Prologue
I stroked Momma's gray hair back and tucked it behind an ear. They had done a good job on the make-up, you couldn't see the bruises at all. But the smile, smug and self-satisfied, sent shivers down my spine. Momma never smiled. She hadn't smiled a day in her life. It was like she was happy she was dead. Happy to be away from... me. That wasn't right, not atall, atall.
They were playing Kenny G over the room speakers and the room was too hot. I pulled at my tie, trying to let some of the trapped heat out from behind my crisply ironed shirt. It had taken me three tries to get the shirt looking right. Momma had always done my shirts before.
I heard a noise behind me and turned. Someone in black suit nodded apology and left -- they must have come in by accident. Momma didn't have any friends to speak of. And those who did know her were probably dancing in joy that she was in the great hereafter. Momma was a real bear when she was crossed. Or just about any time, really.
I rubbed my hand along the cheap wood of the rented casket; the lemon wax they had used on it clashed with the smell of pink carnations and daffodils I had bought her. The flowers had cost a mint -- but it was for Momma. They were all I could afford -- I couldn't pay for even such a cheap thing as this poor casket to bury Momma in. They would cremate her and keep the casket for someone else.
I would take her ashes home, and keep her there. Keep her where she would be happy. Maybe the kitchen. She liked the kitchen, it had a big window; she would watch the people walk or drive by. She used to sit there for hours at our little table sucking down coffee and gin and jabbering on about the people in town. I shook my head, troubled; I will figure it out later.
Leaning over, I kissed Momma's rouged cheek good-bye, almost sneezing from the smell of makeup.
Goodbye, Momma. I love you. Damn, I wish this hadn't of happened! It isn't fair, it isn't right! I wasn't done with you yet. Now what am I going to do? #
I checked my tie in the cracked bathroom mirror and tried to get the knot a bit straighter. The tie was too wide, hopelessly out of date. I ran a comb through my hair, seeing some gray mixed in with the brown now. It was touching the edge of my collar, too, curling up on the ends. This would never do! Before my job interview in two days, I will have to get a haircut - and a new tie. Need to look decent, not like some hobo in off the street. I practiced my professional smile and one hair of my goatee twisted out of line. Licking my finger, I smoothed it back into place.
I stepped back -- all the way out the door of the tiny bathroom, to see almost all of me in the mirror -- and checked the cut of the dark blue suit. It was a little newer than the tie, and the cut made my shoulders look wider and my hips narrower. I sucked in my gut and it looked even better. I was gaining a little weight now that Momma was gone, eating more than I should in my loneliness.
The extra weight was giving me boobs, for Christ's sake. E-yuk! Diet time, I guess. Can't have people thinking I'm some freaking girl! I laughed and smoothed my goatee; like they would when looking at this beauty. It was thin, yeah, but it was real.
I pulled out a pack of Reds and lit up; holding the cigarette pinched between my thumb and pointer finger -- I heard once that that's how Truman Capote held his cigarette. I just thought it looked cool. Sophisticated, like. Don't want to look like a hick, not atall, atall.
I went into the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator, standing for a long time in front of the open door, letting the coolness bathe over my face. The food was getting pretty low, just like my finances. The house was paid for, but the savings was going. Now that Momma was gone, and her social security check, I was in desperate need of a job.
I pulled together a cheese sandwich and sat at the table to eat it. I got the nice silverware out, even though I wasn't going to be using it just for a cheese sandwich, it was just ...I flinched at the flash of pain that lanced through my head, the sun from the window flashed across the surface of the table, blinding me... just... get your elbows off that table, Terry Robin!
I pulled my arms off the table and sat up straighter. Just because I wasn't having a big... big house, empty, with out Momma... cheese sandwich... empty. Hardly anything for miles, just him, and don't you even think about sassing me, child. I hear another word, and it's the closet I stood up real quick, leaving most of the sandwich on the table. I wasn't that hungry after all. Not atall, atall.
