The Slate is Clean:
Texas
By Mary C. Paul
He was thinking about them. He shouldn't have been,
but he was thinking about them. This wasn't something he
could ignore. He never could. He was an outcast. Even when
he was normal, he was an outcast. He had tried being
normal, he tried accepting the role of the outcast but even
the other outcasts rejected him. All that effort and he was
still an outcast. He just didn't fit in, and he was never
in any one place long enough to work himself in somehow. He
transcended outcast by now. He was the ultimate outsider.
Standing on the sidewalk, watching life like a game from
outside the fence, moving to another fence when he got
bored with playing the invisible teen wherever he was.
But why was he blaming himself for this? Why was he
letting the fault lie inside him waiting to quake and
swallow him from the inside out? Why did he let himself
feel like the victim? He thought he knew better than this
by now. He thought he had learned from the past, but if he
had, why was he being consumed with this teen-angst
bullshit. This was their fault! He couldn't blame himself.
Nothing was wrong with him. They could all burn in hell! He
didn't care. He was fooling himself thinking he cared what
they thought. He couldn't have cared less if they hated
him. He wasn't even sure they were capable of hating him.
How could they hate? They didn't feel!
On one hand, he shouldn't care, and on the other, he
shouldn't pretend he didn't care either. His mother knew it
was bothering him when she saw him come home from school
Friday afternoon. He had slammed the door as hard as
possible, and the first words out of his mouth were, "I
hate everyone!"
His mother had tried to remain the voice of reason,
giving loving motherly advice. "Give it a chance, Jason.
You'll learn to like the people here."
"I hate everyone, because everyone hates me!"
She had paused in wake of his obvious frustration
manifesting. "Give it some time, Jason. Once you give them
a chance, they'll give you one."
"Ma, that is such optimistic, fairy-tale, TV-movie
bullshit!"
"No, it isn't. Look, you're pretty angry right now.
You've got the whole weekend ahead of you. When you go back
on Monday, you'll feel much different. This will pass."
Well, it was Sunday, and he didn't feel any better.
In fact, he spent the whole weekend making himself feel a
whole lot worse. All those bitches and assholes deserved to
burn, and J.D. deserved to toast marshmallows in the fire,
light his cigarettes off the flames. He would live off
their total annihilation. He didn't want to go into school
tomorrow so he could feel intimidated, so he could be
scared by all their cliques and groups, and their stares
and isolation. He didn't want to be scared by that shit. He
wanted to scare the shit out of them. Tomorrow, he was
going to turn the tables. Tomorrow, he was going to start
bringing a gun to school.
* * * * * *
He was heading up the stairway, crowded by everyone
else. No one seemed to notice he was there. They pushed
past him. They rushed around him to get ahead of him. He
was on the way to another boring class. He didn't care if
he was late, and he didn't care if anyone else was either.
All week he asserted the minimal amount of effort to blend
in that his mother suggested. He smiled sometimes when he'd
see people pass him. He'd say "hi" to a few people as he
passed them, but they never smiled, waved, or greeted him
back. Today, he tried something new. He dusted off his old
trenchcoat and dyed his hair black, and broke out the
earring. He was going to test what he had really learned,
not just from them, but from her--not his mother, but her.
He had forgotten what it felt like to be himself, to
be real to let go. She was the only one who ever gave him
advice that rang true, that stuck out as real with no fake
bullshit. It was real, because she was real. Nothing about
her was fake, and she was his real teacher. She was the one
who told him that the extreme always seems to make an
impression. Well, he was going to go the extreme, and test
the limits of himself while doing it. He was determined to
make an impression, but a different one than he was used
to--not that this was the first time, but it was the first
time on his own.
He was really being stared at the way he looked now.
He heard laughing as soon as he passed people in the halls,
always behind him. It amused him. They hid behind his back.
How could you hide from someone behind them? This was the
kind of shit that blew his mind when he thought of the
mediocrity of his generation, of the modern teenager, his
would-be peers. They were all so weak, but tried so hard to
be so strong, and in the process, losing sight of how they
were acting so dumb. For example, the band of football
players coming down the stairs now, acting like they were
God's gift to the school, when any real person would see
they were the school's curse. Without them, there would be
civilization--society would not crumble--but there would be
less date-rapes, less AIDS jokes, and a lot less prejudices
around the school social scene. These guys seemed even less
thrilled about him. They spied him and immediately crossed
the stairway and stopped dead in front of him.
