My Son

The screech of burning tyres and the piercing rev of the engine, sends a shiver down my spine. He’s finally out of my hair. Must be withdrawal symptoms as I struggle to keep away from the blinds. It is easier this way. My nightly vigils are over, he must learn. It’s an act of will to avoid a furtive glance at the clock. I must learn too, but I know it’s well past two o’ clock. Relief is spoilt by a cursed sense of desolation, now that’s a bummer. There is the slightest tremble in my hand as I light my cigarette, the balmy smoke is a welcome fix. Well, I can wean off from this as well. My legs feel funny, as I get up, I will enjoy some sleep tonight, well this morning actually.

I can see his room, wide open. I quicken my steps, I don’t want to look. My bed feels cozier than ever as I slip into the covers, but not even a hint of sleep, yet. I have always managed to snatch a few hours despite the heavy metal in the past. Perhaps I need the music, my laugh stuns me, I haven’t laughed in a while. I had two years of this peace when he was in drug rehab. I was terribly optimistic then. I am sweating under the covers, I must throw this stupid thing off. No wonder I can’t sleep. Time is on slow motion, I am cold again, I drag back the covers. Perhaps the television might do the trick. I rush past his room again without a glance.

The squeal of tyres crashes through my stupor, the tv is still a confused blob of colors. He’s back, my legs feel wobbly as I struggle to the door. The street is empty, of course, I kicked him out. The light is finally creeping back.

‘Don’t, expect me to frickin crawl back!’

His scream split my nerves as he threw the keys at me. I feared the worst then.

A mix of rage and drugs, his eyes were red, it had killed the deep blue. I am sure I imagined the pain there. I barracked myself in my room. The noise was deafening as he smashed the drawers and went through his wardrobe. This was his idea of clearing out. I did not leave my barricade until I heard the garage doors bang open.

He was a far cry from the tiny crying face that stared at me twenty years ago, the striking blue blazing through his partly opened lids. He was so helpless. I was confused then, I wanted to hate him, but I was in cloud nine. He reminded me so much of that bastard but his innocence broke all my prejudices. The grueling labour, a marathon twelve hours, was worth its weight in gold. He gave me a new lease. He took me off my menial job in the factory line, it was my bread and butter. The dole was hardly sufficient. My mum bailed me out, bless her generous soul. She kept him, just kept him, and I went back to the factory.

Well, he had repaid me well, gosh here we go again. I can’t ignore his room anymore. It is as I suspected, turned upside down. He had vented his frustrations in devastating fashion. The walls look bare and stripped, I can’t believe I miss those racy posters and photos. His bin’s filled with cd’s must be that loud crap. It’s musty inside, I open the windows, the sun feels good as it streams in.

The television is still on, I knock it off at last. I must begin my daily operations, the mop in my hands restores some balance. My cleaning spree is just what the doctor ordered, I haven’t done this for a while, I wasn’t in the mood. I almost knocked off the little photo frame on the television, he is beaming from ear to ear, he was a caution. I feel like smashing it, but I am sure I’ll piece it together later, so why bother. My nerves feel funny. I have to place it down on its face, it’s better that way. My eyes are burning again. I bring my portable radio out, there must be decent music in a house. It insulated the cocoon of my bedroom from the metal. The heavy metal is still ringing in my head. A siren shatters my pleasant routine, I can see an ambulance streak across through the blinds. I am soaked, but it passes.

I never thought that I’d ever think the scream of a vacuum so soothing, I’ve done the carpets twice over. The stripes zig zag the carpet. What’s wrong with me? I am hungry again, it’s only five past noon, no damn it’s almost four thirty in the afternoon, I didn’t have my lunch. I give up trying to recall what I had for breakfast, it can’t be that hard. But I can’t be stuffed about fixing anything now, the pangs go away. I feel sick in the stomach, I can see the traffic slowing outside, it’s that time of the day. The streetlights are still out, that’s a relief, I tear my eyes away, I might jinx them on. I can’t watch the kiddies crap on TV, it doesn’t do the trick for me this time. There is no use not looking, it’s dark, the lights will be on soon. It feels like a tomb, I have spilled his bin on the floor, there are more than ten cd’s, I don’t know how to play them of course.

I can’t control it, the floor rushes up to support me. I can’t recall clasping the pillow, the violent sobs hurt my chest. His pillow’s soaked, but I can’t stop. It smells of him, it’s sweeter than ever. It’s ringing, he is not answering, this is my tenth or eleventh attempt. I’ll crawl back to him. The smile takes me by surprise again, proud idiot he’ll make me stew for a few hours. The doorbell crashes through my shaky snooze, the tv’s a confused blob, my knees won’t move. I can feel the pounding in my chest.

‘Please wait, I am coming.’

The words refuse to leave.

I limp to the door, the coppers, a man and a woman, look resigned, that selfish bastard, I’ll never be free of him. My breath is short, I want to kill him.

Surely they don’t have to remove their caps, they don’t have to ……… ‘Please No.’

‘My baby, my poor baby, I want him back, I want to see him, please, please, just once.’

My voice echoes from a distance. Everything is orbiting around me, I want to throw up, these legs aren’t mine.

The woman, with a girl’s face, says nothing, but grips me firmly and helps me to a chair. She is a sweet thing, barely out of her teens looks like, she struggles to smile. I am grateful for her strength.

The man says nothing, he’s twiddling with his cap.

‘They did all they could for him maam.’

She has a sweet voice, so soft, caring.

They, who’s they, I can’t think. I don’t feel right at all.

‘Was he, was he high, he was on drugs, did you know?’

My voice sounds strange, distant. I am cut off.

They barely nod, such curtsey.

‘He was trying to answer a call, when he lost control maam.’

‘Oh god no.’

It’s all black.

Copyright @ Jude Perera 2024