Mother's Conflict Addendum

After pondering this for a bit, I think I know what it is. I want my son to depend on me like he did when he was a little guy, just as my Mother wishes that we were home again under her wing...

Yeah...

A Mother's Conflict

This Morning, I was trying to confide to a friend of my conflicting emotions on being a Mother. I suddenly got all emotional and teary-eyed whilst writing and had to change the subject. You see, The Boy is seventeen, a Senior, very eager to go out into the World, leave his mark in it, and serve his country. I was telling her how proud, excited and scared this all made me feel. How it was very evident that my partner and I have raised him to be a responsible (somewhat... he still forgets to turn in his homework at times) and caring young man, but when I see him, all I can think of is how badly I want my little boy back. Now, getting all weepy and emotional at work just won't do, but now in the comfort of home I guess I can type this and hope my tears don't fall too close to the laptop and electrocute myself.

How does a Mother really deal with a child going off on their own?

As a young adult I left my parents house for the Navy. I did not have the benefit of watching my Mom deal with her first-born leave home, and now that I am going through the very same thing, I am having a hard time dealing with it. While I deal with this I feel like crap because I have not been very sympathetic towards my Mom when she says that she wishes her kids weren't so far away. So perhaps I should treat my Mom with more compassion... it just might help me deal with what I am going through now.

So maybe this isn't really about The Boy leaving home, but about taking an introspective look at the relationship I have with my parents. Perhaps by being more intimate and confiding with them, I will get a clue or cues on how to deal with my eldest leaving home.

Hmmm...

Rain

Rain, rain, rain. That’s all it does here… rain! Drive a person crazy, all this rain. First the mist that soaks everything, then the incessant sprinkling and finally raindrops so big it hurts when they hit you. Grey for days. Grey streets grey buildings, grey people, grey lives. No black, no white, just various shades of grey. What I wouldn’t do for some color! It messes with your head. People devoid of color become complacent, show no emotion, they no longer care.

Winters here are hard. Not hard on the body, but hard on the soul… the psyche… The local news is full of home invasions, assaults, suicides, murder… Death. It’s all one big obituary, just one big police ledger. You pick up the Journal, the Times, the Post and read with indifference the daily roll call of those that have passed on. The only emotion evoked for the day is when you timidly turn to the page showing the forecast, wishing for a ray of sunshine, praying for a break from the monotony, only to have your hopes dashed upon the grey, cold clouds full of rain. Dissolute, you resign yourself to the day, to the Grey.

You swallow the last of your coffee, don your armor against the elements and grab keys as you head out the door only to remember that you have no gas. There has been no gas for days. Old habits die hard. Hoping you can catch the Metro, you run to the bus stop only to see it pull away, and you swear the bus driver is laughing as he drives off. You flash him digits because it makes you feel less helpless, then quickly look up and down the street hoping no one has witnessed your lapse into crudeness. Opening your umbrella, you start walking.

The pace is slow and not because you want to take in the scenery. You’ve seen it before… grey. You don’t even care of you’re late for work. Why should you? The boss certainly doesn’t. Hell, he’s happy you show up.

Just for a change you try to make eye contact with the other wet pedestrians. You make a game of it, but soon quit. It’s no fun to play a game when you know you’re never going to score a point.

Something catches your eye, movement in an alley off to your right. Was that a muffled scream? You undo the strap on your holster and place your hand on the butt of your gun. You touch the button behind your left ear and hear the familiar click and whir of the video/audio camera begin to record and send a live feed to the station every move you make. Simultaneously you feel a rush of adrenaline infuse your system. Instinct and training take over. Every sense is hypersensitive. You are in combat mode.

You cautiously walk into the alley, your eyes focusing on every movement that may present a threat. More muffled screams, but now mixed with laughter, come from around the corner. Slowly you pull your gun out, and get into a half-Sabrina as you stand with your back to the wall, just as you were taught at the academy. Everything done by the numbers, never know when someone important is watching, someone with the key to your next promotion. One, two, and go on three.

You step around the corner. There he is. One perp, one victim. Time slows almost to a stand still. There is no need to shout out "freeze", "halt", or any other cliché command that Enforcers of old used to say. He sees you, you see him, simple as that. You see a twitch in the muscle that is connected to his finger on the trigger. You react. A gunshot echoes through out the alley. He falls, the victim cries out in fear and surprise. You hear sirens in the distance and that familiar, "Well done Enforcer 0426 one more victim rescued, one shot, one kill". Yet all your eyes can focus on is the vibrant red slowly turning to a dull pink against the grey pavement. A smile begins to form on your lips. Finally… some color…

Home-Bound

I was cleaning house (my docs folder) and ran across a few short stories that I had written a while back. I am planning to post a few stories and poems so I hope you like what you read and please feel free to leave a comment...

So... Read...

Home-Bound

I take a seat by a window. Cars speed by and I wonder where is that person off to. What errand must be done today? Are they speeding off to work, or are they hurrying home?

Home... what a beautiful word. A word that can conjure feelings of safety and comfort, fear and anxiety, longing and excitement. I sit back and let the constant mechanical hum lull me.

I'm home bound...

I close my eyes and recall the faint perfume of jasmine welcoming me as I walked home in the evenings. The oak trees whispering, urging me on, "hurry... hurry... head home... head home...". I pull a worn photo from out of my wallet. It's old and the colors are fading, but I can still see my friends and I, we're going out... to dinner perhaps? Look at us, smiling, laughing, enjoying each others company. It's been so long. I can sympathize with the dog-earred photo. I too feel the effect of time on my body. My skin is wrinkled, my eyes aren't as bright, and I feel like I've been wrung out and hung to dry, but soon... soon all this won't matter.

I'm home bound...

A flyer appears out of nowhere and sticks to the window. A two movies for the price of one night at the Tower. I can't help but smile when I think of the Tower... My first kiss happened in the balcony. Being kissed and having your breast fondled doesn't seem so bad in the dark. As suddenly as it appeared, the flyer blew away, continuing it's journey, crying out to the town, "two movies for the price of one... two movies for the price of one..." "I must make it a point to go to the Tower," I say out loud. soon... not yet...

I'm home bound.

I get up from my seat, and walk up to the door. My heart is racing, I'm breathing fast and hard, I start to sweat. I can feel the excitement, or is it anxiety (I have never known the difference between the two) welling up inside. I timidly place my hand on the door knob and slowly open the door... Nausea rises from my belly and I can feel the burn of acidic bile on my throat. I see black spots before my eyes, my legs turn to wet noodles, almost giving away underneath me... I slam the door shut and brace my back against it, fighting to stay conscious and trying my darnest to keep my lunch down. I look at these walls, my prison and sanctuary, and I start to cry. I stumble back to my seat by the window and let the comforting mechanical hum of the refrigerator lull me...

Cars speed by and I wonder... Where could that person be off to?

You see, I'm homebound...