My Mother's Son
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"I wish I were dead," I think to myself, describing the excruciating
level
of pain under which I currently suffer.
"His levels appear to be normal," a voice notes from an area near me hear. Or at least I think it's near my head; my sense of balance seems to be out of whack. My head feels large and bloated, almost floating above my body. The strain of a floating head on my neck and back is amply felt: both feel stretched and inflamed. I try to roll my head against the hard pillow, but I can't. even the slightest of movements send rods of pain thundering through my neck and down my body I try to move me legs, but that's another thing I can't do. I wiggle my toes, trying to assure myself that I'm not paralysed. I succeed, but the difficulty in doing so does little to calm my racing mind. For all intense and purposes, I am a vegetable. Slowly, I open my eyes a shade to observe what's happening in the room. Two nurses stand at the foot of my bed, writing on a notepad. On asks the other something in french, but I can't make it out. The noise of the room: the nurses talking, the hum of the lights, the wind creaking in from a leak in the window, everything, all blend into a blur in my mind. I can't seem to process thoughts and noises, nothing is clear. I roll my eyes back and forth to try and make some sense of where I am. Obviously, with the nurses at the foot of my bed, I am in a hospital. I peer around the room, looking for signs of life, something that I can hold onto. The bed table is pushed aside, the only thing resting on it a picture of water. There are no flowers, no cards of sympathy, nothing. The room is typical hospital setting; dour pastel colours punctuated by cords and monitors. A few chairs sit in the opposite corner of the room, probably so ergonomic that one would break their back upon sitting. A few solitary rays of light shine into the room from a crack in the drawn curtains. The aforementioned hiss of wind occasional lifts the curtains, but does nothing to alleviate the stuffy atmosphere of the room. Fearing the worst, I cautiously slid my eyes to my own body. Starting with my extremities, my feet stick out at the bottom of the bed blanket. I notice that they look fine, not a bruise nor cut. Slowly shifting my eyes upward, the rest of my body is a different story. My body appears thin and morbid under the thick sheets; like I am waiting on death's door. My hand looks battered and misshaped resting beside my torso. A splint supports the wrists, two of the fingers are in bandages. The try to move them, but I can't. There doesn't seem to be a connection between my mind and my body; I can't tell it what I want it to do. I follow my arm until I reach my elbow. A large IV tube emanates from the area, with bloody bandages wrapped all around. Innumerable cuts and bruises cover my arms. Fortunately, I am unable to feel anything. Normally, that would strike fear in me, but at this moment I find it comforting. Through a slit in my gown, I am able to peek at me chest. But instead of the normal pinkish white, a blue-grey battlefield unfolds before me. I attempt to take a deep breath, but an intense pain overcomes me. It feels like all of my ribs have been shattered. Here I lay, in a hospital, but I don't know why. One of the nurses, a pretty brunette, looks my way. "Il déjà s'a réveillé," she tells the other that I am awake. Both come to my side and proceed poke and prod. "Comment ça va?" the other, a stock black head asks how I am. I try to respond "Ça va très mal,"- I'm very bad, but I am unable to. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The other asks in starts to speak in english. "How do you feel?" Unable to comprehend that I can't tall, I try to respond again. This time a small, raspy voice comes out. "Horrible. What happened?" "Que ce qu'il a dit?" - What did he say? "Je sais pas." - I don't know. The brunette makes a note on her chart, looks me up and down, then leaves the room. The other shines a light into me eyes. The illumination goes right to my brain, sending a shot of pain through my riddled head. Making a note on her chart, she too leaves. Once again, I am alone. But not for long. The door slowly opens. A police officers pops in his head. "You have a visitor." "Perfect," I mumble. With the police officer standing outside the door, I can only imagine that it's a lawyer, ready to barage me with questions about why I'm here, what I did to deserve this. Inevitably, he or she will tell me, also informing me of what punishment lies ahead. "Are to you able to receive a visitor?" I nod, fearing the worst. The door opens a crack more. A leg appears, the a head and a body. It's my mother. Just the person who I wanted to see. Dressed in drab grey clothes she walks into the room. Looking me up and down, she pulls a chair from the opposite side of the room and takes a seat beside my bed. Sighing, she collapses her head into her hands. "A fine mess you've gotten yourself into," she says coldly. I would like to respond, but only a leathery whisper emanates. "You too." She looks towards my direction, seemingly studying the cuts and bruises on my arms. She then looks into my eyes with an icy stare. "I just want to know one thing." she says. "What?" I naively reply, though it comes out as only a rasp. "Why." A curious question, I really don't know what to say. Or rather what to attempt to say; my voice is probably unable to convey any response. "Why did you do that?" I still don't know what to say. "When I walked into the apartment that night and saw you doing that, I wanted to kill you with my own two hands," she coldly recalls. I look into her eyes. An anger engulfs them, one that I've never seen before. And yet, I still can't remember why. