Chapter Twenty-One Mother to Mom Part Two

It couldn’t have been more than ten o’clock at night, but all the lights were turned off at my house. This was not a good sign. I hovered outside of the big white door like the moths around my porch light. The ocher color cascaded over me and the wings of the moths hummed in my ears as I debated what the fuck I was going to do. I knew that Sam and Travis had done something. Something fucking bad and I hated them for it. They had gone over to my house and they had talked to my parents. At least one of them, and I didn’t even want to think about what one it was yet. If it was my father, then I knew I’d be dead the moment I got in the door. My mother had already informed me that he had not been pleased the night I had shown up late. The next morning at breakfast, he had cast scowls at me from across the table, but hadn’t actually put those feelings of spite and malice into words so far. I figured my mother had told him how happy I was or something, and she managed to convince him not to be his normal militant self. Ever since then, I had made sure I was home on time. The latest I had been since then was five minutes, but that was nothing to fret about.

This was.

What if my parents were to find out I wasn’t even spending the time with the people I told them? I couldn’t believe Sam and Travis had fucked me over. They never came to visit me. Virtually never, unless I called first or we arranged something, and they especially hadn’t been doing much in the past few weeks. Why the fuck did they have to do it now? I knew it was jealousy. Sam couldn’t take that I had found someone else, even if he didn’t know who it was. Sam knew I had a new friend, and if it wasn’t him, then he had to destroy it.

“I destroyed it so we could build it together,” Sam had told me the day we first met and he had crushed my sand creation. He was going to crush this too, just so he could have me back to himself again. It didn’t seem to matter to him that I was unhappy and cast aside, so long as he had control over me. The moment I had some futile little piece of myself, Sam had to take it away. He had to make it a piece of himself.

I was beginning to see how damaging our friendship really was.

Though we had a lot of good times together, Sam dictated most of them with his moods. He had been diagnosed as bipolar when he was about fifteen or so, but it was never followed up on. He had only gone to the counselor because he had been forced to by the school when they had discovered pot in his locker. When his mom had heard the diagnosis, she immediately thought it was pure shit. Sam was cast aside without treatment, left to take out his negative energy on me. When we were kids, and we’d fight, they would sometimes last for days at a time. We’d get vicious and violent with each other, once even having to go to the office for starting a brawl in the middle of the lunch room. Eventually, our wrath would calm down, but I could never work up the nerve to go to Sam first. If I did, he’d still make some bullshit excuse to be mad at me. I’d always have to wait for him to come and act like everything was normal again. Then it would have to go back to being the same as before. I couldn’t stay mad at him when he came back to me, even if I still was. When I did wait around for him, because that was all I could do, he’d later on give me bullshit about never caring about the friendship. It was a lose-lose situation with Sam all the time.

Suddenly, I didn’t mind losing Sam. It was Gerard’s status I was more concerned with.

As I stared and stood in front of the metal door, I seriously considered running away to his place. I wouldn’t even need to pack a bag. I had clothes on my back (not that I wore them when I was with Gerard) and he would feed me. Most importantly, my guitar was there. My guitar belonged there, and fuck, so did I. I really wanted to run away, especially because if I didn’t, then I could have been forced to face losing everything at once. Logically, I knew running would be pointless. If I told Gerard what had happened, he’d only give me some random theory and then send me back on my way again. Or Sam would lead my father (and a mob; we were Italian and this was Jersey, after all) back to the apartment and everything would get torn down. I needed to solve this on my own, even if I failed. I needed to do this by myself.

My mother was the first thing I saw when I went inside. In my house, when you open the front door, there is a closet to the left, and then the staircase is dead center, with the living room and kitchen around it on opposite sides. My mother was sitting on the second step, her rose-colored robe wrapped around her significantly smaller body. Her dark hair was gathered in the back with a hairclip, all of her make-up and hair products removed. I saw the remnants of a cotton nightgown and lace under the robe and realized that she was probably waiting for me to get home before she could go to sleep. She had done the same thing when I had shown up late, but she had at least waited in the kitchen. She wanted to catch me as soon as I got in the door this time. This couldn’t be a good sign.

