My mom refused to let me fix the clogged kitchen sink pipes, and what I eventually found inside left me speechless.

I was halfway under the sink, flashlight clenched between my teeth, when Mom’s footsteps thundered into the kitchen. “STOP! Don’t touch that!

PLEASE!”

Her voice cracked like a whip and I banged my head against the pipe as I scrambled out. “What the hell, Mom? You freaked me out!”

She stood in the doorway, white as fresh paint, her hands shaking so hard she had to grip the counter.

“You can’t fix that right now. I… I need to call someone first.”

“Call who? It’s just a clogged pipe.”

“NO!” The word exploded out of her.

“No, Jeremy. Please. Just leave it alone.”

I stared at her, wrench still in my hand.

In all my 26 years, I’d never seen her look so terrified… not when Dad got sick and not even at his funeral. “Mom, what’s going on?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She then turned toward the window, and back to me.

Her eyes kept darting to the sink cabinet like it might sprout legs and run away. “Nothing’s going on. I just… I want a professional to handle it.”

Two weeks passed.

Two weeks of washing dishes in the bathtub like some kind of medieval peasant. Two weeks of Mom hovering whenever I got near the kitchen, jumping at every sound. She developed this nervous habit of checking the front door, back door, and window locks, sometimes three or four times before bed.

“Mom, you’re scaring me,” I said one morning over coffee. “What happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing happened, sweetie. I’m… I’m fine.Continue reading…