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" she screams. "I don't know what you're talking about," I respond, my voice gradually becoming stronger. "Don't play stupid now," she spits. "You know damn well what I'm talking about. You tried to take the man I love away from me, like you've taken everything else away from me." "Gary?" I try to recall, but I'm blocked. "Yes, Gary. You tried to kill him by bashing his head into the kitchen table." Suddenly, like a tsunami, a flood of memories washes over me. Everything that happened that night sits in front of me, as if in a techni-colour dream. The beating, my revenge, my mother walking in, all except how I got here. Everything, every last word, every last detail. I try to compose my thoughts. "Don't you have anything to say?" she antagonizes. "The only thing I regret..." "Oh, you regret something. Well, that makes it all okay," she interrupts. "Is that I didn't kill him while I had the chance." She turns to me, and with one fowl swoop, she smacks me across the face. Totally helpless, I try to roll with the punch, but I'm a bit to late. The sting sends shivers down my spine. "You are a pathetic disgrace of a human being," she growls. "I wish I would have killed you that night." I refuse to turn back to her, to dignify anything she says with a response. I stare at a painting on the wall. It's of a field. The sun is shining, even though dark clouds loom on the horizon. My life, it seems, has been the total opposite- always cloudy, with a glimmer of hope always a touch out of reach. "Can't you even look at me?" she demands. "Can't you face what you've done?" Unable to avoid the inevitable, I turn back to her. Hate seethes in her eyes, something that makes me all the more convinced that my actions were justified. "What's wrong with you?" she cries. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" "I was right in what I did." "Right?" she screams. "Right? You fucking near killed him. Do you realize that?" "Just like he did to me, right?" "That's bullshit." "Why do you think I'm in here, mom?" "Don't ever call me that," she glares. "Mother," her uneasiness only egging me on, "dear mother, I wouldn't be in here were it not for Gary." "That's a fucking lie." "Seems like your dear Gary can't handle any truths being told about his fucking mother. When I tried to tell it like it is, he flew off into a rage." "That's a goddamned lie!" she shakes her head. "He beat me, mother. He slapped me, then he knocked me down, and then he kicked me until I passed out. Does the truth hurt?" "He told me you'd do this." I raise off the bed, trying to get into her face as much as I can. "I laid at the end of that hallway, and when I finally came to, he was bragging to his mother about what he did? Can you imagine that, mother? So I got up all the strength I had left and I went into the kitchen." I scream, my voice strained. "And I grabbed him and beat his head into that table. My only regret is that I didn't kill the fucker while I had the god dammed chance." "Stop it!" she screams, pushing me back onto the bed with a mighty force. Her hand seems to tear right through me. Shots of pain radiate throughout my body, from my head to my feet. I clench my fists and my teeth, my eyes closed tight, but the pain still brings me to tears. "You're a fucking liar," she sobs. "I know damn well what happened. You flew into a rage and attacked Gary. He tried to defend himself." My body still throbbing, I rip open my shirt, "Look mother, look at what your darling Gary did to me." She looks to the floor. "Can't you face it? Can't you look at all the stitch marks? All the bruises and cuts?" I look down at my chest, which is unrecognizable. "This is what Gary did." "Gary didn't do that," she looks back at me with a new found coldness in her eyes. "That happened when you fell down the steps." "Can you believe that, mother?" She screams, "Don't ever call me that! I am not your mother." "No, that's where you're wrong. You'll never be rid of me, mother. From now on I'll be hell bent on destroying you life, making every last single breath miserable." "No, dear son," she says condescendingly. "That's where you're wrong. We finally have enough to press charges against you. And don't think we'll miss a minute in doing it." I laugh. "That laugh will get you far behind bars." I shoot up from my bed and grab her hand, "Don't think that Gary will get out of this clean. I'll bring him down with me." "How?" she rhetorically asks. "Your condition was caused my falling down the stairs, the doctors here told me that themselves. And Gary had nothing to do with that. You've got nothing." I don't know how to respond. "Now we'll be able to live a life, finally, after all these years." "You're going to put your only child in jail. How can you do that?" "I have no child." A coldness overcomes me. It envelopes my body, engulfing every extremity. All my life, I've felt like I've been alone. Now I really am. I look to her. Without so much as a glance, she stands up, grabs her coat, and walks for the door. "You can't leave me here," I scream. "You can't do this to me." She briefly turns, "How many times have I said that to you? And every time you've gone ahead and done it anyway, without any regard for my feelings. Why should I stand up for you now." "Because I'm your son." "Like I said, I don't have a child," she opens the door. Realizing that I am at the end of my rope, I panic. "You can't do this to me!" I plead. "Aren't you embarrassed that you're leaving your only child here to rot in this hospital bed?" She turns with a look of disgust in her eyes. "I'm embarrassed that you came from me." As she walks out the door, I start screaming, trying anything to get her to come back. "Don't leave me here. Mom! Mom! Please, come back, don't do this!" The police officer pops his head in the door. "Officer," I plead, tears in my eyes. "Ask that woman to come back, please! Make her come back!" "I'll try." "Mom! Please, don't do this, please. Come back," I cry," You can't do this." The two nurses checking my charts earlier walk back into the room, one wielding a large needle. "Please, don't do this," I throw my head against the pillow, ignoring the pain that follows. "You can't do this to you're only child." One of the nurses grabs my IV tube and injects the contents of the needle. As she does, my mother once again appears at the doorway. Seeing her makes my rage flare. "You fucking whore," I scream. "You god dammed bitch. You mother fucker, you stupid," my voice becomes weaker, "fucking, bitch." As she looks on, her eyes fixed on mine, I feel myself slipping away. "You did this to me, and you'll regret it." |