A Little Piece of Heaven- Chapter 42

Disclaimer: I don't own Third Watch or Blue Rodeo or Jim Cuddy.....I love this song and I can imagine that is how Bosco would feel about his mother dying and his inability to let his emotions come through. Enjoy.

Bulletproof

Tell me one more time again,

just like I didn't hear you

like I don't know what's going through your mind, I do

I play the same game too

though it's hard to stop even when you want to

Now the moon lights up your face and I can see you're crying

You never liked me to see you cry, it's true, I've done some crying too.

The hardest part about it is trying to hide it from you.

It must be great to be so strong, never needed anybody's help to carry on

But we're so scared of the silence and the tricks that we use

We're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised.

I don't wanna lie about it, I'm not bulletproof.

Well, I finally found a way to hide from all your glances

till the waiting game we play is through. I can, but what's the use?

When all I really wanna do is hideout with you.

It would be great to be so strong, you never needed anybody's help to get along

We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use, yeah we're careful and we're cunning

but we're easily bruised

I don't wanna kid about it, I'm not bulletproof.

Tell me one more time again, I guess I didn't hear you

I don't know all the secrets that you keep inside.

I tried the same thing too, but they all come pouring out of me when I'm talking to you.

It must be great to be so strong, you never needed anybody's help to carry on,

but I'm not waking up each morning with forgiveness I can use,

No I'm careless and I'm cruel, but I'm still easily bruised.

I'm so tired of lying about it, I'm not bulletproof.

No, and I'm not going to lie about it,

I'm not bulletproof.

By the second week in December I had lost fifteen pounds and had accumulated a rather shaggy beard. It took every ounce of energy I could muster just to go to work and back. Everyone at the house knew what was going on and tried to be supportive, but there was really no other place I wanted to be than at my mother's side.

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. She was dying in front of my eyes and there was nothing I could do about it. It gave my heart so much pain to know that any moment, any second, she could be gone and I didn't know how to deal with it.

Faith was my champion, my everlasting rock, and she was by my mother's side every moment that I wasn't. She was handling the situation a lot better than I ever thought she would, and still, I couldn't bring myself to open up to her for fear that I would lose control. I don't know why I had to act that way, for I knew that she wanted to be there for me, but I had put up an invisible wall around me to protect myself from the pain I was feeling. The wedding plans had come to a stand-still and we no longer talked about our wedding day, that was until she brought up having the wedding at my mother's bedside. It awed me to think that she would consider having it there, at a place of death and sadness and it made me love her even more, but all I could do was nod my head and let her take charge.

The trouble was that my resistance was wearing down and I knew that I was on the verge of really having a breakdown. It was getting harder to keep it inside. It was harder on me to let her think that I was handling it on my own, than it would have been to confide in her and let her comfort me. She understood and she left it alone, but I still couldn't let myself break. I had to be strong.

The truth was that with every passing moment, every time I heard my mother ask me to call my father so that she could see him, I was feeling a certain kind of anger envelop my brain and make me feel like I wanted to kill someone, mainly him. He hadn't so much as called to see how she was or even dropped by to offer her some kind of comfort. It made me sick inside to know that he really didn't care about what happened to her. She had bore him two children and remained faithful to him, even after everything he had done to her, to us.

I sat at her bedside and held her hand while she begged and pleaded with me to call him, to bring him to her. What was I supposed to do? Deny her of this one thing? The one thing that I was sure would just bring her more pain. I tried to change the subject, hoping that she would let it go, but she never did. She wanted to see him and it hurt me to know that he was still so important to her, when I was there and doing everything I could to ease her pain. It was him that she called for in her delirium. It was him she sobbed over when she would wake and find that he wasn't there. He was never there.