Her hands were folded on her knees, her face down. Her head popped up when I entered the house, the bags under her eyes more visible, and matching the dark surroundings of the front hallway. We both froze almost as our eyes locked, a worried and anxious smile spreading across her lips.

“Is dad home?” I asked too quickly, not even bothering with hellos. Hellos were small talk; I had a feeling the next few minutes were going to be anything but small. Besides, if dad was home, then I knew my death was imminent.

“No,” she said softly, her eyes tracing down to her hands. I followed her gaze and noticed a shade of dark pink set against her usually pristine hands. She had been picking at her skin; a worried habit we both shared. “He went out with his friends tonight. He certainly picked the right night for it.”

I could sense the emotion in her voice, only it wasn’t the harsh or bitter quality I was used to with Sam, or even expecting from a worried parent. It was tired and defeated - deflated. She had been so worn down each and every time I called her and informed her of my whereabouts, and she had so desperately wanted to believe me that one night I came home too late. She badly wanted to believe I was happy, with my friends again. Those friends had burst her bubble tonight and she was sinking lower and lower. I could see in her eyes that she felt like a failure. I wasn’t entirely sure what she thought she had failed at, and I was too afraid to ask.

“I’m sorry…” I finally apologized, my voice quiet and weak. I had been standing in the doorway, the door wide open and ready for an escape. I finally closed it and began to walk more into the house, but not too close. This could all be a trick. My dad could have been hiding right around the corner and ready to pounce on me.

I shook my head distinctly in the middle of the hall, not caring if my mother saw. I hated how skeptical I was over my own fucking family. My own fucking mother.

I blamed Sam for everything.

“Frank, where were you tonight?” she asked despairingly, tilting her head up towards mine. Her eyes were sullen and weak, her mouth slightly agape in horror that she had to even ask this question.

I had not lied to my parents since I was young; well, I had not been caught lying. I had been a good little boy in my mother’s mind. Seeing this display crushed tonight was absolutely heart-breaking for the both of us.

“And all of the other nights?” she questioned again, adding more fuel to the fire. “And the weekends? What about the time you came home late? Where have you been?”

With each word, she grew more and more fraught. With each lie unfolded, I grew more and more ashamed.

“Out…” was all I said. It was all I could think of saying. Just like with Sam, I didn’t know what to say or do. If I lied again, then I could get caught again. But the truth was so much worse than ever getting caught. I had to lie to her, but I had no idea what to say.

She heaved a long sigh upon hearing my response, and started to fiddle with her hands. We stood in silence for a long time, the tension choking us and making us both immobile and unable to speak.

“You know,” she started, her voice cracked as it hit the dry air. “I was cleaning today. I went into your room. I know I shouldn’t have snooped, but you shouldn’t have lied to me.” She shot me a quick glare, more out of somber than fury. “I went through your things. Your closet, mostly. I was just looking for laundry, I swear. If you didn’t leave it all over your floor instead of in the basket, then I wouldn’t have had to do that. When I was in your closet, I noticed that your guitar was gone…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath.

I felt my chest tighten when I heard my mother talk. I fucking hated it when she went into my room like that. I spent most of my time cleaning the place to avoid her nosy face in there. It was true that I had been lacking on my laundering abilities, but fuck. I didn’t care if I had clean clothing for tomorrow. I cared more about not getting caught tonight.

I quickly scanned my virtual memory for anything incriminating in my room, and I deduced that I was okay. There may have been a few poems I had written, but none of them were ever entitled “Ode to A Forty-Seven Year Old Lover,” so I was pretty sure that things were safe. I still hated the fact that she snooped, but like she had pointed out, I had lied.

We were even, I supposed.

“Yeah…” I said, waiting for her to continue. She said she didn’t find my guitar, so what? It was at Gerard’s, but there was no way of knowing that. She lifted her head to finally make eye contact with me.

