Eric
Eric sat at his desk and glanced through his papers quietly, all had to be read and signed before tomorrow. His new job as the leader of the Silver Guardians was time-consuming, and sometimes pretty boring, but he was getting there. This was where he wanted to be. From there . . . who knew what could happen?
He sighed. This was what he wanted all right. He'd been happy and content in his new job for the few weeks he'd been at it. So what was it that had been eating at him all day? He couldn't concentrate on anything, his thoughts kept drifting. He wasn't used to that, he was used to focusing and getting things done.
So why could he today?
He glanced at the calendar on his wall. It couldn't be that it was Mother's Day. Why should that matter? He'd always ignored the day before, easily. But things had been different then. That couldn't his problem, could it?
Why should it be? He had nothing to do with her anymore, hadn't for years. Since she'd left that night. He gritted his teeth as he thought about it, anger stirring in him once more. She just left, no reason except that she couldn't stand to be there anymore. He'd had his father, but that didn't last. The bastard walked out on him not long after she did. Not that it was a big loss.
Why had she done that? To this day it bothered him, nagged at his thoughts. He never thought about when she left, but he always wondered why. How could she just leave?
He shook his head, Get control of yourself, Myers. It was a long time ago, it doesn't matter now. None of that mattered. He didn't need them anyway. He never did, he never would. He'd done just fine without them; he proved it to himself many years ago. He was better off alone.
He picked up some papers and started reading them over, trying to concentrate, and pushed his other thoughts aside.
He went to the answering machine, but there were no messages, as he'd expected. He'd been at work all day, who else would call him? He turned to shut the door and an image came to his mind, one he'd been trying to forget . . .
. . . "Mom, where're you going?"
"I'm leaving, Eric," she put on her coat and turned to her seven year old son, "Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
"When're you coming back?"
"I'm not," she said shortly.
He swallowed, "But why're you leaving?"
"Because I can't stand this anymore!" she shouted. "Okay? I can't stand you, I can't stand him and I can't stand anything about this place!"
He looked at her silently as she grabbed her keys and left the house, slamming the door . . .
. . . Eric slammed the door, shutting the image from his mind. "Damn it!" he shouted. "Why did she do that?"
He clenched his fist and took a deep breath. It didn't matter anymore. Maybe if he told himself that enough times he'd eventually believe it.
He hadn't thought about it in years, it had been so long buried in his mind. Why would he think about it? It wasn't a good memory, though not an unusual one in his life. He sighed. Don't go feeling sorry for yourself now, he told himself. He'd decided long ago not to care what anyone else said or did. What did it matter? They couldn't change him now; they couldn't change what he'd made of himself. They never would.
He looked around the house. The same one he'd lived in all those years, right until she left. He didn't know why he went back. He told himself it was because the house was cheap and in fair condition, there weren't many good houses for rent in Silver Hills. But he could never quite figure it out. Why should he return there? It held some of the worst memories of his childhood.
He went to the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. At least the day was almost over, maybe he could forget again, shove it all back inside. The only thing that mattered was the present. The past held nothing . . .
. . . She looked up at him from the floor where she sat as four year old Eric ran his toy cars across the couch he sat on, "Eric, honey, I told you to clean that up. I'm trying to get the house ready for Daddy to come home."
"I don't want daddy to come home," he said simply.
"Well, he's going to."
"You wanna play with me?" he asked hopefully.
"I can't."
"Why?"
She shook her head, a small smile appearing on her face, "Because I'm busy."
"Oh." He turned back, disappointed.
She was silent a moment, then gave in, "Well, maybe for a little." She stood up and went to the couch, sitting beside him, "Which ones do I get?"
He handed her one, "The fire truck."
"Is that it?"
He nodded.
She laughed, "Okay. If you wanna be the whole town by yourself."
They played for awhile, not paying any mind to anything, until they heard the front door slam . . .
. . . He looked beside him on the couch, but it was empty. Just like it had been for years.
Why couldn't she have stayed like that? What had changed? He'd been too little to know what was going on, but he saw her transform, quickly. What had killed everything inside her? It was like she stopped caring about them, stopped caring about anything, like she just hated the world she lived in and wanted to go to another one.
So she did, Eric thought bitterly, But for some of us it wasn't that easy. Why didn't she take him with her? Why did she hate him? He hadn't done anything; he was only six or seven. And yet, for some reason, her feelings had changed . . .
. . . "Eric, where the hell have you been?"
"I went outside, I was playing."
"Well, stay in here from now on, okay? I didn't say you could go anywhere!"
"Okay," he said softly. Why was she so mad? He always went outside, he played with the boy across the street every day.
He went to the living room and sat down, turning on the TV. He watched it for a few minutes, ignoring his mother when she came in. Why was she always so mad now? Maybe Daddy was being mean again.
She looked at him, "Why don't you go outside or something?"
"You told me I had to stay inside," he said.
"Well, go somewhere where you're not in my way, okay? I can't get anything done with you underfoot."
"Okay," he said, getting up. He looked at her, "Mommy, are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" she shouted. "Just go away, leave me alone." She sighed, "I don't even know why you're still here."
His six year old mind didn't fully understand what she meant, but he knew she didn't want him around for some reason. He went to his room and sat on his bed, getting out a book and looking at it quietly. He heard his parents' voices downstairs.
"Eric is driving me crazy, why don't you keep that kid away from me?"
His daddy's voice replied harshly, "Well it's not like I want him around either! What's your problem?"
She didn't say anything for a while, then said, "I just can't take him right now, and I can't take you."
"Me? What did I do?"
"You've done everything, so just shut up."
Eric listened to the conversation, not sure of what they were talking about. Why were they so mad? Daddy was always mad, but Mommy never used to be. She didn't even seem to like him anymore . . .
Eric took a deep breath. Why was he thinking about all this? He'd never understand it; never know what went wrong, or what he did wrong. He didn't care. No explanation could be good enough, not to justify what he went through because of her. If only she'd stayed . . .
But she didn't, he reminded himself. She didn't stay because she didn't care. She probably never did. She was just like everyone else.
He found himself wondering what had happened to her, where she was. Did she ever think about him? Had she found the better world she'd been after? The one without him in it? He hoped she hadn't. He hoped she lived in misery for all she'd done to him. And he hoped someday she'd know what he had made of himself, so she'd know that she couldn't ruin him, he could do it without her.
At least that's what he told himself. After a while, that's what he made himself believe. He hated her. Why shouldn't he? She obviously felt the same way about him.
He stood up and went to his room, preparing for bed. He glanced at the time and nodded. At least this miserable day was over.
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