This was the first conflict. At least, he was getting
noticed, but if he was going to get this kind of attention,
he might as well welcome trouble too. He thought if trouble
was threatened enough by him to come looking for him, why
not invite it in. He didn't bother trying to go around this
guy, because he knew he wouldn't let him pass. Dickhead.
Anyway, if he wanted a stand-off, J.D. would give it to
him. He remained unfazed. This asshole was not going to get
to him. The dickhead just stood there and smiled at him,
then he opened his mouth, and J.D. couldn't wait to hear
this because he knew that nothing but bullshit was going to
pour out this guy's mouth.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Who the hell do you think you are?" J.D. didn't
hesitate, and he didn't budge an inch. This guy knew he
wasn't afraid of him, so it was going to be his goal to
make him afraid of him, because if he wasn't a bully, he
wasn't anybody.
"I'm the guy that did this." He shoved J.D. with all
his strength, and knocked him down the flight of stairs.
Just now, kids were stopping to watch the disturbance
escalate into the brutal beating of the new kid, but little
did they know. They didn't know J.D.
J.D. gathered himself up off the ground, dusted
himself off just as confidently as if he had tripped in an
empty hallway. He wasn't sure where this power was coming
from. He hadn't thought he had that kind of power and
strength in him, but apparently some was surfacing for lack
of a better method of dealing with this. "Oh, in that case,
I must be the guy that did this." J.D. drew the hand gun
out from the inside of his trench. The dickhead stumbled
backwards as everyone else just screamed and fled to the
nearest exits to any floor to escape the staircase. J.D.
approached him, climbing just a few steps, and as soon as
his brain caught up with him pissing his pants, the guy
turned and fled up the stairs, following the last few by-
standers out the door. J.D. replaced the gun in his trench,
not thinking or caring about the repercussions of his
actions. It was just a minor detail at this point. Mission
accomplished. It worked.
* * * * * *
It worked a little too well. Now he was home, walking
in the door with his mother, who had just picked him up
from school arrest at the principal's office. She was
upset, but not mad-upset, more like worried-upset. As soon
as he closed the door behind him, he felt this discussion
coming on, and just as he predicted...
"Jason, a gun is not what I meant when I said you
should find ways to talk to people. It's the perfect way to
go to get suspended for a week. You're lucky you weren't
expelled."
"Well, you said I needed time off. If that's true
maybe I just need more than I thought. It doesn't matter
anyway. As soon as Pop finishes this building, we're
leaving again, right? Aren't we? Why should I try to blend
in, if I'm gonna be yanked out of the picture soon anyway?"
She sighed in bitter disgust, but it wasn't aimed at
him. She was apparently blaming it on his father again. She
felt nothing but pity for him, but there was nothing she
could do, nothing she could say. She was helpless against
the havoc this had wreaked on J.D.'s life. "This isn't the
way I wanted things to be for you. You're my only son. I
want to see you happy."
"I wanna be happy, but it doesn't look like it's
going to happen."
"You shouldn't think like that. You're father used to
think like that. It would really scare me if you grew up to
be your father, Jason." She practically whispered the
words, like she was afraid someone might hear them, like a
warning to someone under enemy control to break free of
their confines before they die a slave to them. "Have you
tried talking to the girls here? Have you ever walked up to
one of them, and just said hello?"
"Ma, the girls here are different. I can't talk to
them."
"You need a girlfriend. Someone like Sandra. I liked
Sandra."
Her. He couldn't believe she mentioned her! "I liked
Sandra too, Ma, but she was back in Pittsburgh. There will
never be another one like Sandra."
"How do you know that? I know Sandra was special, but
there are other girls out there. She just wasn't the one."
She was more than special. She was practically his
mentor. She liberated him from all this teeny-bopper
bullshit. He had needed direction, and she had one all her
own. It had been the perfect relationship, but they both
moved within days of each other. "What's your point, Ma?"
He didn't want to think about this now, much less talk
about it.
"My point is there are better ways to handle boredom
and loneliness than bringing a gun to school and pointing
it at someone."
"Ma, it wasn't even loaded."
"That doesn't matter, Jason. Didn't you learn
anything from this at all?" She sounded so hopeful that he
had learned a lesson or that he wasn't falling into a trap
she was all too familiar with thanks to his father.
