My mother drinks Jamaican over-proof white rum through her toes. It goes down easier that way. Ten toes consume much more than one tiny mouth. Mother’s toes slurp and belch, as they enjoy the drink. I glance down at my feet, ten toes with toenails painted blush pink; no lips or tongues ready to lap up tempting libations.
Mom rocks back and forth in a motion that resembles falling forwards. She’s inebriated but happy. The scent of alcohol fills the air. I wash her feet in a rinse of coconut water and crushed pineapple chunks, but the scent lingers.
I help mother into bed. She’s unable to fall asleep right away so I read a few chapters from Dune Messiah. I know it will confuse her and rip at her bleeding heart (she becomes a sap when she’s drunk). I stop at a section right before the stone burner is released. Mom falls asleep muttering, Muad’Dib stay away, it’s a setup.
In the morning when I enter her room, a rancid stench catches me off guard. Mom’s fast asleep; wrapped up in a blanket sporting dried vomit in textured Rorschach designs. Ma’s toes are bloodshot and weeping. The drunk sleep the sleep of the dead. I place my hands on her small shoulders and shake, maybe with a little more force than is needed. Mom wakes in slow motion and looks around the room through heavy eyelids and a clouded head. With a raspy voice, her first question to me—Is Muad’Dib okay? Heartless, I reply that Paul was blinded in the attack. There’s silence for the span of four heartbeats, then she begins to cry. Her toes, still inflamed, are too hungover to console her.
I place my arms around her shoulders. Hush mom, Muad’Dib is on the mend; he’ll be okay soon. I pull myself away, just enough to reach over and grab the book. I open Dune Messiah, and without bothering to locate the proper chapter, I implant a miraculous eye rejuvenation for Paul. After all, Melange is known to contain special properties; anything is possible. I throw in a few additional lies. Mom smiles as Muad’Dib becomes a god. I become more creative and allow Paul and Chani to live a long happy life with ten children and fifty grandchildren. Mother claps like a child after the singing of the Happy Birthday song. All ends well on Earth and on Arrakis.
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author bio:
Arlene Antoinette is a writer who enjoys dabbling in poetry, flash fiction and song lyrics. Additional poetry by Arlene may be found at Foxglove Journal, Cagibi Lit, Better Than Starbucks, With Painted Words, London Grip, Literary Heist and Your Daily Poem.
This story’s featured image is by Wolfgang Hasselmann, and can be found on Unsplash.