“Are you taking guitar lessons?” she asked, her voice dead flat and serious. Her eyes were wide open and reaching out to me. It was almost like she wanted that – needed that to be the answer. If it was anything else other than cute and fun guitar lessons, it might have killed her, especially in the state she was in. She was already keeping so much from my father. Even if it was just one night of me coming in late, she was still keeping it from him, defending me, and not getting me grounded. My mother was usually so submissive towards him. All of these things were huge fucking feats for her.

I didn’t actually want to say a yes out loud to her, because then it would only trap me in another lie, if it were ever found out down the road. If I didn’t verbalize it, I could dispute it. I didn’t know how else to answer, anyway. My mother needed me to agree with her, and I didn’t know what other lie to shove down people’s throats. I was already fucked over with so many. I knew Gerard and I had to be a secret, there was no debating that. There was also no debating that I was disappearing more and more, and it was now known I wasn’t at my friend’s place the entire time. People were seeing me come out of his apartment. I could deny the fact that he and I were in a sexual relationship, but why the fuck was I going to his apartment every Goddamn day then? I needed an excuse soon, but I wasn’t going to find one out in that moment.

So I lied through my teeth, biting my tongue hard as I nodded.

My mother breathed out a sigh of relief, letting her head rest again. I felt my heart swell inside, knowing that I had at least done one thing right that night. When she met eyes with me, she was still tired and sad, but there was a new hope in there.

“Am I in trouble?” I found myself asking. I sort of wanted to just remain quiet and not poke at a seemingly good situation, but I had to know if I my dad was going to find any of this out.

“I’m very mad at you,” she enunciated distinctly, her voice gaining any authority she had lost before. I felt my heart pound n my chest as she looked at me precariously. “I hate it when you lie to me, Frank. It makes me more worried than I need to be.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized again, motioning with my hands. “I’m so sorry.”

She looked at me suddenly, tilting her head to the side and squinting. It was almost as if she saw something new she had failed to recognize before. I was squirming and dying in the front hallway, but so was she. Sighing heavily, she drew the conclusion that we both didn’t need to be in pain.

“You’re not in trouble,” she pronounced slowly. “Just please, don’t lie to me again.”

She screwed up her face, scrunching up her nose like she smelled something bad. I had no idea my lies were so obvious that they had a fucking smell to them.

“I’m sorry…” I begged, because it was all I could do without breaking her only request.

“It’s okay. I understand,” she started up quickly, talking at me rather than to me. She had all these thoughts in her head, I could tell, and she needed to get them out. There was no way my dad was going to listen, even if he was up to speed on everything, so just like that night in the kitchen, I let her talk. She needed to, and I wanted to hear.

“Your dad wouldn’t let you play, and you’re stubborn. You both are. You probably got your stubbornness from him, too. You’re playing now and I guess that’s how it’s going to stay. There are worse things out there. At least you’re not coming home drunk every night!”

She gave a quick breath of laughter, then glanced over at me with precarious eyes to affirm her statement. I smiled and laughed with her, putting her at ease. I wondered if she had known exactly how many times I had come home drunk before, but I didn’t press the issue.

“Guitar isn’t all that bad,” she stated, reassuring herself more so than me. “If it’s making you happy…” She smiled at me again, and I did the same right back.

“I am happy,” I said honestly, finally feeling good about something.

“Good,” she nodded, some of her hair falling down from her hair clip.

She got up off the stairs and brushed her robe down so there were no wrinkles. She picked off a stray fiber, looked at it meticulously, and tossed it down on the stairs. I stood awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

“I won’t tell your father. Just be careful,” she warned me with finality. “You got your stubbornness from him, but you also got your clever ways. If I can figure this out, he can too.”

There was an ominous tone to her voice I had never heard before. It was an empty threat, something she wasn’t going to do directly, but it still hung in the air, the implications evident. She wouldn’t tell my father, but I had to start being more careful. He could figure all of this out just as easily as she had. And, in a way, he could figure it out more. My mother was simple, and didn’t like to suspect people, especially those she loved. My father didn’t care if he loved them; in fact, he would probably suspect the people he loved more because they had more merit in his life. If he knew I was taking guitar lessons, he wouldn’t just stop there. He would keep investigating, or at least trying to, and then, the real truth would come out. I couldn’t let that happen, and she was telling me that indirectly. I needed to cover up my tracks a lot better than I had been doing.

