Come Back

It was late and I was tired. The world around me seemed to yawn as well. The streets had died down and there was no life to the place I called home. Even the kids who hung out on street corners hustling and dealing were gone. I was in that span of time where nothing was happening. It lasted for only a millisecond but it still existed. Everything was blank, a crisp white sheet of paper with no doodling or words.

I pushed open the door to my fourth floor apartment, 4F to be exact and entered the room. Immediately the smell of cigarettes, rotten garbage and dirt smacked me in the face. I wrinkled my noise and grit my teeth against the smell, mentally going through the list of chores I would have to perform before I went to bed that night. Take out the garbage, do some laundry, clean the dirty dishes, pay the electric, pay the cable, pay the phone, and pay the rent. All these things constantly filtered through my mind, the nagging of yet to do and bills was always there.

Then there was my mother. There she was slouched up against the arm of the couch, a cigarette poised in her right hand, burning down to the filter. Her hair was pinned in yesterday's curlers and her bathrobe hung limply around her, like a dirty gown. The TV was on. It was always on in this house and my mother's eyes were glued to the screen. The television was a bulls eye and my mother's eyes were the arrows. Ashes were scattered about the floor near the sofa, as if my mother had never thought to move from that one spot to flick them into the ashtray so appropriately placed in front of her. The air seemed to be thick with the heavy smoke of cigarettes and everything had the sickening yellow tint to it.

"You been there all day?" I inquired angrily, pulling off my jacket and throwing my keys onto the kitchen table which I needed to fix.

"Yeah," She said in a barely audible whisper, waving me away with her hand. I glanced at the TV and saw that Jerry Springer was on. Men who leave their wives for younger women. How appropriate. If it wasn't for self control I would take my fist and slam it right through the televison set.

"Did you ever think that maybe you could get up?"

"No." Her eyes were still directed at the TV, even as she brought the cigarette to her lips.

"You know, maybe I dunno clean somethin'?"

"Ssh, not now Race."

"Not now?" I could feel my eyes bulging out of my head with rage. Like one of those cartoon character's ya know? When they see something outrageous. "Ma!" I snapped my fingers thinking a sound could jolt her attention. "I'm over here! Look at me!" No dice.

"I'm busy, Race."

"You're busy?" I could feel my heart pounding with unbridled rage. My ears had begun to ring and my eyes were seeing red. I was ready to pounce like a lion on the hunt. I wanted to jump on my mother and strangle her with my bare hands until every last beating breath was choked out of her. "You're busy! I'm the one who's busting my ass twenty four seven! You won't even get up to wipe your own ass! Look at you!"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" She finally looked at me as if broken from her televised trance. "Didn't I teach you respect? You sound like your father!"

"Respect? How can I respect someone that won't fucking take care of herself? Respect you? You're a sorry excuse for a human being! Ever since dad left all you do is lay around here crying and feeling sorry for yourself all day while I've gotta go out and work, pay the bills, take care of Ben and whatever else needs to get done around here! If anyone deserves respect it should be me!"

"Race, I'm warning you! Stop talking to me like that now!"

"Why? Cause I sound like dad? How would you even know what dad is like? You stopped talking to him after I was born! He fucked you out of pity! Now I know why he left cause he knew you'd end up like this!"

"Get out!" My mother stood up from her permanent seat on the couch and pointed her finger at the door. "Get out now." She hissed at me in a low growl, the only emotion she had shown in three years. Three years ago my father left. He announced to me and my mother that he had met someone else, she was twenty five, had fake tits and bleached blonde hair, basically the definition of barbie. My dad moved in with her that Sunday. That Sunday he was supposed to take me and Ben to Coney Island for Nathan's hot dogs. It wasn't like I gave a shit but Ben did and I hated seeing Ben cry. He said not to worry, that he would always take care of his own. We've never seen a dime and we haven't seen him regularly either.

I stepped up to my mother, towering over her, my eyes boring holes deep into her greasy haired scalp twinkling with dandruff.

"If I go no one will pay the rent and then you and your TV will be out on your ass." I sneered at her, my voice cold. My world had turned cold and when I looked at that woman all she was to me was some girl who pushed me out of her. She wasn't my mother, she wasn't any type of mother. I set my mouth in a small line and ground my teeth, my eyes glued to hers as I turned around. I bent down to pick up my jacket and as I pulled on the sleeves I saw Ben standing in the doorway to our room, his head peeking out into the hall. He had heard the whole thing. I froze just as I was pulling the collar down and adjusting my jacket.

"Go back to sleep, Ben." I said to him in a more normal controlled tone. He shook his head, I could hear him wheezing. He padded out into the living room and stepped all the way up to me.

"You're coming back, right Race?" He was tilting his head all the way back to look up at me, he'd forgotten to put on his glasses and was squinting so bad to see me. I knew he was trying to see every inch of so that if I didn't come back he could remember every pore, wrinkle and imperfection on my face. Ben had studied our father's face that diligently when he said goodbye, but he had his glasses in. I still think the only thing Ben remembers about that day is dad's brown valise and the back of his head. I crouched down so I could look into Ben's squinted eyes and rumpled his already messy mop of brown hair.

"Course I am, but I'm gonna stay at Casey's for the night. You need me just call my phone I'll leave it on."

"Can I come?"

"No. Not this time." I gave his shoulder a slight squeeze and then glanced at my mom.

"Benny, come here right now." My mother snapped and Ben just stared at her.

"No." He replied quietly.

"You should be glad that I care about someone in this place, or I wouldn't come back." I zipped up my coat and grabbed the keys off the kitchen table. I took the three steps to the door, turned the knob with a flick of my wrist and left the apartment, letting the door slam behind me. I heard Ben run up to the door, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors as I ran down the apartment stairs to the front door. I knew his face was pressed against the peep hole, wishing I would turn around and come back. He knew I wasn't coming back that night or maybe even then next, but he knew I was coming back. I had watched him stand in that very same place after my father walked out the door. He stood on tip toe, pigeon toed and awkward, one eyeglass pressed against the peephole, the rim of his glasses diving into his cheek to leave a red line that would later form a bruise. He lied to his friends in the first grade and said that he got it from a fight, but they all knew he was lying but weren't mean enough to say anything.

"He's coming back." Ben said. I knew he wasn't, but Ben didn't. I would go back, just for Ben. After this I'd never speak to my mother again.