off. This last part is why I hate music.

The playlist for her when she came home was always darker. It indicated the alcohol had triggered her suicidal thoughts. I remember the feeling of panic engulfing me. I needed to tell her I loved her and talk her down from whatever cliff she was standing on the edge of. I remember her taking her heels off and falling onto the living room floor. While the song, The Reason written by Hoobastank played in the background. I watched as alcohol and music carried my mother farther and farther away into her drunken mind that made her feel so bad that she wanted to jump. While her singing ended. Her last lyrics of the night being, “I’m sorry that I hurt you/ it’s something I must live with everyday/ and all the pain I put you through/ I wish that I could take it all away/ and be the one who catches all your tears/ that’s why I need you to hear.” (1-6) Those lyrics were the only form of an apology that I ever received over the fifteen years of abuse that she put me through.

Those drunken nights were often and eventually they did stop. My mother is not the same mother she was then, as she is today. We can still sing, laugh, and dance together. I just prefer not to listen to some songs because they do bring back bad experiences for me. I realize this experience has made me a stronger mother that I am today. Going through my own heart break as a single mom of three. I now understand how hard it was for my mother to do things alone. However, I just have wisdom to not let my hurt trickle down on to my own children.