"Yeah, I did." He learned violence works, the extreme
works, and if you intimidate someone, they're too scared
shitless to intimidate you back. "Next time, the gun'll be
loaded with blanks."
"No. No! You are not going to load the gun with
blanks, because blanks will turn into real bullets that
much easier!" She lowered her voice, looked around as she
massaged her temples with her fingers. She was in painful
amounts of stress. "Jason, I want you to live a happy life.
That's all I want for you. I want you to be happy, but
you're just so unhappy here." She walked to the door very
suddenly, passing right by J.D.
"Ma, where are you going?"
"I'll be back later. I'm going to see your father.
He's down at the demolition site."
He blinked and she was gone out the door already. He
flew after her, but didn't see her anywhere. She must have
really been anxious to get down there. He had no idea what
she could have wanted from his father right now that
couldn't wait. He walked all the way to the demolition
site, and it wasn't until he arrived in the vicinity of his
father's mobile office that he spotted her. She was engaged
in a heated argument with his father. Nothing unusual. He
was so used to this that he wished he could remember a time
when this wasn't standard procedure around his house. He
saw his mother look in his direction and spot him. He was
too far away to hear words, but he heard screaming at this
great distance. His mother pointed at him. She must have
been sticking up for him again. His father hated the way
his mother always stuck up for him. Maybe this was the
famous he-deserves-better speech. That sounds about right.
He should have realized that was what she was doing. If he
had realized it, he would have stopped her from coming all
the way down here and wasting time and energy. The man
wouldn't listen to reason. The only thing she could combat
that with was the irrational, and she wasn't very good at
that. More yelling and shouting, causing a scene. These
were the only times he wished he wasn't noticed. His mother
pointed at the library his father was seconds away from
demolishing, probably turning the argument to the exhausted
subject of how his work was more important than his family.
It was true and her words weren't going to change that
either. His mother was growing more and more upset by the
moment and finally in the middle of his father hollering at
her, she walked away. She passed the demolition crew that
was standing back and preparing to throw some switches, and
came right up to J.D. He felt a chill travel up and down
his back as he gazed into her tired eyes.
"You are free to get away from this, Jason. I'm done
here. The slate is clean."
She started walking towards the library, turning her
head in every direction as if she were making sure no one
was following her. J.D. didn't know where she was going, or
where he should go now. He watched her disappear around the
corner in front of the demolition site. He was at a
complete loss. His mother's voice had sounded so distant,
so alien, like she wasn't even herself anymore. His facade
had broken today--he broke through the illusion of
contentment--so perhaps she had done the same. He felt the
breeze blow through his hair and play with the tails of his
trenchcoat as he stood in the perfect dusty haze of the
day, waiting for the explosion to come. Since he was here,
he might as well watch the fireworks. He never really cared
about liking his father, but he loved his father's handy
work. He looked up at the little library that was about to
collapse, and quite by chance he caught a glimpse of a
figure standing in the first floor window.
It was his mother! She was inside the building. She
was just standing there. She didn't even budge. Didn't she
know that building was going to be demolished? They were
throwing the switches--J.D. couldn't hear a pin drop across
a room, but he heard those switches suddenly as clearly as
he would have if he were flipping them himself. His body
went into a severe state of alarm. "Ma! What the hell are
you doing? Get outta there!" His mind was in the complete
shock of panic and horror and fear mixing together and
paralyzing his body, until all he could do was call out to
her.
Then, she waved at him. Very definitive. Very final.
That was when it sunk in that she was inside on purpose.
She knew the building was going to crush her, so why did he
feel like he was being crushed? She knew what she was
doing. He knew what he had to do, but he knew--in some
terrible morbid part of himself--that he wasn't going to
make it to save her, that she didn't want to be saved, that
his father wouldn't notice she needed saving until she
couldn't be saved, and that he wasn't sure if he would be
doing her a favor by saving her--which was the most morbid
thought. Instincts finally kicked in and he ran towards the
building. "Mom!" His heart raced. "Mom!" His mind swirled.
He came closer and closer. "No! God, don't do this to me!"
He was so close. He felt he could reach his hand out for
her to grab. "Mom, please!" He was still way too far away
though. He was losing it. He was feeling too much to feel
anything. He was acting on impulse. He was swirling in his
mind. He was losing it. He was losing her.
Boom.
He was too late.