I needed to think of a new lie.

She brushed off her somber nature quickly thereafter, clucking her tongue in her mouth with a small laugh. I nodded, and as she began to go up the stairs, I followed closely behind.

I knew she wasn’t just warning me about my dad. She was warning about other things, other people. I could see it in her eyes that the guitar lessons was what she wanted to believe. What she needed to. She still knew that deep down in her heart, that’s not what I was doing. After all, what kind of guitar lessons last all weekend? She knew something else was up. She may not have known the exact issue involved, but she knew something was going on with me. She probably just thought it was a girl, and decided to not intervene because I was happy. I wasn’t coming home drunk, and it wasn’t hurting anyone. Yet. She wanted me to be careful just in case I did, and just in case more people than my father caught on.

As I sat on my bed that night, I thought long and hard. I would have to do something about my friends, and it honestly should have been done months ago. Even if they weren’t around fucking up my lies, I realized how truly destructive my relationship with Sam was. I couldn’t be around him anymore; he couldn’t be my friend. It was too hard, and I was a different person. Even if I hadn’t welcomed art or Gerard into my life, I had still cast aside alcohol and drugs. That was their main existence and I didn’t need to live that way anymore. I wasn’t entirely sure how someone was supposed to ‘break up’ with a friend, but I hoped the process wasn’t too horrific.

I needed to talk to Gerard. I needed to find out what to do about everything, so I could avoid the intense fear I felt tonight. I did not want to have to live my life this way, running from one lie to the next, dread hitched in my chest and throat. I usually didn’t mind lying so much, but I found that tonight, the act came harder and not just because I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t lie to my mother as easily as I once had. At first, I had no idea why. What was so different about this night from the one on Sunday? All the other times I had lied to her when I was stealing, doing drugs, and yes, coming into the house when I was drunk?

The realization came slow, after repeating her words, mannerisms, and tired expression in my head. Tonight had been the only night since I was a child that my mother had actually felt like a person to me. She wasn’t just someone who shared the house with me, and occasionally made small talk with. She was no longer another identity smeared in with my father. Tonight, she had removed herself from him, telling me that she would keep secrets from the person she was once so attached to. Before, it had always been my mother and father, as if they were one person, one word. If there was anything separate, it was my father. He was the authority. My mother was a far cry from authority right now, but she was something better.

She was my mom again. Not my mother; someone who was forced to look after me, give me food and shelter, but my mom; someone who was going to talk to me, care about me, and protect me from things. Even if those things were my father, and protecting me meant lying to herself every day. She was going to hurt herself, so she didn’t hurt me. She was doing it all because she loved me, and I was surprised to realize just how much I loved her back.

I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest. My mom was a real person, not just a parental unit. I liked that idea, a lot. More than I thought I would. Most teenage boys want their mothers the fuck out of their life. I didn’t. I had possessed that mentality for most of my earlier teenage years. I was welcoming the change now, along with a lot of others. The only other person that I saw as a true being was Gerard, and though I didn’t quite have the same, or as strong of a respect for my mom, I saw her in a better light. I saw how much she loved and cared for me, but just as I was drifting off to sleep, I realized how much I was hurting her at the same time. She was sacrificing herself and her sanity to believe the lies I told her, while disassociating from my father. I was changing, and so was she, but she was changing around me – for me. She was forgetting herself in all this mess, and in turn, forgetting how much being a mom actually hurt.

Being a mother and child was easy. There was less care involved. Being a mom and a son, however, was something entirely different. It was tiring her out. I wondered how long it would take before I finally broke her.

You destroy the things you love, Gerard had told me. I loved my mom a lot right then. I only hope that when I did destroy her, because it was inevitable if I continued on this path, that she would understand

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 505