Maybe I should peak in and say hello? Nah, I remember the last time I stopped by to say hi. Don’t want a repeat of that scene. It was an icy, gray, and windy morning. I wanted to borrow the car for a doughnut and coffee run. Dad was away on business, so I had to ask my kooky Mom for the keys. Keep in mind, it had been three days since she’d been discharged from the mental institution she’s been in and out of my entire life. I lightly knocked on her door.
“I’m not going back David. Not gonna tell you again!” Mom said.
“Dad left yesterday, Mom. It’s your son. Can I borrow the car? The fridge is empty, and me and Jamie are starving for some breakfast,” I said.
“Come in son,” Mom said.
I opened the door to a room in chaotic disarray. Drawers from the dresser lay on the floor like land mines. Robes, socks, and underwear scattered across the discolored lemon yellow carpet. The blackout curtains drawn, with the flashing light from the television, the only source of light in the bedroom. Mom was tucked in her eggshell comforter on the wide king size bed. She was wearing her thick framed glasses, gray nighty, and her dirty blonde hair was immensely disheveled.
“Sit down son,” Mom said. I pivoted, facing the chair. The seat was covered by layers of towels, jeans, and blouses. I tossed handfuls of articles of clothing onto the ground, and took a seat.
“Have I told you how you were born?” Mom asked. I shook my head anxiously.
“Surprisingly, you haven’t shared that gem with me yet. Is there a stork involved, or a satanic cult? I sarcastically responded. Mom laid stone faced, and unmoved by my attempt at humor.
“You get your sense of humor from your father. I was six months pregnant with you.Your father was away, based in Berlin. He was waiting on a transfer back to the States for your birth. I was alone. Your grandparents were long gone and buried. The people I thought were my friends were actually party acquaintances at best. Once I got pregnant nobody returned my calls. The people I was closest with were the taxi drivers who drove me to the doctors and back. One morning I woke up, feeling something was terribly wrong. You were trying to tell me something while you were in my belly. Listening to my maternal instinct, I caught a cab to the hospital for a check up. The driver, Miles, walked me over to the pediatric side of the hospital, bless his heart. After the screening, the doctor alerted me the umbilical cord was wrapped around your small, tiny neck. You were slowly being strangled to death in my womb, he informed me, I needed to have an immediate c-section to save your life,” Mom explained. She slid her blanket down her waistline and lifted the nighty up to her lower abdomen, revealing a sizable, crescent shaped scar.
My eyes rapidly shot to the wall in disgust. My corneas burned with the sight of unpleasantry.
“Mom! Please cover yourself up! Don’t want to see that. What are you thinking?” I exclaimed.
She pulled the covers up to her neck. Gritted her teeth with contempt. With a sinister glare, which could kill a small child.
“Your father doesn’t want to see it either. I sacrificed my body for you, and what do I get in return? A husband who won’t touch me and an ungrateful bastard. Fuck off out of my room, I should have had an abortion. I hear the scars are barely visible,” Mom said.