(c) Mary Catherine Paul
All Rights Reserved
Texas
By Mary C. Paul
He was thinking about them. He shouldn't have been,
but he was thinking about them. This wasn't something he
could ignore. He never could. He was an outcast. Even when
he was normal, he was an outcast. He had tried being
normal, he tried accepting the role of the outcast but even
the other outcasts rejected him. All that effort and he was
still an outcast. He just didn't fit in, and he was never
in any one place long enough to work himself in somehow. He
transcended outcast by now. He was the ultimate outsider.
Standing on the sidewalk, watching life like a game from
outside the fence, moving to another fence when he got
bored with playing the invisible teen wherever he was.
But why was he blaming himself for this? Why was he
letting the fault lie inside him waiting to quake and
swallow him from the inside out? Why did he let himself
feel like the victim? He thought he knew better than this
by now. He thought he had learned from the past, but if he
had, why was he being consumed with this teen-angst
bullshit. This was their fault! He couldn't blame himself.
Nothing was wrong with him. They could all burn in hell! He
didn't care. He was fooling himself thinking he cared what
they thought. He couldn't have cared less if they hated
him. He wasn't even sure they were capable of hating him.
How could they hate? They didn't feel!
On one hand, he shouldn't care, and on the other, he
shouldn't pretend he didn't care either. His mother knew it
was bothering him when she saw him come home from school
Friday afternoon. He had slammed the door as hard as
possible, and the first words out of his mouth were, "I
hate everyone!"
His mother had tried to remain the voice of reason,
giving loving motherly advice. "Give it a chance, Jason.
You'll learn to like the people here."
"I hate everyone, because everyone hates me!"
She had paused in wake of his obvious frustration
manifesting. "Give it some time, Jason. Once you give them
a chance, they'll give you one."
"Ma, that is such optimistic, fairy-tale, TV-movie
bullshit!"
"No, it isn't. Look, you're pretty angry right now.
You've got the whole weekend ahead of you. When you go back
on Monday, you'll feel much different. This will pass."
Well, it was Sunday, and he didn't feel any better.
In fact, he spent the whole weekend making himself feel a
whole lot worse. All those bitches and assholes deserved to
burn, and J.D. deserved to toast marshmallows in the fire,
light his cigarettes off the flames. He would live off
their total annihilation. He didn't want to go into school
tomorrow so he could feel intimidated, so he could be
scared by all their cliques and groups, and their stares
and isolation. He didn't want to be scared by that shit. He
wanted to scare the shit out of them. Tomorrow, he was
going to turn the tables. Tomorrow, he was going to start
bringing a gun to school.
* * * * * *
He was heading up the stairway, crowded by everyone
else. No one seemed to notice he was there. They pushed
past him. They rushed around him to get ahead of him. He
was on the way to another boring class. He didn't care if
he was late, and he didn't care if anyone else was either.
All week he asserted the minimal amount of effort to blend
in that his mother suggested. He smiled sometimes when he'd
see people pass him. He'd say "hi" to a few people as he
passed them, but they never smiled, waved, or greeted him
back. Today, he tried something new. He dusted off his old
trenchcoat and dyed his hair black, and broke out the
earring. He was going to test what he had really learned,
not just from them, but from her--not his mother, but her.
He had forgotten what it felt like to be himself, to
be real to let go. She was the only one who ever gave him
advice that rang true, that stuck out as real with no fake
bullshit. It was real, because she was real. Nothing about
her was fake, and she was his real teacher. She was the one
who told him that the extreme always seems to make an
impression. Well, he was going to go the extreme, and test
the limits of himself while doing it. He was determined to
make an impression, but a different one than he was used
to--not that this was the first time, but it was the first
time on his own.
He was really being stared at the way he looked now.
He heard laughing as soon as he passed people in the halls,
always behind him. It amused him. They hid behind his back.
How could you hide from someone behind them? This was the
kind of shit that blew his mind when he thought of the
mediocrity of his generation, of the modern teenager, his
would-be peers. They were all so weak, but tried so hard to
be so strong, and in the process, losing sight of how they
were acting so dumb. For example, the band of football
players coming down the stairs now, acting like they were
God's gift to the school, when any real person would see
they were the school's curse. Without them, there would be
civilization--society would not crumble--but there would be
less date-rapes, less AIDS jokes, and a lot less prejudices
around the school social scene. These guys seemed even less
thrilled about him. They spied him and immediately crossed
the stairway and stopped dead in front of him.