I realized I was looking out momma's bedroom window. It was dark out, now. How long had I been standing here? The new security bars looked good. It was quiet, just some dog's barking from far away. Too quiet. It was starting to get on my nerves. I would have even been happy to hear Momma crying again. Anything to break the quiet. #
The new haircut looked good, but the back of my neck was white as a marshmallow. Guess it had been a while since my last cut. I ran a hand along the back of my neck, brushing away little bits of hair. They would get into my shirt and itch up a storm. I never liked that part of haircuts.
I climbed into my old, dented pick-up and headed over to the Salvation Army thrift store. I would pick up a newer tie before heading home. I was just a couple of blocks away when I got the shock of my life. It's a good thing there was no one parked on the street, 'cause I swerved like I was aiming for a prairie dog. Panting, I twisted one way, then the other, trying to see the woman behind me.
Goodly God, it was Momma!
How in blazes could it be Momma? Momma was dead. She was sitting on the windowsill in the kitchen. But... no, Momma was walking down the street. I squeezed my eyes closed, and my head throbbed like I had been drinking for a week. When I opened them again, things looked a little funny - tweaked, sideways and kind of shiny. But it was surely Momma, no doubts atall, atall.
She was wearing strange clothes, though; stretchy pants and a baggy sweatshirt with baby donkeys on it. Not like her usual floral print housedress and half apron. She must be trying to hide.
Hide from me.
I watched her walk up to a house and let her self in with some keys. When did Momma move? I took note of the address, and turned back around in the truck, facing front again. Momma had moved. Momma didn't want to live with me any more. This wasn't right. Not atall, atall.
Cautiously, I pulled back on to the street and headed on to the Salvation Army. It wasn't right that Momma wasn't living at home. She should be at home - which is in a box on the windowsill of our kitchen window, now.
So, what do I do now? I thought about it as I bought the tie and as I drove home. Sitting at the kitchen table, I studied the little box in the window. Hell, Momma should be here. Where she belongs. With me. Always. What was I even thinking, letting her go. I shook my head at my own folly.
Well, if I had to, I would just kill her again. Whatever it took to keep her where she belonged. She wasn't getting away that easy! I laughed and the headache eased up. I would go get her and bring her home. Right and Tidy. #
I sent Momma flowers. Like the commercial says, 'say it with flowers'. I've always liked that commercial and Momma knew all the flowers and what they meant. I sent Momma red roses. I had the girl write the little tag with, 'your loving son'. I knew Momma would be surprised.
I went on my job interview; they said they would call me back. I could usually tell when someone really meant 'get out of the office, now I need to fumigate'. But the interview had felt good and I thought I might have a chance. For once, nothing went wrong.
I drove by Momma's house. She was home, I could tell. The lights were on and a bit of smoke came from the chimney. It was getting a bit colder, but Momma usually just threw on another sweater, not wanting to waste money on firewood. I shook my head, Momma was doing strange things.
I would wait until Momma got her flowers then go and bring her home, where she belonged. Tomorrow. I would go get Momma tomorrow. #
I checked my closet and shook my head over the contents. Everything was wrinkled...or had iron-shaped burns on it. Rummaging through a dresser drawer, I found an old work shirt, from when I worked with Gas and Electric. When they fired me, they forgot to take the shirt back. Momma had tucked it away nicely folded, and it still looked good. I missed Momma. It will be nice to have her back. I looked forward to having her cook her famous back of the burner stew.
I really missed that stew. #
The street was crowded, so I had to park a few streets over, and walk back to Mamma's pale green house. It was already dark even though it was only 6pm. Winter time was always so gloomy in Denver. It started to lightly snow as I knocked on the door. I hated snow...but maybe it would cover the dead evergreens in her yard. That was the only good thing about snow. It covered dead things.
Momma opened the door and gave me this bright eyed look. I opened my mouth but she started talking before I could.
"Oh, G&E. Thank goodness. I didn't think you were ever going to get here. My heater hasn't worked in three days now; it's about time you got here. Come in. Come in." She opened the door wider and gave a very un-Momma like smile. She was wearing sweat pants and a polo shirt with little kittens running up the sleeves. I felt a twanging headache coming on. Kittens? Momma wearing kittens? If that don't beat all.
I followed her down her hallway, where she pointed to the heater door. There were all kinds of pictures on the wall. Kids and grownups and lots of people I had never seen before. Twisting my head, I could see my flowers sitting in the living room, still in their box.
