Mother Dearest(4)

Mother looked tired. “What are you looking at?” She asked. Her voice was thick, huskyfrom coughing and sore throat, probably. He closed the album quickly. A little too quickly, but there was notaking it back. “Just some old photos.” He said. “You’ve never seemed interested in those old things before.Looking for something?” “No, ma’am.” He said. “Just looking. I haven’t looked atthem in ages.” He didn’t know why, but something inside told himnot to ask her about the newspaper clippings. Something told him thathe should just ignore them around her, and pretend like he’d neverseen them, but he knew that he could never do that. “You haven’t looked at that in years, have you?” She soundedwistful, in the thick, soft way that came from sickness. “I thinkyou were ten the last time we looked at those photos.” He nodded. He also recalled that she had skipped a few pages. He knewwhat they were now, and why she had skipped them.“Do you need something, Mother?” She looked at him distantly for a moment, as if she had justretreated into another world for a moment, and then nodded. “I waswondering if you wouldn’t mind fixing some of your wonderful tea.My throat is killing me and…” He held up a hand. “Say no more. How much honey?” She shrugged, two boulder shoulders rolling backwards. “You know,what you usually do.” He smiled, placed the photo album on the table and stood. “You gotit. Just go ahead on back to bed, Mother, you don’t sound so good.”

He walked toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder, leading herout of the room. He tried to mask that inside he was a stew ofquestions by glancing at the wall art as they passed by, a cheap copyof a Thomas Kinkade picture framed nicely. “Why do you still wear that?” She asked. He turned to her. “Wear what?” “That ring.” He looked down at the band that he had bought a month and a halfbefore; it was the twin of the one that was Trisha’s. “Because,I’m still engaged, Mother.” “Thomas, you know she’s not coming back.” A dagger twisted inside. “Don’t say that.” “What?” “Just…don’t say that, Mother. Of course, Trisha’s comingback. She has to.” He found himself touching the wedding band,twisting it on his finger. He didn’t know why he was doing that. “But she’s not, Thomas. It’s about time you accepted thetruth.” “She’s coming back, Mother. They just haven’t found her yet.She’s coming back. She has to.” Mother looked at him sympathetically. “You know she’s not, son.Why do you hold on to hope like that?” “Because,” He paused, composed himself, “I have faith. Ibelieve that God wants us together, and we’re going to betogether.”Mother huffed, a deep, wheezing, mucous filled huff. “I don’tknow about God, but it seems fate doesn’t want you two together. Doyou know why, Thomas?”

Tom didn’t answer. He refused to respond to her, he knew if he didhe would regret it. “Because you made a promise. Promises can’t be broken like that,it doesn’t work that way—fate makes sure promises are kept.”She smiled briefly, “Always. Sometimes it needs a little help, butfate wins in the end.” He looked at her, and thought about telling her he had seen thereports, but thought better of it. It was hardly the time or place,and he would only say something the wrong way that he would have toapologize for later. It was best to be silent, just to let it all go.That was usually the way things were with Mother. You just had toknow when to let go. “And sometimes fate can do things all by itself. We’re the littlepeople in the end, Thomas, what we do doesn’t really matter. Maybeyou and that girl weren’t destined to be together.” She shruggedagain, “Just a thought.” “I’m going to make your tea, Mother.” He said and steppedcarefully out of the hallway and into the kitchen. He looked down andsaw that his palm had blood on it. He opened his clenched fist andsaw the half-moon mark of a fingernail where it had dug into hispalm. He paused and looked at it for a moment. On the same hand wasthe ring that he had worn for over a month. He wasn’t going to takeit off, he didn’t care what it came down to, and he wasn’t goingto take it off. He would wear it until they found Trisha and theywere married, or until he died, whichever came first. He hoped it was the first. He pulled a silver pot off of the rack above the island counter,pulled the honey from it’s little hole shelf in the island andbegan to make Mother’s tea, trying to calm down. Trying to ignoreher comments and the reports he had read. Tom tried his very hardest to think of nothing as he made the tea forMother.

