My Mother's Son: Chapter 10
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I sense a cold presence near me.
With my acute fear of being touched, I have refined my ability to sense people around me, so that when a "touch" is within striking distance, I can put a stop to it immediately. As fanatical as it may sound, this is what I've had to do to break off all physical closeness with my mother. Not out of a fear that her "touch" will make me actually love her, but so that she can get the point that I do not want her touch me at all. If she could only comprehend that, we could both live as happier people. Or at least I could. As for her, I could care less. It's coming closer. I try to move, but I can't. My arms feel like they are carrying a load of 1000 pounds, and my head is nailed to where I lay. I bet this is what Jesus felt like. As I open my eyes to catch a glimmer of what the cold is, the light burns. The kind of burn one feels when they get up in the middle of the night and they first turn on the light. Only this is worse. Through squinted vision I notice a plump lady is moving towards me. She appears to be mumbling something, though her words are like Arabic to me. I strain to focus, but it seems fruitless. As she moves ever closer to me, I notice it is the nurse who was attending to me earlier. At least I now know I'm still in the hospital. After my last outburst, I thought they would admit me to a sanatorium, not leave me in a place where I could possibly escape, stalk and then kill my mother. But that thought didn't even cross my mind. Honest. The nurse extends her arm towards my face. Despite my best efforts, which at this point are weakened beyond recognition, she pulls down on my eyelid and shines a light to see if I am still alive. Indeed I am. "Welcome back to the world," she says as she makes a note on my patient chart. "Another incident like last time and you'll be sent to Rivieres-des-Prairies." Those three words sear into my mind. So many bad stories have emanated from the Rivieres sanatorium. People receiving electro-shock treatment, being held against their will, dying. What an awful thing it would be to go to that place, I think. With the help of medication, they could conceivably keep one incarcerated for the rest of their life, even if their problems had subsided. To picture myself in the institution is almost sacrilegious. A mind so vibrant, so alive, trapped under layers of valium and lithium. Never to be seen again. "Then again, after you go to court, you may just wind up there," she says matter-of-factly. "Your mother told me what you did. If you would have been my son, I would have killed you." "You're a nurse, not a social worker," I manage. "Mind you own fucking business." "You are my business," she snorts back. "I'm going to make sure we nurse you back to health so you can get to court and take the punishment you deserve." I decide to let her continue her rant. Sometimes it makes people feel better just to sound out their ideas and thoughts, their fears and frustrations. That and she controls my drugs. A few "accidental" milligrams more than my dosage, and I could be a corpse. "I just makes me sick how you young people can disrespect your parents so much. She gave you life, but you can't even let her live hers." I roll my eyes. Or at least I try to, but my head isn't fully functioning at this point. She turns and walks out the door. But before she leaves, she just has to make a grand finale. "But let me leave you with one thing," she turns to face me. "One day, god-forbid, you will have kids too. How would you like them to treat you? Think about that one." And....done. I have thought long of that question, but I came up with an answer years ago. Simply stated, I will not give my child a reason to treat me like I've treated my mother. It's not a hard proposition, and one that is easily achievable. When the bar has been set this low, there is nowhere to go but up. Now on to a more pressing issue, what am I going to do? I have two options at this point in the game. I can either stay in this hospital bed or escape. Staying would be the safe option. It would give me time to heal, but after I would have to face the consequences of what my mother thought I did to Gary. Though I would love nothing more than to have my day of reckoning with him, I have the strange sensation that that day will not be in court. On a basketball court, me with knife in hand, maybe. But in a court of law, probably not. I could tell my side of the story, the truthful side, until my face turned blue, but the only partial witness was my mother, and she just happened to walk in at the wrong time. Suddenly my second option looks like the only one. Escape. What I would do after I escape is inconceivable at the moment, but it is the only option I can follow. Maybe I could go back to the apartment after I get out, steal some money, and head to somewhere where nobody knows who I am. A fresh start. No old enemies, no skeletons, no nothing. But I'm afraid that my grade 11 education would not get me very far in the hunt for gainful employment, and I would wind up on the streets. But if I stay in Montreal, I will likely be homeless anyway. Maybe my best bet is to first go to the library to do some research as to which city has the best streets, and go from there. But first to escape. I've seen it done a million times in movies, but always in those films whose plotlines don't add up in the end. But with the nurse gone and my medicated state wearing thin, it couldn't be too hard, I think to myself. The only problem is the seemingly