To even hear his name, brought sour gall to my throat, remembering all that he had done to us. Remembering a time when none of us had a chance to get away from his ugly words and stinging fists, that swung into our faces and bodies every chance he got. In my opinion, he wasn't even welcome at our house, let alone at her funeral. It made me shudder when I thought about that day and how it was approaching so fast. It was Christmas time and the house was bare of any decorations or holiday trinkets. We hadn't bought a single gift. There was nothing there that gave any resemblance of Christmas cheer. But cheer was not invited to sit our table or enter our thoughts. When everyone else was decorating their trees and singing songs of yuletide, we were watching my mother fade away. It would have seemed inappropriate to have done any of those things, when all I could think about was having one more day with her. One more hour. One more second before she closed her eyes for that final time and gone to her final resting place, which I hoped would filled with joy and happiness. She deserved to be happy for once in her life.

I sat by her bed with my feet propped up over the end and tried to think of something to say to her when she woke. Why I hadn't called my father to come, or why I hadn't listened to her when she specifically asked me to do so. I knew I should have, but I hoped that maybe this time she would have forgotten and that she was only asking because her mind was so mixed up. We knew the cancer had reached her brain and that when that happens, people sometimes start saying things they normally wouldn't have. It was usually close to the end when the cancer got there, but at least she wasn't feeling any pain. The brain wouldn't allow her to feel it, and for that I was grateful.

I looked at her pale face, her thin bony arms and limp hair and realized that this was probably the last memory I would have of the way she looked when she died. I didn't want to remember her this way. I wanted to remember her vividly, when she was strong and healthy. She could drink anyone under at the bar. She was wild when she cut loose, singing and dancing and twirling around. She had a laugh that was contagious, making everyone around her feel happy. Even when things were bad she had a way of making me smile and look at the bigger picture. I only had to look at her and see the way her face lit up when she saw me to feel better. I wanted to remember the goodness of her, the way she ran her hand over my hair and stroked my cheek and let me know that I was special to her. I wanted so many things at that moment. So many things that were impossible and out of reach. I felt so alone and so powerless.

"Anthony?"

I looked over at her. She was coming out of her sleep and calling for him again.

"Anthony?" Came her frail pleading.

I reached over and took her hand, swallowing back the tears of anger that only his name could evoke.

"Ma. It's me. Maurice. Do you need something?"

She opened her blue eyes, now so dominant and the only color in her pale face, and looked at me.

"Where's...your....father?"

I drew in a sharp breath and tried to control myself.

"He's not here."

"I...need....to....see...him....."

"Ma. I don't know where he is."

"Get him!" She cried, with more strength than I thought she could possess.

It hurt me, the way she said it, with anger and hurt. She wanted him. She needed him, when it was me who was here. It was me who was agonizing over everything. I felt betrayed by her desperate need to see a man who had beaten her into the ground more times than I could count, a man who had nearly killed her and who had never respected her a day in her life.

I clenched my teeth, while trying to fight back the tears that sprang into my eyes.

"I'll try and find him, ma. I'll go call him right now." I croaked out as I let go of her hand and exited the room.

I stood outside her door for the longest time, wishing that I had it in me to deny her of this request. She wasn't in her right mind, I reasoned with myself. No other time did she ever mention his name or ask about him. I had stopped referring to him a long time ago and as far as I knew, she never saw him or had any contact with him. My mind was full of images long gone, of events and things that had happened over the years. It blurred my vision to think of him and every time he put us down or hurt us. He had never been a happy person, I knew that instinctively and without much thought. Nothing we ever did was good enough. It didn't matter to him if we made good grades or helped ma clean the house.

Eventually, I stopped trying to please him altogether. By the time I was nine or so I realized that there was absolutely nothing I could do that would make a difference. It never stopped Mikey, though. He always tried, whether it be coloring him a picture in Kindergarten or bringing him a beer after work. The pictures were always messy and out of the lines; the beer not cold enough or heaven forbid, a drop would be spilled from its journey from the kitchen into the livingroom. It didn't matter how hard my father hit him or how many times he called him names, Mikey never stopped wishing and hoping that our father would some day love him.