WHEN HE had dropped Trisha off, he found that Mother was stillwaiting for him when he got home. He and Trisha hadn’t reallydiscussed Mother much after their small conversation in the car.Trisha had simply gone on to him about how excited she was that theywere to soon be married, and how her mother was probably the mostexcited out of all of them. It was Trisha all the way though,peppering it with humor, gleefully laughing at herself and Tom’sown sarcastic remarks. It was one of the things he loved about her,not taking her too seriously, balancing herself with her even senseof humor. Years lay ahead of them, years of that same laughter andhappiness. The more he thought about it the more excited he grew, andunable to believe that it was actually happening to him. He had beenthinking about it when he walked back into the room that night. —You’re really serious, aren’t you? —Of course, Mother.The anger was no absent from her voice at all. The undertone of painwas what had caught him off guard however. She was not only angry,but she was hurt as well. —How could you, Thomas? Confusion broke everything around him, he lost all bearing on realityturned to his mother, who was staring at him unbelievingly. —How could I? —You broke your promise! He wracked his brain hard to find what she was talking about. Thesilence that filled the air suffocated him, making it impossible forhim to speak—unable to protest and answer her accusation. What was she talking about? 

The joy of the evening was suddenly gone. Thoughts of Trisha suddenlydisappeared as he stood before Mother, at a loss for words andsteeped in confusion. Finally, he found that he could speak. —What promise, Mother? She looked at him as if he were insane. —Your promise! The one you made to me that we’d always betogether. Always. And now you’re going to go off and marry thistramp that saunters up to you at that church you go to? Rage boiled momentarily, but was staunched. —She’s not a tramp, Mother.—Oh, please. Take one look at her. I know a tramp when I seeone, and…that one…—Stop it, Mother. Just stop it. —I will not! This is my home!Change the subject.—When did I make this promise to you, Mother?—You don’t remember? Oh, look how she’s got you, Thomas!Look at what that tramp has done to you!—Stop calling her a tramp. —Now look at you! Forgetting promises, and talking back to yourown mother! Is this what religion has done to you? —Church has got——Turned you into a forgetful, disrespectful skirt-chaser?

—nothing to do with it. You’re twisting my words.—You’re just like your father. Are you going to leave me too?—You’re assuming too much, Mother. Stop accusing me and listena moment!Her eyes grew wide, as if she were unable to believe what he said.She looked at him, probably like she would if he had grown a thirdeye. —Now you’re accusing. —STOP IT, MOTHER! Stop. Silence. Silence: splitting and still, breaking the air between themand cooling the atmosphere of the entire room around him. A moment.Then:—And shouting? Does this not end, Thomas? What has she done toyou? Tom backed out of the living room and towards the stairway, the ragebubbling up slowly from within, a boiling cauldron formed in hischest and the fire grew hotter and hotter. He had to leave beforethings got worse. He wasn’t sure what would happen then, he’dnever had a fight with Mother before.Never.—I’m not going to finish this conversation. —Where are you going, Thomas? —Away, before I say something I’ll regret. Hemanaged to get to his room before the cauldron spilled over and hekicked off his shoe and watched it as it flew into the wall and lefta dent in the drywall. A dirty black crater right below a powersocket still was there.

He stood,looking at the hole for a long, agonizing moment. For the first partof that moment he was unsure what he was looking at, then he wonderedwhy he had done that. BecauseI’m angry, he thought. Mother was saying something up the stairs to him, but he didn’thave the resolve to pay attention to what she was saying, all hecould hear was the dull buzz of rage at the base of his skull, theone that leaked into his mind and caused him to go into a blur. The anger coursed through him hot and cold at the same time. Therewas an anger focused on Mother that was built on what she had saidabout Trisha, and an anger that was focused on him for the way heacted. They met each other and didn’t make matters better, butslowly built up, damming up inside, threatening to burst. In his room he stared at the wall, not bothering to kick his othershoe off. As he stared he slowly remembered what he had said to her along time ago. He had told her that he’d never leave her. Never.She had agreed, said they were always meant to be together, and theyalways would be—no matter what. Then came Trisha, and they would no longer be together. The promise was broken. But fate always kept promises. THE HOUSE was quiet when he got home from work. Tom slid the key out of the deadbolt with a harsh metallic hiss. Hecarefully shut the door to make the least amount of noise aspossible, thought his car probably had already announced his arrival,loud as it was opening and closing the door. He hadn’t thoughtabout the possibility of Mother being asleep then. Quickly, hedeposited his work boots by the door.

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