dedicated police offer standing outside the doorway. Getting past him will pose a challenge, one that I may not be able to over come. But comparatively, I've survived 17 years with my mother, so how much of an obstacle could the police be? If I get shot, it could not be any worse than the pain I'm already in, nor as bad as the emotional distress my mother has inflicted on me all these years. I try to lift myself up out of the bed, but my head still feels as though it is bound to the crisp linen. This could be insurmountable, I realize, letting myself fall back. But I have never been one to give up when a challenge lies in front of me. The night Gary beat me into a pulp, I used everything I had left to reap my vengeance. He thought he had me beat down for good, but I rose again. Lying in this hospital bed, I realize I'm in the same situation, only this time my mother is my oppressor. She thinks she finally has me, she'll finally get rid of me so she can go on and lead her blessed life. Without me, she can finally be happy. But think again, dear mother. I will get out of this hospital bed if it kills me. And when you realize I've escaped, your blessed life will be constantly marred by the thought that I'm standing in the shadows, just waiting for the right time to spring out and drag you into the abyss. If I can manage just that, my life will have meaning. I attempt to lift myself out of the bed once again, but this time I am assisted by a surprising drive from within. I want nothing more than to ruin my mother's existence, and that thought is pulling me out of the bed. I cautiously sling on of my feet over the side of the bed, closely followed by the other. The pain shoots through my chest as if somebody were slashing me with a sithe. Though it is incredible, the desire to ruin the life of my mother is just too strong. It propels my body upwards until my feet dangle just a few inches off the floor. I look towards the door. The officer is still standing there, as dedicated as ever. He lowers his head to look at his watch. And with that he walks away. Now is my opportunity. I move further off the bed until my feet embrace the cold floor. As I grab the bed railings for support, I slowly steady myself and stand tall for the first time in seemingly weeks. I am instantly hit by a head rush, the kinds that makes one's vision disappear and emaciates the limbs into a flubbery mess. As I wait for the confusion to pass, the officer returns to his position at the door, coffee in hand. Fortunately, he doesn't look into the room, but the opportunity for me to escape the room has seemingly passed. I am now thinking at break-neck speed. If the officer turns around, he will see me out of the bed and thus I would likely be transferred to another facility, possibly even prison. But the thought of getting caught is almost driving me to walk to the door, tap the officer on the back, and show him exactly what I've accomplished. I'm proud that I've made it to my feet. Despite the best efforts of the nurse, my mother and the officer, I'm overcoming. I almost feel like breaking into a chorus of "Movin' On Up." But not quite. I have to do something. I am bound to be caught at any moment, but if I act immediately, I could preserve the situation and possibly make it out of the hospital. I throw myself to the floor. Upon hitting the tile, I hear a crack in my ribs. The pain rumbles through my body like a destructive earthquake, reaching every last fibre of my being. On top of that, I turn my head to notice that the IV has ripped from my arm and I am bleeding profusely. As I lay on the floor, I know I can't make it out of this one. Even if I can summon the attention of the officer and convince him to get a nurse, I don't know if I could rise from the floor and actually make the escape. But I have to try. "Officer!" I scream in agony. "Fuck, help me!" He turns around. He face turns to shock as he adjusts his vision from the bed to the floor. He rushes into the room and kneels by my side. "How the hell did you do that?" "It fucking hurts," I wail. "Get me some fucking drugs!" "I'm going to get you back up onto the bed first," he says, grabbing my arms and trying to position himself. Slowly, he raises my body until I am on my knees. I look down on the floor to notice a trail of blood dripping from my shirt. ‘What have I done?’ I wonder to myself, realizing that there is no turning back now. The officer continues to lift me until I am standing. He slowly moves my body towards the bed and rests me on the edge. "Will you be okay sitting there?" he asks, knowing full well that I probably won’t be okay. "Just get the fucking nurse!" I scream in agony. He turns and leaves the room. I know I must act fast. Once again using the intense desire to ruin the life of my mother, I lift myself out of the bed and limp to the door. The pain is indescribable, but the force is compelling me to continue. As I near the door, I look down both corridors. The officer has vanished and the coast is a clear as my mother's moral values. I leave the room as with as much haste as I can manage. That's not much, but it seemingly works as I pass door after door. I stop, trying to hone in on some noise around the next corner. It's the office with the nurse. I quickly duck into a near-by room so as not to be detected. I peer out the door way until they pass by, both deep in conversation over what a "bad" person I am. Once again safe, I continue the trek to freedom and the journey to make my mother miserable. If I can only do that, all the pain that I have suffered will have been worth it. |