"Momma, what have you been up to?" I looked at her through a haze of pain. My headache was pounding something fierce. "Momma, you got any Tylenol?"
"Why are you calling m... you’re the man who sent those flowers, aren't you? I have no son... who are you?" She was backing up away from me, sliding her back along the wall. She knocked over a picture and the glass broke when it hit the halls wooden floor.
I reached out and took hold of her bony wrist. "You're coming home with me, Momma, like you should."
When she started to struggle, I was surprised, and her arm slipped out of my hand. She turned and started to run down the hall. "Goddammit, Momma, don't you run from me." I yelled, and took off after her. She ran into the living room and over to large glass doors. But they must have been locked, 'cause the door didn't move when she pulled on the handle, just kind of rattled in their treads. I slammed up against her, pinning her against the glass.
"Why the hell you struggling, Momma?" I grunted from the elbow in my stomach. "Damnit - stop that! Ow!" She scrapped her foot along my shin. I turned her around, and with my hand on her neck, pinned her to the glass. With my other hand, I slapped her as hard as I could. "You stop that, stop it now, Momma."
My headache throbbed and when she threw another punch at me, it flared up with a bright light behind my eyes. My face felt hot and I grabbed my head, it hurt so bad. Everything started to flicker and little sparkly things started to float around in the air.
Momma took off again. She fell against the dinning table chair, knocking it over. She stumbled, but was up quick as ... well, a cat. She ran through a door. With a bellow of rage, I followed her. I couldn't feel my feet anymore, but I know I knocked the table out of my way. I could hear wood breaking behind me as I burst into the other room. It was a kitchen, and Momma was turning on me with a steak knife.
"Get the hell away from me, you hoodlum!" Momma screamed, backing away with the knife.
My head hurt so much now, I thought I was going to throw up; I could taste the bile on my tongue. I was done being nice. I pushed into her, grabbing her hand, I twisted until she cried out and dropped the knife. Reaching up, I got a hand full of hair, twisting it around my hand I yanked, hard.
"I hate your hair, Momma. I hate it. It's ugly. Gray and ugly." She was whimpering like a kicked puppy and I dragged her over to the other counter and pulled out a larger knife. "I'm going to cut it off, and you -- Dammit, stop fighting me!" My headache speared me viciously. #
I could hear a steady drip... and taking what felt like the first deep breath in a long time, I looked up and around. Blood was dripping off the walls, onto a puddle on the kitchen floor, black and thick. Drip, drip, drip.
I saw I was holding a butcher knife in my hand. It was covered in blood - like my hand and arm. It was already drying and starting to flake around the edges. How long had I been standing there?
I walked over to the sink and pitched the knife in there. I turned and looked over at Momma. Damn. If that don't beat all - dead again.
With a sigh, I turned back to the sink and started the hot water running. I cleaned the knife - cleanliness is next to godliness. The room was a loss; no way I could get that clean. I scrubbed the blood off my arms and hands, using my nails to scrape away the dry stuff. And I cleaned the gray hair and scalp that I had taken from Momma and put it in my pocket. I wiped down the sink, too, since it was only spotty, unlike the walls or floor.
Standing over Momma I shook my head, sorrow rising and choking off my breath. "You always were a stubborn ol' goat, Momma, if you will excuse the expression. If you hadn't of fought like that, you wouldn't be dead, again. I didn't mean to kill you, you know that. I love you. But you is severely testing that love, Momma. Severely. Fighting your only son just isn't right - not atall, atall."
I turned and headed to the front door. I saw the box of flowers sitting on the chair in the living room, and stopped, looking at them. Reaching out, I picked up one of the flowers. I put it up to my nose, and breathed in the sweet purfum. Turning, I went back to Momma, and held it to her nose, too.
"Smells nice, huh, Momma?" I dipped the flower in her blood, and set it across her chest. "Take it with you."
I rummaged through the hall closet, and found a windbreaker that was big enough for me. Putting it on, it covered my blood soaked shirt. No point in advertising.
When I left, I was careful to lock the back door behind me.