Eastern Lights (Compass 2)

My hands were sweaty, and I tried my best to ignore the thoughts that began flying through my mind. The recollections I’d worked to keep locked away within me were trying to resurface. I was fighting them. I was trying my best not to fall into the pain my mind was trying to unleash. Yet when she walked back and asked me if I had insurance, the wave of memories came rushing back to me.

24

Connor

Sixteen years old

“Here are the prescriptions. Make sure to take one of the nausea pills before you go to bed tonight. It will help,” the nurse instructed Mom as she walked through the hospital doors she’d entered over two hours earlier. I’d been sitting in the waiting room, waiting for her to come out. Waiting for answers. Waiting to know if she was okay.

I rose to my feet the moment I saw her and rushed over.

“Are you good?” I asked, my voice cracking. I’d eaten almost everything out of the vending machine and felt as if any bad news would send me into a vomiting rage.

Mom gave me a small smile. She looked a bit pale in the face, and even her smile felt as if it were a bit of a struggle for her.

“I’m okay.” She grinned.

It felt like a lie.

It had to be a lie.

Mom always lied about feeling okay to make me feel okay.

“What do you need?”

“Just to go home and rest, sweetie. I’m tired.”

I scratched at the back of my neck, my nerves not easing up any. “Do you need prescriptions filled? I can drive us to the drugstore.”

“It’s fine. I can pick them up later and—”

“Mom,” I cut in, scolding her for the ridiculous idea.

She lightly chuckled. “When did you become the parent of the household?”

“I’m not,” I said, shrugging and allowing her to loop her arm with mine. “I’m just your favorite sidekick.”

She leaned against me and didn’t feel heavy at all. “My favorite sidekick,” she muttered as I walked her to our car. I helped her get into the passenger seat, and she sat back and allowed herself to melt into the cloth. Her eyes shut, and her arms rested in her lap as I buckled her in.

“I’m sorry about this, Connor,” she whispered. “You’re too young to have to deal with any of this.”

“I’m the man of the house—it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

She tilted her head in my direction. Her eyes were filled with guilt and sadness. “It’s not what you’re supposed to do.”

I ignored her because I knew the conversation wasn’t going to go how either of us wanted it to go. I was never going to let up about being the one to care for her, and she was never going to let up about me needing to act more my age.

“Did they call in the prescriptions?” I asked, shifting the topic back to the things that mattered in that moment.

“They did. They should be ready soon.”

I nodded as I buckled my seat belt and put the key in the ignition. We drove to the pharmacy, and I tried to convince Mom to stay in the car, but she knew she’d have to deal with the insurance issues. Therefore, she came inside with me.

I stood back a little as she spoke to the person checking her out. My stomach was in knots as I listened to their exchange.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Your insurance doesn’t cover the costs. It seems you’ve reached your maximum, so it will be one hundred and fifty today,” the cashier said with a lowered voice. It wasn’t lowered enough for me to miss the words, though, maybe because I was listening a little too closely.

Mom sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t afford that until next week when I get paid, but I need them now.” She studied the prescriptions in front of her. “Which ones can I get by without having at this time?” she asked.

Before they could reply to her, I stepped forward and pulled out the old tattered wallet I’d gotten at a thrift shop. I pulled out the money I’d made from my part-time job and laid it on the counter.

Mom turned to me with widened eyes. “Connor, no.”

“It’s fine, Mom. I got you.”

“No, no. I can move things around in my account and—”

“Mom.” I gave her a comforting smile, and the anxiety that sat on her shoulders deflated.

“I’ll pay you back next week,” she promised, moving the money over to the cashier.

She meant it, too.

I’d take the money so she didn’t feel lesser than, but any money she gave me would somehow be routed back to her, even if it meant me picking up groceries or taking her on a movie date or whatever.

The money she paid me back with always ended up back with her.