Little Boy Lost The Continuation of The Way It Was
Chapter 1
It had been six months now since Frances had been diagnosed with Schizophrenia, and there were a few changes in the Goren household. While the disease had appeared to come on slowly, it had now accelerated to full-blown status, making the already turbulent Goren home more chaotic than ever. Frances still refused to take her pills; she just could not accept the fact that she could have this mental illness. Her vanity would not allow her to acknowledge it. That same vanity had always made her neglectful of her children, thinking more of herself and her looks than them, but now it was more than that. The boys, Frankie and Bobby, were practically raising themselves; and although both were used to being on their own quite a lot, it was still difficult for them, being only ten and seven years old.
Things in the Goren family were always in turmoil, what with both Frank and Frances running around on each other, and Frank's gambling and drinking. And now they had this new hardship. Frankie had been aware and ashamed of his mother's illness for some time now; but for Bobby it was still confusing. He didn't understand why his mother acted the way she did, not like all the other moms in the neighborhood. Like Frankie, he was embarrassed and ashamed, too, but mostly afraid. His fear was justified, though; this illness brought out a strange and abusive side to her personality. It was a horrible feeling for Bobby to be afraid of his own mother.
It was also hard on the boys being the ones all the other kids made fun of. Sometimes the kids would gang up on Bobby, calling his mother names, calling him names, shoving him; generally making him miserable. It did no good to retaliate, although he did. That usually made things worse, and often he'd find himself in trouble with the teachers for fighting. The other thing was, Bobby felt a terrible guilt for his own feelings, and tried to make up for it. He felt bad for his mother, who really couldn't help the way she was, and he really tried to be protective and understand. But it was difficult at times to be understanding, when you're seven years old and your mother is punishing you for being "evil." But he tried, he really tried.
As if that wasn't enough, Frank's gambling was getting more and more out of control. He spent more time at the track than he did at home. Losing did not stop him; it was the one time out of ten when he would win that kept him coming back. That meant the most of the time money was scarce, and tempers would flare.
One thing that hadn't changed was Frank's complete and utter detachment from Bobby. The only time Frank ever showed Bobby any attention it was usually the wrong kind. But even that was sporadic, and usually only when Frank was drunk and mad about something. Frank didn't seem to care one way or another what Bobby did.
It was different with Frankie. Frankie had to toe the line; if he didn't, there would be consequences.
On this particular day, an extremely hot Indian summer day, Frankie walked home from school with some friends, while Bobby tagged along behind, getting on the bigger boys nerves as only a little brother can.
"Come on, Frankie, let's dump your little brother," Jason sneered, looking at Bobby. Bobby just made a face back.
But Frankie wasn't interested, not this time. He was worried. "God," he said, as if he'd never heard Jason, "My dad is gonna kill me…"
Bobby perked up, and ran to catch up with Frankie. "Why, Frankie? Why's Dad gonna kill you?"
"Just because," Frankie said, then ignored him and his pestering.
By the time they reached the Goren home most of the kids had dropped off. Frankie stood outside for a minute, then said, "Go check and see if Dad's home."
"Okay," Bobby said, running into the house, letting the door slam behind him.
"Slam that door again and I'm gonna slam your head into it! You got that?!" Frank was in a foul mood; there was no air conditioning; and the heat was stifling. Lying on the couch, in a sleeveless undershirt, the sweat just glistened on his body. He was watching tv, his usual beer in hand. He ran the beer can over his face and neck, trying to cool off. It was impossible, there was no relief.
Bobby just nodded; he understood. He went back outside to where Frankie waited. "He's home," he pouted.
"What's the matter with you?" Frankie scowled. "I'm the one in trouble." Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "Is he drinking beer?"
"Uh huh."
"Crap!" Frankie stood there undecided for a bit. "Well, guess we better go in." He pushed Bobby in front of himself. "Come on."
The two boys went up the steps and into the house. "Get outta the way!" Frank bellowed, as the boys walked in front of the tv. He made a move like he was going for them; they both quickly moved, running off to their room. In a way, Frankie was glad; he had escaped showing his father his report card. He usually did extremely well in school, but somehow he had messed up. Now, at least temporarily, he wouldn't have to face his father, who expected great things from him.
Hearing Frank yelling, Frances came out of the kitchen where she was preparing the dinner. She was just barely holding it together today. She hated the side effects of the pills so she rarely took them. She never thought she needed them anyway. She just kind of stared into the room, and not seeing anyone but Frank she returned to the kitchen where she got preoccupied with things other than dinner.
After a while, Frank went to the kitchen, wondering where dinner was. But it was like a child had tried to prepare supper. It was a total mess; Frances looked confused and didn't know what to do.
Looking around, Frank started to pick some things up, and suddenly threw as much as he could at the wall, screaming at her. She began screaming back at him. The boys heard all the shouting; from around the corner, they managed to see everything that was going on. They always saw and heard everything that went on.
Frank saw them and muttered, "I'm getting out of here! I'll get my dinner at Sal's. You're all on your own tonight. And this place better be spotless!" And he was gone.
Frankie narrowed his eyes. "That's Dad, always bailing on us."
"He's probably just hungry," Bobby said. Despite Frank's total disregard for him, Bobby always defended his Dad.
"You're a sucker," Frankie told him. "Dad doesn't do anything for us, ever."
"Sometimes he wins money for us…"
"Yeah, and he spends it right away! He never buys anything for us! He barely buys food." Frankie was slowly reaching the point where he was realizing just what his father really was. Bobby was still so enamored with his father that he could see no wrong in him. He was so starved for love and affection that he would accept his father at any cost.
"Well, come on, let's go help Mom and make some dinner. I'm kinda hungry," Frankie said.
"Me, too!" Bobby agreed.
It took them a good portion of the night to clean up, and then they set about making dinner. There wasn't much to work with, but eventually Frankie found some cans of soup back in the cabinet, and heated it up. They had soup and bread with a little butter, and were so hungry that it tasted like the best meal they'd ever had.
Then they fixed a bowl for their mother, and took the soup and bread and butter on a tray to her. But Frances was unreceptive, and immediately threw the tray at them, hitting them both. The soup went everywhere, on the boys and on the wall, and the bowl broke into hundreds of pieces. This set her off even more, and she went off on another wild tangent, what horrible children they were and how God would punish them. Frankie gave up, and while she screamed at Bobby he went to his mother's purse and pulled out her pack of cigarettes, along with her matches. He went outside and sat on the steps and lit a cigarette. After things quieted down a little, Bobby finally escaped his mother and joined him. He was disheveled and hurting from his mother's manhandling him.
"Here," Frankie said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and handing it to Bobby. Then he took another cigarette and lit it, putting it between his lips and taking a drag. He watched Bobby for a moment, then said, "C'mon, Bobby, take a drag. It makes you calm down. I heard Dad say it's how you relax, and it's true. Not that we need it around here," he added sarcastically. "This is how you do it." He showed Bobby, who took a long drag and immediately started coughing.
Frankie laughed his first real laugh of the day. And in between coughing and choking, Bobby laughed, too. Forgotten for a while were all their troubles, as ten year old Frankie showed seven year old Bobby a technique for escaping the anxiety in a chaotic environment by teaching him how to smoke.
Tbc