This was the first conflict. At least, he was getting
noticed, but if he was going to get this kind of attention,
he might as well welcome trouble too. He thought if trouble
was threatened enough by him to come looking for him, why
not invite it in. He didn't bother trying to go around this
guy, because he knew he wouldn't let him pass. Dickhead.
Anyway, if he wanted a stand-off, J.D. would give it to
him. He remained unfazed. This asshole was not going to get
to him. The dickhead just stood there and smiled at him,
then he opened his mouth, and J.D. couldn't wait to hear
this because he knew that nothing but bullshit was going to
pour out this guy's mouth.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Who the hell do you think you are?" J.D. didn't
hesitate, and he didn't budge an inch. This guy knew he
wasn't afraid of him, so it was going to be his goal to
make him afraid of him, because if he wasn't a bully, he
wasn't anybody.
"I'm the guy that did this." He shoved J.D. with all
his strength, and knocked him down the flight of stairs.
Just now, kids were stopping to watch the disturbance
escalate into the brutal beating of the new kid, but little
did they know. They didn't know J.D.
J.D. gathered himself up off the ground, dusted
himself off just as confidently as if he had tripped in an
empty hallway. He wasn't sure where this power was coming
from. He hadn't thought he had that kind of power and
strength in him, but apparently some was surfacing for lack
of a better method of dealing with this. "Oh, in that case,
I must be the guy that did this." J.D. drew the hand gun
out from the inside of his trench. The dickhead stumbled
backwards as everyone else just screamed and fled to the
nearest exits to any floor to escape the staircase. J.D.
approached him, climbing just a few steps, and as soon as
his brain caught up with him pissing his pants, the guy
turned and fled up the stairs, following the last few by-
standers out the door. J.D. replaced the gun in his trench,
not thinking or caring about the repercussions of his
actions. It was just a minor detail at this point. Mission
accomplished. It worked.
* * * * * *
It worked a little too well. Now he was home, walking
in the door with his mother, who had just picked him up
from school arrest at the principal's office. She was
upset, but not mad-upset, more like worried-upset. As soon
as he closed the door behind him, he felt this discussion
coming on, and just as he predicted...
"Jason, a gun is not what I meant when I said you
should find ways to talk to people. It's the perfect way to
go to get suspended for a week. You're lucky you weren't
expelled."
"Well, you said I needed time off. If that's true
maybe I just need more than I thought. It doesn't matter
anyway. As soon as Pop finishes this building, we're
leaving again, right? Aren't we? Why should I try to blend
in, if I'm gonna be yanked out of the picture soon anyway?"
She sighed in bitter disgust, but it wasn't aimed at
him. She was apparently blaming it on his father again. She
felt nothing but pity for him, but there was nothing she
could do, nothing she could say. She was helpless against
the havoc this had wreaked on J.D.'s life. "This isn't the
way I wanted things to be for you. You're my only son. I
want to see you happy."
"I wanna be happy, but it doesn't look like it's
going to happen."
"You shouldn't think like that. You're father used to
think like that. It would really scare me if you grew up to
be your father, Jason." She practically whispered the
words, like she was afraid someone might hear them, like a
warning to someone under enemy control to break free of
their confines before they die a slave to them. "Have you
tried talking to the girls here? Have you ever walked up to
one of them, and just said hello?"
"Ma, the girls here are different. I can't talk to
them."
"You need a girlfriend. Someone like Sandra. I liked
Sandra."
Her. He couldn't believe she mentioned her! "I liked
Sandra too, Ma, but she was back in Pittsburgh. There will
never be another one like Sandra."
"How do you know that? I know Sandra was special, but
there are other girls out there. She just wasn't the one."
She was more than special. She was practically his
mentor. She liberated him from all this teeny-bopper
bullshit. He had needed direction, and she had one all her
own. It had been the perfect relationship, but they both
moved within days of each other. "What's your point, Ma?"
He didn't want to think about this now, much less talk
about it.
"My point is there are better ways to handle boredom
and loneliness than bringing a gun to school and pointing
it at someone."
"Ma, it wasn't even loaded."
"That doesn't matter, Jason. Didn't you learn
anything from this at all?" She sounded so hopeful that he
had learned a lesson or that he wasn't falling into a trap
she was all too familiar with thanks to his father.
