Shadowed Soul (13 page)

“I just thought I should come and see you, mom.”  I forced a smile.

“Why?  You look like hell,” she said.

“I’m sorry?” I was crestfallen suddenly.  She did that.  Burst my balloon every time.

“Why have you come to see me, Thomas?  I don’t have any money for you.”  My mother pursed her lips and her eyes flashed with disdain reserved for me alone.

“Mom, I don’t want money from you.  I don’t want anything except for maybe a cup of decent coffee?”

For a full minute I thought my mother would shut the door on me, shut me out forever.  In hindsight, that would have been easier for everyone.  With a fatalistic expression she stepped back.  Widening the crack in the door just enough to allow me to squeeze inside I entered the time-capsule that had been my childhood home. Memories cluttered every surface.  Her decor had not been changed since I had left at 19.  Each piece of plastic chachka was a testimony to my mother's diurnal unhappiness with her lot in life. The hallway echoed of my childhood.  Drifting from every picture that still hung on the wall were ghosts of relatives with whom we had never communicated.  Every worn fiber in the carpet whispered about the loneliness of my early years.  From every corner in every room grief cried to be put out of its misery.  Even more neglected, her living room furniture remained in a state of suspended animation.  This room was a memorial to her life before my father's mysterious exit.

“You had better sit down,” said my mother flatly. “You can't stay long, Thomas.  I'm going out soon.” 

“Where’re you going, mom?” I stuttered, barely daring to ask.

“It doesn’t involve you, Thomas.”

“I won't keep you, mom,” I said controlling my agitated voice as I set the many shopping bags on the floor beside the couch.  “I just wanted to say hello and wish you Merry Christmas.”

“You could have done that over the telephone,” she said disdainfully as she hovered bird-like upon the chair across from me.  Her eyes searched my face as though disbelieving the real reason behind my surprise visit.

“It's not the same though is it?” I tried to smile.  “The phone.”

“Fine, so how have you been?”  She did not really want an answer but that was all she could think of to cauterize an otherwise deadly silence.  My heart pinched and pulled and I felt compelled to let her know that her son, her only child, was struggling with existence.  I leaned forward and clasped my hands as though I were in a holy confessional.

“To be honest, mom, I've not been doing too well,” I cleared my throat. “Sometimes I feel as though life is against me, that everything around me hates me and wants to see me dead.  It's not easy.  I've got a new son I barely see and Beth is living with her parents. I don't know what to do, mom, I really don't.  I want them back but I think that I have lost them forever.”

I paused and looked into my mother's face and saw nothing that resembled understanding or compassion.  A distant gleam in her eyes told me she had heard quite enough from me.

“I see,” she said after a loaded moment. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don't know, nothing, I don't know,” I stammered, my sleepless night was having a dilatory effect on my nerves.  “I just don't have anyone else to talk to, mom, and I hoped that maybe we could…”

“Pay a shrink.  I'm going out,” she retorted.

“So you said,” I gagged on politeness.  “Are you going somewhere nice?”

“What do you care? Why are you here, Thomas?  You haven't bothered to come see me at Christmas for a long time so why now, why this year?”

“I just felt that I should,” I said truthfully.

“You felt you should?”  Her laugh was sharp like dry, splintered wood.  “You are your father’s son, Thomas.  You're almost exactly like him. When I look at your face I see that man I married, the man who promised to be with me until death took us apart.  Maybe Beth is better off living with her parents.  Better that than waking up one day to find that you have married a man--”  She paused and the smile vanished from her face. “I wish I knew what he wanted from me, Thomas.  I wish I knew why you are here.  You don't like me, do you?”

“I love you, mom,” I said sadly.

“You love me because you feel you have to but you don't like me and that's okay because sometimes I feel that I don't like you either. You're a weak man, Thomas, weaker than your father was and we know what he was like and if death has chosen to leave you among the living, well, then she must have a reason.”

“I see.” I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. “And what was the reason my dad left you?  You said ‘it’s better than waking up one day to find you’ve married a man’.  Mom, what kind of
man
was he?”   She smirked oddly as she listened to me.

“He didn't leave me, Thomas.  He left
you
.”  Her mouth stretched into a malicious grin and I imagined myself leaning over and grabbing her scrawny fucking neck and squeezing the detestable bile from her body.  How could my mother, the woman who had brought me into this world, be so cruel? Apart from my childish porn viewing under her roof, I had never done anything to make her hate me.  Yet her inflexible soul reviled me at every shared encounter.  I glared at her.  A triumphant smile crept across her mouth; my wrath pleased her.  I was reminded of my former boss Steve Mitchell; it was not until he had had enough of me that I respected him.

“Why are you such a nasty woman?  What have I done to you that makes you choose to hate me so much mom?”

“I don't hate you, Thomas.  I pity you.”

“Why?” I asked flabbergasted.

“My mother used to say the apple never falls far from the tree and I pity you because you are exactly like your father just not as strong as he was. The thing is, Thomas, your life is destined to be nothing, a wasted opportunity is all you will ever be and I can't bear to see you flounder and struggle to be something you never could be. So, I don't hate you, I suppose I'll love you in my own way for as long as I live but that's not going to be enough to make me see anything worthwhile in you.”  She looked at me as though defying me to argue.

