Pharmaceutical
Written by Rensis Schmitt
He didn’t want to get her cigarettes. When he got them, the lady at the cash register would glare at him. Visually scolding him, visually saying shame on you. He did not like helping his mother commit suicide. If he didn’t get her the cigarettes, she would guilt him into remorse; “Sweety, it’s all your dear mother asks for. Are you going to keep me from having the only thing that brings me joy?” Her words would cut right into him. He’d always buy them, he didn’t like it, but he’d always buy them. 
Arriving home he sighed. He tugged and pulled at the screen door, it always stuck demanding a fight. Inside was a thick lurid haze that caused his eyes to burn, then water. Upon stepping inside the trailer stirred as the cement blocks below the floor shifted. 
“That you, Sean?” Came a rusty voice from the smog. 
“Yes, mother.” A voice answered shamefully. 
“Did you get my cigarettes, dear?” 
“I did.”
“Thank you so much, you’re such a good boy.” 
He handed the small box to her reluctantly. He glanced into her eyes, feeling used. He quickly recoiled, retreating to his room. 
Opening the door, cool fresh air grazed his face, almost as if cleansing him. He slipped inside and pressed against the door, shutting it. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on the door. 
He walked over to a filthy mattress on the floor and let himself slump down upon it. The material made his skin itch, but he wasn’t motivated enough to put a sheet on it. Shortly after lying down, his eyelids became heavy. The previous restless nights drove him to fall deep into unconsciousness. 
He dreamt of warm sunny Sunday afternoons playing softball. His father would toss the ball lightly underhand so Sean could hit it with his small foam bat. They would play for hours, until the evening brought darkness and small biting bugs. A little red cap his father had given him became faded and dirty as he cradled it in his little arms. The times of sunny softball games abruptly came to an end. Destroyed by the poison of his mother’s addiction. An immense fog rolled in, his father suddenly fell away into an enormous white van. To the front, were backwards letters Sean couldn’t read. He stood alone, holding his crimson hat sobbing, a loud voice bellowed out to him from the darkness. 
He was awake now, staring at the yellowed white walls of his room. He rolled over lethargically. That dream again, the same dream he’d had every night that week. He blinked and stretched his tensed body. He was startled as a voice shattered the silence. His mother wanted something. She always wanted something.
He stood up and made his way to the door, stumbling half-awake over the clothes on the floor. His mother’s constant demands irritated him, and left him with little for what he wanted. He wanted those warm summers with soft ball and bugs. 
He threw the door open and entered the stuffy room that reeked of the fumes of death. 
“Yes, mother?” Sean asked clearing his throat. 
As his mother spoke she gestured to the coffee table beside her, upon it sat a wrinkled five-dollar-bill. “Be a good boy and get your mother another pack of cigarettes.”
“I just got you some.” He whispered, closing his eyes. 
“Yes, but then I ran out again.”
“Its eleven thirty, mother. I’d have to go across town; the store here is closed now.” He said through clenched teeth.
“Why don’t you ride over there on your skateboard, honey?” 
Sean just glared for a moment. He wanted to retreat to his room, and lock her out selfishness. 
“Please, Sean.” She pleaded, her voice lacking sincerity. 
“No.” Sean answered firmly.
“No? Sean, it’s all I have-“Unable to take the lie, Sean cut her off;
“Is it? Is it all you have, mother? What about me? You still have me, haven’t you?”
For the first time, Sean openly showed his hostility for his mother. He had always felt bad for her, having taken care of him alone. It finally hit him; he had taken care of her. Tears ran down his pale face and he stared vindictively into his mother’s widened eyes. 
“Mother, keep this up and you’ll really lose all you have!”
“Sean, don’t you yell at me! All I ever did was love you!” 
“Did you love dad? Did you love dad when you drained every ounce of energy and love he had? When you smoked so much he couldn’t breathe? Where was your love then?” He was a foot from her face now; his tears fell to her lap. 
“I’m sorry Sean!” she finally wailed, as she began to sob. Sean looked at his feet, listening to her crying. He didn’t think she’d cry, he didn’t want to make her cry. He just wanted her to stop demanding so much. Finally he sat down next to her, and put his hand on hers. 
Without looking up from the dirty floor, he spoke, “I- I’m sorry, mother. I’ll be back in ten minutes, just hold on.”
He’d buy them, he didn’t like it, but he’d always buy them.