In the end, I knew that I had to pick up the phone and call the one man I despised more than any other in this world. The man who had made my decision to become a police officer essentially effortless. I could no longer help myself from what he had done, but I could help others who found themselves in the same situation. Hearing his gritty, mean voice would be enough to send me into a tailspin, but I would never be able to live with myself if I didn't do what she asked of me.

I made my descent down the staircase and looked at the clock on the wall that was over the door. It was 11:45 p.m. I hadn't realized how long I had been upstairs. I was tempted to forget the call until tomorrow, but knew as soon as she woke again she would be demanding to know when he was coming. I made my way into the kitchen and put a cup of water in the microwave to boil. I needed a strong cup of coffee to get through the call. No. Scratch that idea, I thought to myself. I needed something stronger than coffee to endure talking to the man.

I went to the liquor cabinet and brought out my mother's favorite poison; Johnny Walker Black. I unscrewed the cap off the bottle and took a shot glass out from its place above the fridge. All around me were pictures of the three of us at different stages. Pictures of Mikey and me when we were babies, right up until a couple of years ago. There was even a picture of us all drinking at her bar. Shiny, happy faces stared back at me, as if to say 'nothing can touch us'. I half snorted, knowing now, how childish and optimistic we were to think that we were invincible.

I sat down heavily at the kitchen table and poured myself a drink. I downed it in one gulp. My liquid courage, helping me, preparing me for the call I was about to make. I heard a key turn in the lock and the door softly open.

Faith made her way inside, all bundled up in her blue parka with a matching knit cap pulled over her blond hair. Snow flakes lay softly on her shoulder and quickly started to melt as she came into the kitchen. She took one look at the bottle in my hands and came over to me, sensing that something was wrong.

"Bosco, what happened?" She gushed, inadvertently asking if ma had passed on while she was gone.

I picked up my glass and rolled it around in my palms. It always made it easier to talk when you had something to occupy your hands.

"She wants to see my father. Wants me to call him right now." I said staunchly.

She knit her eyebrows together as she started to pull off her heavy coat. "That asshole? Why?" She demanded.

"She wants him to come over. I'm not sure if it's because of her brain or whatever, but I have to call him...."

She interrupted me as she swiped her hat off of her head and threw it onto the nearest chair.

"And say what? You don't deserve to be here, but come on over so you can give her one last blow before she's gone?"

I widened my eyes and the shocked expression on my face told her how inappropriate her comment was. Although it was true, it sounded crass and harsh coming from her.

She shook her head and pulled up a chair close to me and set her hands on my shoulders.

"You know I didn't mean it like that, don't you? As bad as it came out, I know you know that it's true. He's just gonna come over here and say something stupid and hurt her again. I say you don't call. Tell her he can't come. Please, Bosco. You know what does to her." She pleaded.

"I can't do that to her. She's my mother and she wants him here. She's getting upset every time she wakes up and he's not here. She's callin'to him in her sleep. Faith, as much as it kills me to do it, I have to call her. Back me up. I can't do this much longer. Please." I said tiredly as I poured myself another shot.

She let me down it but took the bottle and glass over to the sink when I was finished. She walked over to me and sat down again, taking my hands into hers.

"Bosco. You need to talk to me. Please. You're keeping all of this locked up inside and it's scaring me. I want to be here for you the way you were here for me when Emily and Charlie died. You need to at least talk to someone, if not me. Please, babe. Do it for us. Do it for her. She knows how much you're hurting." Faith pleaded with me.

I looked down, not knowing what to say. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to discuss how I was feeling with anyone. I knew I couldn't say this without offending her, so I said nothing, hoping she would take the hint.

She sighed and stood up and said softly. "Ok. When ever you need me, just let me know. I love you, Bosco and I want what's best for you." She then walked upstairs to check on ma.

I pushed my chair back and went directly to the sink and took out the bottle and left the glass. I took a long swig, just enough to send me into a coughing fit, while the liquid burned my throat. By the time I picked up the phone, I was starting to feel the effect of the alcohol.