"Yeah, I did." He learned violence works, the extreme
works, and if you intimidate someone, they're too scared
shitless to intimidate you back. "Next time, the gun'll be
loaded with blanks."
"No. No! You are not going to load the gun with
blanks, because blanks will turn into real bullets that
much easier!" She lowered her voice, looked around as she
massaged her temples with her fingers. She was in painful
amounts of stress. "Jason, I want you to live a happy life.
That's all I want for you. I want you to be happy, but
you're just so unhappy here." She walked to the door very
suddenly, passing right by J.D.
"Ma, where are you going?"
"I'll be back later. I'm going to see your father.
He's down at the demolition site."
He blinked and she was gone out the door already. He
flew after her, but didn't see her anywhere. She must have
really been anxious to get down there. He had no idea what
she could have wanted from his father right now that
couldn't wait. He walked all the way to the demolition
site, and it wasn't until he arrived in the vicinity of his
father's mobile office that he spotted her. She was engaged
in a heated argument with his father. Nothing unusual. He
was so used to this that he wished he could remember a time
when this wasn't standard procedure around his house. He
saw his mother look in his direction and spot him. He was
too far away to hear words, but he heard screaming at this
great distance. His mother pointed at him. She must have
been sticking up for him again. His father hated the way
his mother always stuck up for him. Maybe this was the
famous he-deserves-better speech. That sounds about right.
He should have realized that was what she was doing. If he
had realized it, he would have stopped her from coming all
the way down here and wasting time and energy. The man
wouldn't listen to reason. The only thing she could combat
that with was the irrational, and she wasn't very good at
that. More yelling and shouting, causing a scene. These
were the only times he wished he wasn't noticed. His mother
pointed at the library his father was seconds away from
demolishing, probably turning the argument to the exhausted
subject of how his work was more important than his family.
It was true and her words weren't going to change that
either. His mother was growing more and more upset by the
moment and finally in the middle of his father hollering at
her, she walked away. She passed the demolition crew that
was standing back and preparing to throw some switches, and
came right up to J.D. He felt a chill travel up and down
his back as he gazed into her tired eyes.
"You are free to get away from this, Jason. I'm done
here. The slate is clean."
She started walking towards the library, turning her
head in every direction as if she were making sure no one
was following her. J.D. didn't know where she was going, or
where he should go now. He watched her disappear around the
corner in front of the demolition site. He was at a
complete loss. His mother's voice had sounded so distant,
so alien, like she wasn't even herself anymore. His facade
had broken today--he broke through the illusion of
contentment--so perhaps she had done the same. He felt the
breeze blow through his hair and play with the tails of his
trenchcoat as he stood in the perfect dusty haze of the
day, waiting for the explosion to come. Since he was here,
he might as well watch the fireworks. He never really cared
about liking his father, but he loved his father's handy
work. He looked up at the little library that was about to
collapse, and quite by chance he caught a glimpse of a
figure standing in the first floor window.
It was his mother! She was inside the building. She
was just standing there. She didn't even budge. Didn't she
know that building was going to be demolished? They were
throwing the switches--J.D. couldn't hear a pin drop across
a room, but he heard those switches suddenly as clearly as
he would have if he were flipping them himself. His body
went into a severe state of alarm. "Ma! What the hell are
you doing? Get outta there!" His mind was in the complete
shock of panic and horror and fear mixing together and
paralyzing his body, until all he could do was call out to
her.
Then, she waved at him. Very definitive. Very final.
That was when it sunk in that she was inside on purpose.
She knew the building was going to crush her, so why did he
feel like he was being crushed? She knew what she was
doing. He knew what he had to do, but he knew--in some
terrible morbid part of himself--that he wasn't going to
make it to save her, that she didn't want to be saved, that
his father wouldn't notice she needed saving until she
couldn't be saved, and that he wasn't sure if he would be
doing her a favor by saving her--which was the most morbid
thought. Instincts finally kicked in and he ran towards the
building. "Mom!" His heart raced. "Mom!" His mind swirled.
He came closer and closer. "No! God, don't do this to me!"
He was so close. He felt he could reach his hand out for
her to grab. "Mom, please!" He was still way too far away
though. He was losing it. He was feeling too much to feel
anything. He was acting on impulse. He was swirling in his
mind. He was losing it. He was losing her.
Boom.
He was too late.
(c) Mary Catherine Paul
All Rights Reserved