Fifty-Eight

It’s 6:30 PM.

I should’ve been gone long before now.

But Mommy isn’t here.

She was supposed to be here almost an hour ago, when daycare closes.

But she isn’t.

“Where is Mommy?”

I ask.

The nice woman looks down to me,

“I’m not sure sweetie. I’m sorry.

I just called your aunt.

She’ll be here soon to get you.”

A few moments pass, my aunt pulls up.

She apologizes profusely for my mother’s absence.

Once we’re buckled and on our way, my aunt looks over to me with sad eyes and says,

“I’m so sorry, hun.

Your mom must be doing something important.”

I look away, out the window.

I don’t want her to see my tears.

Mommy isn’t doing anything important.

I know what she’s doing.

She’s too drunk to remember she was supposed to pick me up.

This isn’t the first time.

It won’t be the last.

But I always stupidly hope she’ll remember me.

And I’m crying, not so much because she forgot me.

Again.

But because I keep letting myself believe that maybe this time, she won’t.