January 18, 2019”He was the first of seven—my first baby boy. Curly black hair. Soft, warm dark brown eyes. Always quiet. Never cried. He scared me, he was so calm and quiet. He was just…that way, I guess. He ignored his toys to play with spiders and stare at his own hands for hours…sometimes I would catch him biting his finger until it bled. Maybe he had that one disease, you know…the one where kids can’t feel pain? Well, he didn’t have that. Turns out he just wanted to see himself bleed. Odd child.”
“Rose…I—“
“No,” she said roughly wiping the tears racing from her left eye, ”it’s fine. I failed my baby boy. He just reminded me so much of his father. He had nothing to do with my broken heart…and I treated him like it was his fault. I was cruel, Vera, I was cruel.”
“Shit, Rosie, you were a damn kid trying to take care of three children on your own.”
“No, Vera…when it was just him…I resented him. I wanted him to die, I mean it. I know I sound like a monster, but it’s the damn truth. I thought of aborting him the majority of the pregnancy. Christ…they say they can feel all that in the womb, you think that’s true? Anyway, he’s a man now…forty-one years old. I heard he’s in California somewhere.”
“Maybe he’ll come visit you sometime. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“I used to leave him alone, Vera. At grocery stores…at mom’s house…with friends…and just leave. I would pretend like he wasn’t mine. I’m not exaggerating when I say I was a horrible mother, believe me. That little devil…he wouldn’t even cry when I would tell him I was leaving and never coming back. After my daughters were born…my goodness…they would cry as if they were dying. And he would just stare at them as if he was looking at frogs or static on the television set or something. As he got a little older he would sneak off to the cemetery—said he made friends with the people who were dead there. I caught him a few times out there opening a dead dog right up…from his belly…and him yanking on guts and who knows what else like bloody rubber bands.”
“He sounds like he may be a strong person. I’m sure he’s done great for himself.”
She smiled, wiped her nose, sat straight up as she smoothed out her dress on her lap and said, “I ever tell you about the time we went to his aunt’s in that cute canary-yellow house she owned on that hole-infested street in Puceville?”
“I don’t think you ever—“
“I was watering the rose bushes for her on the side of the house in that pastel-pink dress I loved wearing when I had my figure—damn I was a knockout. I constantly had to beat them off with a stick, it was guys approaching me all the time in those days.’
“I’ve seen photos. Madonna, what a shape!”
“There I am with my short hair in a warm summer morning. I remember closing my eyes and thinking just how good the sun felt on my face. When I opened them, I see my daughter’s hair on fire! I ran to her. Luckily I had a water hose in my hand, you know.”
“What happened?!”
“This little asshole had found a lighter, god knows where, and lit his beautiful sister’s blonde hair on fire.”
“What?!”
“Yeah…as soon as I put that out and made sure she was okay—“
“Was she?!”
“What? Oh, yeah…she was fine. Whimpering and smoke coming out of her head, poor thing. Well, after that I throw the damn hose to the side of the driveway and I grab him by the shoulders and shook him hard…I mean hard. And said, ‘What the hell did you do that for?! Tell me, please!’”
“What did he say?”
“The damndest thing, girl.”
“What?”
“He said calm as can be, ‘I just wanted to see what would happen.’ Can you believe it? That boy was out there. I’ve never seen another child behave like my own son—not since. He must’ve been seven then. Wherever he is, I hope he can forgive his poor, stupid mother. I can’t turn back time, but…If I could…I’d love the hell out of that boy.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t blame you.”
“All he wanted was for someone to listen. Someone to take the time. Where ever he is, I hope he finds the love I never did give him. May my little boy find peace…may he find all the joy he never got from me…from anyone.”
∞
