The Despair- A Short Story

June 1 2019

The Despair

I first used the “F” word when I was fifteen, and to add to that it was against my mother. She was in the kitchen and I was angry. We would argue about things; everything and anything.

“Shut the the sliding door mom. That’s where all the spiders come from.”

“Spiders come up the drain!”

“Yeah well they also come right in from the outside because the door is open all day.”

My Dad was a busy guy. He’d often leave for weeks or months at a time. Giving mom a hard time was all I could do.

Before when I was a kid, getting to school was like breaking into a bank. My mom and I would yell at each other the whole way there. Then as I was dropped off I felt like my heart had dropped into my stomach and it felt like tears were just flowing from my eyes. But I kept going. You know how it is. Eventually all that crying turned into anger and I was the student you didn’t want to have. One day a substitute teacher came. We were reading William Shakespeare and I offered to read for the class. I purposely read as if I had a very bad reading impediment. All I’m saying is I was the student you didn’t want to have. You know? I remember in middle school I started to keep a tally of the refurals I received from the dean because I realized the number had reached exceedingly more than my pears. I guess I was the son you didn’t want to have either. But I didn’t realize that until much later.

I remember how I would have friends in the house and how they would watch my mom and me fight.

“Do you think any of your friends treat their mothers the way you treat me?” she would demand.

We would fight about anything but you’d think it would be about something because of how bad we would speak. The yelling and the anger was herendous.

One day I was swinging a bat in the front yard and it accidently slipped out of my hands and into the living room window, which broke. I went into find a screaming mother. She wouldn’t let me have enough.

I said, “Mom it was a mistake.”

She said, “You control your anger.”

I was 16. Anger had nothing to do with it and I was tired of being mean to my mom. You know the ten commandments, “You shall honor your father and mother?” It was this verse in the bible that I had meditated in my mind and heart year after year. I knew that the way I treated my mom was bad and that I couldn’t help but treat her that way.

So I asked her finally, Mom? Can I move out somehow? So somewhere in there 16 to 17 years old I went to live with my friend and his aunt. So I packed up, grabbed a few of my special things, my nice blanket and pillow, and moved in with my friend. I rarely went to talk to my mother after that.

I graduated from high school and packed up once more. I asked dad for funds to go to college. He obliged. I decided that adventure was like a spark in my heart and I left for Arizona. I met a gal and quickly realized that I had never met anyone so quite like her. She was the other spark that lit the fire to get my degree in Earth Science.

We decided that parting ways after college would be a mistake and it felt better when we were together so we married. It was a small wedding in an enclosed garden in a town in Virginia where my bride grew up. It was spectacular! I had never experienced so much hope and joy. My mother attended but my dad could not because of a business opportunity that arose in Germany or something of the sort.

Me and my wife settled in Arizona and had one girl after another. Three to be right. Then a boy and her womb said no more. So we enjoyed each other and our work for the most part. I worked as a Science teacher at the local school and loved my middle school students. I could easily point out the ones who had problems at home, at least I thought I could.

Ten years later I was sitting at my table drinking coffee when I heard the phone ring with news I didn’t want. The voice on the other end intended to sooth my hurt before it came.

"I don’t know if you remember me…I think you should come back home to Colorado. Your Parents just had a major car accident. They are both in critical condition."

So once more I packed a few things and set off for home. I walked up the stair case that led to my growing up bedroom. I still had a few basketball trophy’s and baseball memorabilia sitting on the shelf. Nostalgia poured over my soul. Then I climbed down the stairs like I had done a thousand times. This time my body felt like an oversized giant. I started looking around the room at pictures. some hanging on the wall that had never moved from the day I could speak.

They passed away the next week. Almost side my side.

“Hi, are you their son? They were driving together and it was almost a head on collision.”

I got myself a black suit. I had never attended a funeral. There were a lot of cousins and family there, people I had never met. It was very strange.

One of the cousins came up to me and said, “listen, please let me drive you to the funeral.”

I thought, sure fine.

On the way, cars sifted passed us like I was living in a dream.

“Listen, there’s something I have to tell you and it’s not going to be easy…Listen when you..uh..” He cleared his throat for me almost like he had rehearsed it so that I wouldn’t mind. “Your mom and dad, well. They adopted you…” He kept talking but it faded away from my attention.

Lot’s of time went by.

After the funeral, I went up to the two standing tomb stones and started to weep.

“Mom, I’m sorry. You did your best. Dad, you did your best too.

“I can live in peace now. Thank You!”

I went back to teach that year. I started looking around the room those days for kids that might be mis-fits. Maybe the parents were mis-fits too. Maybe that’s all it was. a mis-fit. I did lot’s of thinking those years to come. Families come in all sizes. Like Forest Gump says, “You never know what your’e going to get!”