The Break Between

Every day, Jackson wakes up thinking about his grandfather, Pop, who lives next door.

Being a full-time caretaker isn’t easy—especially when you’re doing it for free with no support.

Pop isn’t the only one Jackson has to worry about. His mother is disabled; she can hardly walk without a walker and suffers from severe nerve pain.

Jackson carries the weight of his family’s health on his shoulders—it’s heavy and crushing. But he never minded. The only time he had to himself was the occasional video game and smoke break.

At just twenty years old, Jackson had his entire life on hold. No school, no partying, no close friends. The only people he knew outside of his family were strangers he played games with online.

This morning, he wakes up groggy and achy as always. He sits up in bed, surrounded by the three dachshunds he also has to take care of. Wagging tails greet him in his dingy, cluttered room. He doesn’t even wait to fully wake up before he’s booking it out of his room to go next door.

The dogs follow him outside, doing their business, as Jackson gets straight to work. He opens the back door that stays unlocked in case of emergencies.

“Pop?” he calls out—mostly just to let him know he’s here.

He heads to the back of the house toward Pop’s bedroom.

Every day, Jackson’s mind spins with the worst what-ifs.

What if Pop fell? What if Pop choked? What if Pop died?

His mind was rarely free from worry.

Today, one of those what-ifs becomes real.

He finds Pop on the floor, red-faced and fuming, one hand bracing against the dresser.

“You’re late!” Pop barks.

Jackson freezes. Shame floods his chest. He was late—usually there by sunrise, but today he’d slept through his alarm. Just one slip-up. But it was enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m sorry, Pop,” he says quickly, rushing to help. “Let me get you up.”

Pop swats at the air like a cornered animal. “I’ve been on this damn floor for over an hour!”

Jackson grips under his arms and lifts—gently but firmly. Pop grunts, grumbles, curses. Once he’s back in bed, breathing hard, he won’t look Jackson in the eye.

Jackson stands there for a moment, heart hammering in his throat, watching the old man adjust his blankets.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, but Pop cuts him off.

“You’re all I’ve got. You don’t get to slip.”

Jackson doesn’t say anything. He just nods, swallowing the guilt and letting it settle beside all the other things he carries.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Jackson says calmly, trying his best to defuse Pop’s anger.

He heads into the kitchen and gets to work.

He scrambles eggs, fries bacon, and toasts bread. He brings the plate to Pop along with a tall glass of milk.

Once he sets it on the TV tray, Pop digs in without a word, eyes glued to the old, flickering TV.

Jackson returns to the kitchen and pulls open the drawer filled with bottles of medication.

One by one, he picks a pill from each designated bottle and sets them into a small ramekin.

He brings the ramekin to Pop, setting it gently next to his plate.

Now that Pop is settled, Jackson can finally go back next door to check on his mother.

“Jackie?” his mother calls out once the door shuts behind him. She knows his routine all too well—because it used to be hers.

Jackson walks over to her bedroom, opens the door, and peeks his head in.

“Could you get me a drink?” she asks from her bed.

Jackson nods and fetches her a cold soda. He walks into the room to hand it to her, noticing the usual mess of papers and mail spread out on her bed.

Just because his mother hasn’t been able to physically care for her father these last couple of years doesn’t mean she hasn’t done anything. She does a lot—paying bills, filing taxes, and managing the burdens of modern life.

Burdens Jackson doesn’t have to think about, because he’s still a dependent living under his parents’ roof.

His mother doesn’t need as much help as Pop. She can still care for herself—just slowly and painfully. But she perseveres. She always does.

Before she can ask Jackson how Pop is doing, her phone rings. It’s Jackson’s father calling. He works across the state, hours and hours away.

She answers, and Jackson quietly slips out.

Finally, a break.

A break that’ll only last thirty minutes before he has to go check on Pop again.

He doesn’t waste time—bolts back to his bedroom, where his PC and bong wait for him like loyal friends.

Jackson depends on those two things to keep him sane. A virtual escape from reality and, more importantly, a feeling.

A feeling that’s different from his responsibilities. For just a moment, he can experience bliss. No frustration. No worry. No guilt. Just pure euphoria.

He checks the time on his computer screen before packing his bong. He lights up, taking a long inhale. The exhale feels like everything, for a moment, melts away.

Once the buzz settles into his body and mind, he’s okay.

Jackson leans back into his chair, closing his eyes, letting the feeling sink in.

Most of the time, the weed helps Jackson calm his nerves and soothe the weight he carries. Other times, his mind drifts—off to a world where everything is different, but better.

A place where everyone in his family is healthy and whole. Familiar, but brighter. Someplace where everybody is safe and taken care of.

He imagines the chatter of his family gathered in one home, the smell of his father’s cooking, and the warm atmosphere that surrounds them.

A place where nobody needs saving—and he doesn’t have to be the one doing the saving.

While Jackson is smoking at his PC, he hears a ping—a message from an old friend from middle school.

“Hey, man,” it reads. “It’s been a long time.”

Jackson replies. A simple: “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Kyle and I were thinking of renting a house but we need one more person to sign the lease.”

Jackson pauses and reads it again, slower this time. Before he can think of a response, another ping comes through:

“And the grocery store I work at is hiring, if you’re interested.”

Jackson is rendered speechless.

Was this his chance?

As much as he craved a life of independence, he knew he had to stay.

He looks at the time again—thirty minutes had passed. It was time to go.

He doesn’t reply. He logs off and saves it for later.

He knows the buzz will wear off soon, and reality will come knocking again.

But he’s used to that. He stays—because of loyalty. Because of love.