Chapter Five

"Tied To His Memories"

Challenge Prompt: Tie

Roger looked at himself in the mirror of the church bathroom and sighed as he straightened his tie. Every occasion he'd worn a tie before this had been a bad experience for him. Maybe that's why he'd been so reluctant to put one on that morning. He ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lip in thought.

He glanced over at a chair and saw his five year old self, sitting there, pulling on the tie around his neck.
"You're too old to wear those clip-on ties now, Roger." His mom told him, her voice shaky with tears. Her husband, Roger's father, had died in a car accident a week earlier. Roger wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't like seeing his mom cry like she'd been doing all morning.

"Do I have to wear this?" he asked, pulling at the tie. "It's too tight and I can't breathe." he dragged in a labored breath for emphasis.

"Oh, stop it now." she said, slapping his hand away. "Look at you. All grown up. Your daddy would be so proud." she hugged her son to her and started sobbing again.

"Mommy, don't cry. Dad's okay. You said so last night. You said he was an angel now." Roger reminded her. "He gets to play with God and have a pair of wings and everything."

"Oh, Roger...honey..." Roger was good the rest of the day, but when they got home that night, he took the tie off and buried it in the trashcan under a few layers of garbage. He laughed secretly at the breakfast table the next morning as he watched the garbage truck out the window and insisted a few months later that he'd lost it when his mother couldn't find it for the Christmas card pictures.

The next bad tie experience was at the age of twelve. His mother's wedding. Roger had willingly put the tie on that morning, but afterwards had locked himself in the bathroom of the church, refusing to come out. The door was taken off its hinges after three hours' begging on his mother's part, and the man who was marrying her dragged him by the arm to the alter, but only after slapping him around a bit in the basement.

"You snot-nosed little bastard." he sneered. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

"No! You aren't my father and you're never going to be!" Roger yelled back. His comment was replied to with a slap to the face.

"You think your little stunt up there made any difference?" he asked. "Do you, you little fuck?" Roger knew better than to talk back now. He stood erect, staring the man in the face and biting his lip so as not to cry. He would never let this man win. "The only thing it did was piss me off, and that, my friend, is not a good thing for you." he grabbed the end of Roger's tie and pulled him to him, bringing Roger's face a mere inches from his own. "I'm not going anywhere now. You. Are. Mine." he whispered. His hot breath smelled of whiskey and Marlboros, causing Roger to gag a little. "You have no idea what I can do to you. But just you wait--oh just wait. You'll see boy. You'll see." he warned, letting him go and pushing him towards the stairs. Roger was still shaking when he got to his bedroom after the reception. By the next year, he'd run away a total of twenty-four times. At age fourteen he was living full time with Mark Cohen's family in the house two blocks down. Roger shook his head to free himself of the memory and it was replaced by a worse one.

He could barely remember April's funeral. He'd been high as a kite that day; a little drunk too. Mark had dragged him out of bed, dressed him and combed his hair before walking him down to the church. He could remember glaring at the wooden coffin in front of him and hating April with a fierce passion. She had killed herself. She was killing him. He left the sermon early, but unbeknownst to Mark or Collins or anyone else, he'd gone back that night, sober, to pay his respects to the first woman he'd ever really loved.

Now, though, as he stood there staring at himself with intensity, listening to the guests gathering outside the door, he got ready to go to the alter and wait to watch Mimi walk down the aisle to him. They had made a spontaneous desicion to get married two weeks after Christmas Eve. The night she'd almost died made him realize just how fragile time was, and he proposed on New Year's Eve. They promised to spend the rest of their short lives together, through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, till death do they part...