I felt my face getting hot and my hands clench at my side. “Mom, you haven’t even eaten in front of me since I started bringing you food. For all I know you’ve been dumping it into the garbage!”
“That don’t change the fact that you didn’t care if I ate or not yesterday. Ungrateful bastard!”
All of a sudden it hit me what we were arguing about. I should have known enough not to call attention to it. Unfortunately, I am my mother’s child, and I spoke before I thought about it. “So, let me get this straight.” I ignored her scoff at this. “You’re upset because I wasn’t here?” I paused for effect. “You wanted me to come by yesterday. I thought I wasn’t really welcome here.”
Uncharacteristically, she was caught off guard; it only took a moment for her to recover. “I have a bad habit of needing to eat. If dealing with your disgusting presence is the only way I get to eat, then that is something I have to deal with.”
“Is that so? I haven’t been here in years, Rose. I wasn’t even here the first little bit after your stroke. How’d you eat then?”
She didn’t answer. After a few seconds, it was clear she wasn’t going to. I momentarily envisioned using her face to break through the door into my old room. I shook it off, of course. “Maudra got several things for you from the church potluck. Would you like me to make you a plate of something?”
“Shoulda known you didn’t think of getting me any yourself. I don’t want anything that snooty bitch touched.”
Again the door made a beautiful cracking sound in my head. “Fine, then, Mother. Don’t eat. Just wait ’til I leave so you can pretend you’re too good for her food.”
She sat there, hate in her eyes. She reached up with her bad hand to wipe away a strand of hair in her eyes. As her shriveled hand came into view, she realized what she was doing and placed it back in her lap, refusing to use her other hand instead.
A flash of pity went through me. I stepped toward her and reached out to brush the strand of hair aside.
She let out a strangled sound and reared back so violently I thought the chair was going to tip over. I withdrew my hand like I had just seen a snake.
I couldn’t believe I had any feelings left for this woman that would be enough to hurt. Yet she continually managed to find them. My own mother, repulsed by meenough to be willing to throw herself on the floor rather than have my skin touch hers.
I turned around and went into the bathroom. Today was the day I planned on doing my best not to throw up and start cleaning the nauseating room. I expected it to take every bit as long as the kitchen had, but be even less enjoyable.
I had barely returned from getting cleaning supplies from the kitchen when I again heard my mom’s voice. I considered ignoring it and started to pick up the trash all over the floor. Surprisingly, taking a few moments to talk with her sounded more appealing than touching the vileness on the ground, so I stepped back into the living room. “What?”
“I just realized something.” Her voice was almost friendly, and the hairs on the back of my hands stood up. “If you went to the potluck, that means you went to church this morning.”
“Uh, yeah, Rose. That’s right. Didn’t realize that was a mystery.”
She ignored my bratty comment. “They didn’t string you up from the nearest tree, huh?”
She held my eyes, daring me to look away.
“I’m surprised. I thought that church still had standards. Don’t get me wrong, I detest the whole lot of them, but still, to let you in… and to let youeatwith them.” She shuddered. “I’d almost think they didn’t know you were a little faggot. But they do. They know.” She looked at me harder, her voice growing syrupy sweet. “Why, you even knew that they know, don’t you? You walked right into that church, in front ofGod, Sue, and everybody, and sat down like you were good enough to bein there, with them knowing that you like to have your ass fucked by a huge cock, didn’t you?”
I hated myself, but I could feel my eyes start to burn. I have no idea what made me say what I said next, as if it would have any effect, as if it would prove anything to her. In disgust, I heard the tremble of my voice. “The new preacher asked me to be a youth pastor for their youth group. And yes, he knows. He still thought I was good enough to be there.” The next part shocked even me. “And I think I’m gonna do it!”
Her smile was saccharine, and she didn’t miss a beat. “That new preacher must be like you. He must wanna watch you fuck all their little boys, doesn’t he? Maybe he’ll even help you.”
I didn’t shut the door on the way out, but I managed to get into the car and drive out of view of her house before I pulled into the graveyard and broke down and wept.
Seventeen
Asmuch as I hated moving back to El Dorado, there had been a time when I had been desperate to move back. I must have been five or six. No, it was the summer before second grade, so I think that would have made me seven. Either way, when Mom and I moved back, I swore to myself that I’d never leave again. Even at the beginning of high school, while most of my classmates dreamed about moving away and living in a big city, I always wanted to stay in my hometown, even though a part of me longed to escape my life. I couldn’t imagine being away from Donnie and Della.
We moved at the beginning of summer and were back again before school started. As far as time spent away from home, it barely would qualify as a blip on the screen. That period was the only time I acted like a “normal” kid. Most of the time, I focused on being perfect. At that point, I was still doing my best to please Mom and make her happy, make sure I never drew negative attention to myself in school. I somehow already knew that was important.
Mom had been dating Vic for over a year. He pretty much lived with us. I don’t remember ever being at his house. I’m not sure where they met or how. In fact, I don’t really even remember a time before Vic. I’m sure there were others after my birth before Vic came along, but I can’t picture them. Once in a while, I really liked Vic. He had a dog (to me it was our dog) Roscoe. He was huge, a mutt of some sort. Vic would take me along with him and Roscoe and walk through the woods behind our house or ona drive into the country. Most of the time, though, he scared me. He often would make fun of me for being fat or yell at me for being too loud. Mom would never let him go on for too long. She would always step between us and start yelling back. I don’t remember him ever hitting me, but some of my most vivid memories are of him beating her. Anytime she would step between us to stop his yelling at me, she was guaranteed to get hit. Their fights weren’t all over me, though, I am sure. There were many times I would come back in from playing with Roscoe and walk in on him beating on her or find her crying in her bedroom, her face swollen and bleeding, with Vic nowhere to be seen.
I wish my memory were better so I could remember more of the details during this time. Actually, maybe I don’t. What I do remember is enough.
I rememberclearly coming back home, probably from playing with the dog or being dropped off from Donnie and Della’s.
Mom was waiting for me in the living room. She started yelling the minute I walked in, demanding to know where I had been and what had taken me so long. Come to think of it, I must have been out with the dog. Anytime Sue would bring me back, she would come in and talk to Mom, and, unless Mom was drunk, she never yelled at me in front of Sue.
A man came out of the kitchen. At first I thought it was Vic. He told Mom to quit screaming and to hurry up and get in the truck, he would take care of me. It wasn’t until that moment I realized it wasn’t Vic. He bent down. He looked a lot younger than Vic, better looking—cleaner, no scars. He told me his name was Adam and he was very glad to meet me. Without asking, he picked me up and said he was sorry therewasn’t more time, but we had to leave. Mom was already in the truck and was waiting with the door open. He placed me on her lap and went around to the driver’s seat.
