Do you recall my dead friend, and boyfriend to my only friend? Well, then there’s his mother, a drunk to beat all drunks, unfortunately.
Shortly after his passing, Mama O. got the news her brother back in Mexico was dying. What he died of, I don’t know, but knowing that family, I can imagine.
So Mama O. flew to Michoacan, one of the most crime ridden places in Mexico, was with her uncle, prayed novena…and brought back a 9 year-old girl to the states.
Now, on her best days, Mama O. is a fall down drunk, that had two of her children taken away by DSS, and many years ago back in Mexico, had one of her children die from neglect. This woman shouldn’t be taking care of any living thing, let alone a child.
The O family had slipped out of our lives after the death of my friend’s boyfriend, until the other day, one of Dead Boyfriend’s sisters contacted my friend. Surprise! Mama O was being taken to the Emergency Room for drinking herself into diabetic coma and could you find someone to watch a little girl, who by the way, doesn’t speak a word of English.
My friend pressed me to do it, and at first I said OK, but then thinking of a couple things looming before me and my social anxiety, I said no.
Yes, I know I’m a piece of shit, but I was too scared.
My friend was so angry, talking about how I never do anything for anyone, and that I wouldn’t have done anything for Oscar either.
Occasionally, I speak to him when I’m stressed by something. Sometimes I’ll ask him to intercede for me when she’s threatened to cut me from her life. This time, I asked him “Why?”
They patched Mama O. up and sent her home. Once my friend started talking to me again, she told me that the sister told her things about the little girl. Mama O. has been found passed out on the floor by the child, she keeps asking when she can go to school and mama O. always tells her “next week.”
“Maybe you should talk to the sister,” I said to my friend, “that she should intervene or even report her mom.”
“They’ve stopped talking to me again. Don’t tell me what I should do when you wouldn’t help that girl, ” was her reply.
Dear God. Luckily, I don’t know exact locations, or I’d have to ask my therapist to call on them. Or maybe I wouldn’t. I’m the biggest piece of shit on earth. What if someone called and the child was deported to a far worse situation. Her parents must’ve had a reason to pay to get their child over here. Dear God.