She looked out the window at the sun. It hadn’t moved. Funny—it felt as if hours had passed since he called to tell her he needed to pick up some of his things. But the position of the sun told her the minutes were crawling by as they often did during angry, painful times. She had finished crying days ago after confiscating his keys. She had told herself it was because he couldn’t be trusted, and it was a truth; but not the only one. She wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the reality of the outside world in all its potential cruelty. She heard the chiinnk-chink of the gate-latch open and shut and rose to meet her son.
He had been partying most of the nights since he left, with Maryjane nestled between his fingers, dressed in a silken material. He had caressed her as he inhaled her scent, filling him with peace. Grass tended to do that for just about everyone he knew, but it was personal with him. His girl would melt into his side, making him feel whole. He wished all his moments could pass this way. But he knew this was superficial—that it would pass all too soon, and real life would make an entrance with the rising of the sun. He needed them though: to fill the void hope had left behind.
Every other downhill stair was met with the expelling of a deep breath. I won’t let my emotions get the better of me, she promised herself. Tendrils of anger wove around her nerve endings. She struggled to stunt them.
She pasted a smile on her face as she opened the door along with her whispered greeting. “Hi, Hon, how are you?”
“Hi, Mom.” He struggled with the words, careful to keep them low key.
“How’ve you been? I’ve been worried.” You son of a bitch. The words choked in her throat before they made their way into hearing range.
“Fine.” I hear you. He ducked his head around the corner before she could read him. He tugged on the rim of his Red Sox cap, bringing it down lower cover his eyes. It was one of the things he hated most about her: her intuition. She could search his face, (which he kept quite blank) and pick out the things he did not want her to see. It was the other thing she did—that way she had in figuring things out, sometimes a long time after they took place. That Oh and by the way…thing she did when something had just sorta hit her over the head. She suffocated him; took his freedom away. He couldn’t twist the truth—even a little—without her coming back. He relished those times he pulled the wool over her eyes.
“Where have you been staying?”
“None of your business.” The words cut out of his mouth, doing something he was not sure he intended.
Her eyes winced; then hardened as she recognized the intent. “You stayin’ with those people? Those people you begged me to get out of our lives so many times.” A bitter flavor burped its way into the back of her throat as her stomach churned. She had grabbed at the words before they came out and failed. Her eyes closed eyes, and she brought herself back to his little days when she would go to wake him for school, slipping in beside him into the crook of her body where he fit perfectly. She tried to bring his contented face into her mind; to remember why she was here… Because I am his mother, and nothing he does should hurt me. If it does, I will fail him. She pulled back into herself, lowering her head, breathing slow and deep. “I’ll be right back, sweetie…” She turned her back on him and made her way to her room.
She settled on her bed, looking back at scenes from her own adolescent turmoil. She remembered all the feelings surrounding the first moments of realization that she could no longer stand living with her family—when they could no longer stand living with her. Memories flipped by, like watching a movie only she had the starring role. It had not been pleasant, but there were things that had been good for her. She had taken her longer to grow, but it had happened. When her nerves had quieted, she drew up her mantle of motherhood and went downstairs.
He knew any barbs he threw were unnecessary, but they felt good. Still, there was a twinge of guilt in it for him. He was, after all, twenty: an adult. If she would not treat him like one, he would go someplace where they would. He should be able to go where he wanted; do what he wanted; stay out as long as he wanted. He held still his secret wish for the safety of his life in this place. He hated his fears, his insecurities. They disgusted him. Everyone was telling him it was time to cut those apron strings—to get away from Mommy. Maybe they were right. But for the moment, he would play the role, be her son until he could find his things and make a getaway. He heard her coming down the stairs.
She hoped her face had softened for both their sakes. Her hand found the door jam high over her head, and she inched her face along the skin on her arm until he came into view. “Did you find the things you needed?”
“I was looking for the receipt for that ring I bought for Teisha. It isn’t here. I need that money.”
“To buy more dope?” The question his mother posed was laced with concern rather than anger.
“I just need it. The stone fell out, and I need to return it.”
“Are you going to buy her another one?”
“No. I need the money to eat. I’m going to quit school tomorrow. I start full time for Uncle Charlie the day after that. I’m going to get a room over Scal’s next week. It has everything I need, but the bath is down the hall.” He was talking too fast.
She drew her mantle around further, tighter. She wanted to be careful not to weave her dreams through those things she felt he needed to do for himself. “Sweetie—you have six more weeks to go. Why are you quitting now? It’s crazy. Just get through it.”
“I need to get a place to live and a car. Once I have those things, I can go back next fall and finish out the six months I need for my diploma.”
He turned and looked her full in the face for the first time since he arrived. He knew she saw the fear spark in his eyes, and that the boy-man in front of her wasn’t sure about much at all. Her heart went out to him. He saw it coming and did a testosterone puffing of his chest to ward it off. She melted a bit more, and a tear gathered in the corner of her eye. He firmed up his gaze, helping her to do the same.
Mentally, she grasped the corner of her mantle, and let it slip to the ground. “You need to make your own decisions now, Nate.” She saw a flicker of fear move through him again. “You know, guy… When I moved into my first apartment there were so many good things about it…”
For the first time the two came together as adults—and as friends.
Copyright 2017 Joyce Bowen
About the Author: Joyce Bowen is a freelance writer and public speaker. Inquiries can be made at firstname.lastname@example.org
Sobre el autor: Joyce Bowen es un escritor independiente y orador público. Las consultas pueden hacerse en email@example.com
My Patron site. Please support my work.