I took the cordless into the livingroom and plopped down on the couch. I sat it beside me for a moment and wiped my, now, sweaty palms on my jeans. It sat there, leering at me, taunting me, telling me to just be a man and dial the number. In my minds eye I could see him, his nostrils flaring, yelling at me, telling me what I sissy I was. No good. Loser. Mistake.

I grabbed the phone and dialed his number, hoping that he wouldn't answer. He picked it up on the third ring. He hadn't even heard my voice and I could tell he was angry. We used to argue over who would wake him up from a nap, or even worse, a hangover. It was the shortest straw that always lost, and more times than many, that loser was me.

"What?"

"Dad. It's Maurice."

"Maurice? Maurice who?" He snarled into the phone.

"Your son." I snapped, knowing full well he knew who I was. Even still, he could hurt me without me even seeing his ugly face.

"What the hell are you calling here at......12:30 for?" He asked as he rolled over, or I guessed he rolled over to see what time it was.

"Believe me, I wouldn't ever call you again if it weren't for her."

"Her? Who? Spit it out, Maurice!"

I rubbed my forehead with my free hand, trying to get rid of the ache that was starting to make it's way deep into the back of my neck and eyes.

"Ma! She's sick......it's cancer. She wants you to come and see her."

There was silence on the other end as he digested what I had said.

"Cancer? Rose? When?"

"A couple of months ago, but she's really bad now. She's only got a few more days, if that. She wants to see you. Can you come?"

"Couple of days....why didn't you call me sooner?" He barked at me, fueling my heart with anger.

How dare he! How dare he act like he cared! Playing the martyr was something he was good at. It was never his fault. When he hit us, it was our fault. We made him do it. When he yelled, same thing. We made him curse and scream at us. When we fell down the stairs, it was our fault for tripping over his big foot. Damn him to hell.

"Call you sooner? Like you even gave a shit to begin with? Call you sooner? Like when, dad? When she needed help with the rent and you didn't show? Or when she called you three months ago to find out what your blood type was and you never called her back?" I yelled into the phone.

"I don't have to listen to this. I'll be over to see her first thing in the morning and you better be elsewhere." He threatened me.

"You're right I'll be elsewhere! Cause if I had to see your face I know I'd kill you myself you selfish bastard!"

He hung up on me and that's when I threw the phone across the room. It smashed into the tv and broke.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and then Faith came running in, anger lighting up her face.

"What's going on in here? You just woke Rose up. She was finally gettin to sleep." She hissed at me.

Upon seeing my face, her expression softened and she sat down beside me. "What happened? Did you call?"

I nodded dumbly, unable to articulate how I felt at that moment, accept for anger, which she clearly saw written on my face.

"Is he coming to see her?" She asked carefully, afraid she would upset me more.

"Yup. Tomorrow morning."

"You gonna be able to handle it?"

"No. Just gonna be in my old room or something. Not too far away, so that if he says anything to hurt her, I'll be close and I can kick his old rigid ass out."

She closed the gap between us and put her arms around me, and for the first time, I felt like I could let her know how I was feeling. I eagerly responded to her touch, her caress that made me feel like I was worth something on this god-forsaken earth. I buried my head in her shoulder, relishing the smell of her shampoo.

"Let's go to bed. It's been a long day." She said softly as she stood up and stretched her hand toward me.

"Faith, thanks for bein'here with me...with..us." I said, in my strongest voice, for fear she would see right through me.

"There's no where else I'd rather be. Now come to bed." She ordered.

I vaguely wondered if she had talked to Sasha or Ty about having the wedding in a couple of days time, but didn't bother to ask. She'd tell me when she needed to.

I followed her upstairs and after checking on ma, we went and got ready for bed. The nurse we had hired was there to watch her while she slept, thus relieving us from a constant vigil.

We climbed into bed and snuggled up against each other. She held me while I fought off the sleep that was trying to consume me. I wanted to stay up incase something happened to ma, but inevitably, sleep soon came.

I knew that I couldn't lie about it anymore; I wasn't bulletproof.