Game Over (Part 1 of 6)—A young adult contemporary short story

Game Over is the short story I often reference in my bio—the one that was longlisted for the 2020 Voyage YA Literary Magazine short story contest for contemporary fiction.

I wrote it years ago, and recently found my way back to it with fresh eyes, revising it with everything I’ve learned since. I’ll be sharing it here as a six-part series.

Fiction Disclaimer

This young adult contemporary short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental.

Content Note

This story contains a brief reference to domestic abuse that may be sensitive for some readers.

Game Over—A young adult contemporary short story

"Mom, wake up." I shake her shoulder, but she doesn’t budge.

She went to bed early last night—like, before dinner early. I checked in on her in the middle of the night. I had to because she’s been all but completely checked out lately. I’ve also been keeping an eye on the latest prescription from Dr. Martinez.

“Mom!" I shake her more violently. With my free hand, I grab the pill bottle from the nightstand. It still looks full.

A whimper pulls my eyes back from the bottle.

“Mom,” I repeat, more softly this time. The panic that she’d swallowed a life-ending number of pills sunk back down to a perched position at the top of my stomach, ready to answer the call should it be needed again. “You have to get up. You have to get ready.”

There’s no time to play games, so I leave her bedside and stalk over to the windows, yanking the blackout curtains open.

She groans behind me.

“You gotta get up, Mom.” I march to her bathroom and turn her shower on. “Tio Robby will be here soon.”

Her bedsprings whine. Good, she’s moving.

“He doesn’t have to drive. I can drive.”

Maybe she could, but she’s been a zombie for the weeks leading up to this court date. More like an apparition. Eyes stunned and dazed by stress. Her body here; her mind elsewhere.

"It's better if Tio drives," I tell her as she sludges her way into the bathroom. Her mom-bun is off-kilter. Her eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes.

I lean back against the double vanity. She looks at me, then immediately drops her gaze. I stand in her bathroom, arms crossed like a corrections officer at Rikers Island.

She opens the shower door, letting a plume of steam out, then stops. "You really don't have to stand guard, Alex."

She’s probably right. And maybe I don’t have to really worry about the pills. It’s just that since my parents' divorce, my mom and I have become a two-person ecosystem. Still connected to our larger family unit, but surviving mostly on each other’s support. And my father is threatening to disrupt that ecosystem by bringing another suit for full custody against my mom. So, while she tinkers on the edge of depression, I need to stand watch over her. I need to keep the components of our tiny universe spinning until she snaps back.

The judge will take one look at her and close the case, maybe even commit her to a mental health facility. Her sunken, vacant eyes, cradled by puffy skin, don’t project the image of a parent who has it all together.

The image of her blank stare and beaten posture in front of the judge is enough to make me leave my post in her bathroom for a better use of my time.

I pull my phone from my pocket, closing my mom’s bathroom door to keep my voice from carrying to her. If she had even an inkling of the idea I just got, she’d lose it. A woman prone to panic and impulsivity, she would sooner leave me behind and not let me go to court with her like I begged. Bringing kids to court in custody cases is frowned upon, but I couldn’t sit here, biting what’s left of my nails as I wait for my fate to be decided. I promised her that I would stay out of sight.

We’re not even at court, and I’m already trying to break that promise.

The phone rings just twice. “Hello? Alex, is everything okay?”

I swallow the shard of fear so that I can speak with conviction. “Miss Benjamin, hi. Um, hi.”

“Hi, Alex, what’s going on? Is your mother all set for court?” There’s a metallic creak and ruffling of papers and I imagine she’s pulling out my file.

“No, um, yeah.” A quick clearing of my throat. “That’s why I’m calling. I want to speak with the judge.”

All ruffling of papers on her end stop. “The judge?” Miss Benjamin asks and with such a tone of shock and concern you’d think I told her that I want to confess to a murder.

Miss Benjamin is my court-appointed AFC—Attorney for the Child. When the petition for custody made mention of drowning, the courts assigned an attorney to advocate for me.

I walk to my bedroom to get further out of earshot from my mom. This way I can assert my next words more firmly, “Yeah—yes. I know you’re supposed to look out for my best interests and getting me an in-camera interview with the judge would be doing just that.” I did my best to sound mature while not making it obvious that I had just learned about in-camera interviews on social media this morning when I was searching for back up plans in custody cases.

“It’s very short notice, Alex. I don’t know if the judge will even see you before your mom’s hearing.”

“I know. I know.” Nervous jitters reach my jaw, so I squeeze my lips tightly and breathe in deep through my nose before I speak again. “Can you please try? My mom is not looking good this morning. I don’t think she will make a great case for keeping custody of me. And I can’t go live with my dad. I can’t.” That’s as far as I get when my lips start to tremble, making it impossible to say more. Miss Benjamin knows why I can’t live with my dad. It’s all in those files she’s holding. I’d go from a home where my every goal is encouraged, where my voice matters, my dreams are protected, and where love is a constant, not a condition.

But enclosed within the cold, white walls of my father’s house, his goals are what matter. My voice is silenced. My dreams are squashed. It will be the end of me. All of this has been documented.

“Alright, Alex. I can’t promise that the judge will make time for an in-camera interview before the hearing, but I’ll try. I’ll call you back when I know more.”

Her voice lacks the confidence I was hoping to hang onto. But I’ll take what I can get.

***

Part 2 will be shared next week.

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Have you ever felt like you had to be the strong one in a familial relationship? LMK in the comments?