Used to be chic, blond-streaked hair. Now white-streaked and thinning.

White of her eyes showing over the iris like a thin crescent moon.

(How old is Mom? Fuck, not old. Forty-three?)

Appointment is seven forty-five a.m., but we’re leaving early. In case something fucks up. As Dad says Always keep in mind the fuckup factor.

Last time you took Mom for her infusion, there was an accident on the turnpike—traffic backed up for miles. Oil in skid-streaks across the highway, gleaming like fresh blood.

The sky is lightening, like cracks in a black-rubble wall. Sun at the horizon like the damn city is on fire!

What vaping does to the brain: makes you see. All kinds of weird, beautiful shit you’d never see in your ordinary brain.

S-L-O-W driving to the Oncology Center. Three point seven miles to the Mercer Street exit. Already seven ten a.m., traffic backing up like a shit-blocked gut.

Mom sitting stiff beside me. Staring ahead. (Seeing—what? And what is she thinking?)

Before last April, Mom would be talking. You’re not even in the room, your mom is talking to you, casting her voice out like a spider’s thread—making sure you are there, you are connected. Kind of exasperating, expecting you to be listening and to reply, but now she’s silent, like her mouth has been sewn shut, you miss it.

And if you look at her, she won’t be smiling at you like she used to—might not even look at you at all. Panicky, staring inside herself.

Does divorce cause cancer?—or does the (undiagnosed) cancerous condition cause the divorce?

Clickbait on the internet. Crappy article in one of Mom’s magazines.

Okay, I’m gonna take a chance. Passing on the right to get to the exit. Assholes gaping at me humping along the turnpike shoulder, must be passing ten, twelve vehicles. Fuck, it’s an emergency situation. Gotta get my mom to the clinic.

Running over debris, part of a rusted fender, broken glass. Mom gives a scream like a little killed mouse. Me, I just laugh.

Juuling is cool-ing. You just laugh.

Each Thursday first week of the month early a.m. my mother has three hours of infusion—gamma globulin. Have to laugh thinking—Gamma goblin?

Because something is wrong with Mom’s white blood cells: immune system.

Best fucking thing vaping does for you, makes you immune. Best damn infusion.

Special permission for me to come to school late on those days. Primary caretaker of my mother. I need you Jacey, please. Don’t abandon me.

Christ! Embarrassing as hell. Mom pleading for me not to abandon her like her damn husband did. Somebody should shoot him.

First hit of the day, best hit. Press your hand against your chest feeling the heart pound pound pounding inside the ribs like a fist.