My own mother had verbalized all my worst fears, harvesting the pollution within me. I did not need the Shadowed Soul to make me feel like shit; I had mom.  We sat in silence for a long time.  The only sound in the room was the insistent ticking of the same old clock on her mantelpiece.  A malignant countdown to death, that clock had haunted my childhood.  For a split second I pitied my mother, surviving endless, hateful time with this calculating timepiece as her only companion. Although, my mother’s words confirmed my worst fears, I thought she must be crazy to share such hatred with her own son.  What mother talks to a child with such venom?  She was the parent; she was the adult in the equation; it was her responsibility to be wise and kind.  Then, it dawned on me.  No.  Now, I was the adult.  I had become the parent.  If I could get myself well again then I would have the sound of love and laughter giving me strength, luxuries never experienced in this house after my father had left.  I wanted to know why my father had left and where he had gone but this bitter old woman was not about to tell me.

Eventually one of us had to speak.  I’m the adult now, I reminded myself.  I knew that in my mother’s mind this was our eternal competition and the only thing that I could do was to let her be the child.

“There's a gift in the bag for you, mom,” I said softly as I stood to leave and left the bag on the couch. “I hope you have a happy Christmas.”

“I don't have a gift for you,” her voice was as cold and clipped as her life.  I’m the adult now, I’m the adult now, my mantra echoed in my head and I blinked back tears of rage.

“This was a gift, mom,” I said quietly.  “Thanks for the coffee.”

Gift-laden I walked slowly from her house to the bus stop.  As I sat among my many shopping bags on the bench, scruffy as a homeless man, I understood that I had finally severed connection with my last living blood relative.  Oddly enough, while I rode the bus home to manicure myself before seeing Beth, I felt less alone than I had before I had visited the woman I had called my mother. 

I was free.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I awoke to the merry resonance of pealing bells at a nearby cathedral and turned toward Beth.  It was Christmas morning and all seemed well with the world.  Spooning my wife in bed, I was exactly where my life meant for me to be.  I wanted to remain in this perfect bubble forever.  The last few months were an intangible nightmare.  Perhaps with some work and time everything could be fine again, and that maybe the Shadowed Soul was little more than an aberration in my life now that I had officially declared my mother
persona non grata
.  I would never leave Beth; my life felt whole again.  My mother’s words replayed in my mind.  I still wished she had completed her sentence when she had spoken of my father:  “…it’s better than waking up one day to find you’ve married a man--” A
man
who
what
?  I wondered.  I wanted to know him. 
Why
was it better that he left us? 
“…married a man--”

Beth stirred.

“Merry Christmas, most beautiful wife in all the world,” I whispered stroking her hair.

“…forever throughout time?” she murmured and laughed softly as she rolled over, her arm snaking around my chest she kissed my side.  I closed my eyes and allowed this fantasy of normalcy to sweep over me, embracing me in a genuine glow of un-dramatic happiness.

The previous day had swept past, shopping, mother, and hours devoted to transforming the cave retreat of a manic-depressive into a plain old, shitty apartment.  My mother’s words had galvanized me into action.  I hated the idea that she was lonely and friable only because of the actions of my father.  What kind of
man
was he?   She blamed him for everything.  I did not want my actions to similarly taint Beth. “…it’s better than waking up one day to find you’ve married a man--”   Whatever that kind of man was, I was determined to be better.  Beth was sweet and pure and I wanted with all my heart for her to enjoy being married to me.  It had taken a lot of exertion to clean up the aftermath of my tirade unleashed upon the Christmas decorations, but the physical activity had been therapeutic.  I had read that natural endorphins have a positive effect on people with my condition but most articles seemed too clinical to recognize the trauma of an emotional stalker like my Shadowed Soul.  So often in the depths of deepest despair, the last thing I could focus on would be starting a new discipline like a fitness regimen.  However, despite not having slept, the brief flurry around the apartment seemed to have imbued me with energy and hope.  Maybe there was really something to endorphins after all.

As I lay in bed with Beth, I did not need the bound women, not now and hopefully not after Christmas.  I had broken an addiction once.  Perhaps a few days with Beth, Bailey and the baby would be the springboard I needed.  My Santa bags of gifts sat under Dorothy and Pete’s tree; I was excited to open presents today with the family.  Trundling here on buses, I was impressed by a palpable aura of anticipation that settled over the crowds and the special warmth that emanated from the city.

Genuine love greeted me at Dorothy and Pete’s.  In sharp contrast to my mother’s greeting, instantly the door opened wide and Bailey skidded to the glass and danced around until I could stow the gifts under the tree and hug him.  Beth’s embrace filled me with a sense of permanence and love.  Bustling toward me with trays of hot baked delicacies to string on the tree, Dorothy and Pete insisted I help them decorate.  The baby had slept until Beth could wait no longer for him.  And when she reemerged with him in her arms, he wore Beth’s signature antlers and tinsel around his perfect, pudgy little form.  Gloriously calming, I had never experienced a family Christmas like this.  Exquisite perfection I hoped would remain with us forever.  After Jonathan’s second feeding I rocked him to sleep in my arms.  Beth winked at me subtly.  I felt a hot rush of passion for my wife.

“Here, let me put Jonathan in his crib,” offered Dorothy whisking him away, pretending not to notice that Beth and I could not take our eyes off each other.

“You think your mother thinks we like each other,” I said nonchalantly.

“Come on, big guy.  There’s an urgent matter in the adjacent room!” said Beth flirtatiously.

As we lay in bed there had been no grand moments of passion, we had held each other and talked quietly into the small hours of Christmas morning.  Though I had not slept in nearly 48 hours, apart from my short doze into the nightmare over shattered ornaments, I was too excited to lose a moment with Beth.  As we talked, I came to understand that my happiness was a source of great comfort and hope to Beth. I held off telling her I had been fired; perhaps after the holidays I could go back and explain why I had done what I had done, and maybe they would allow me back, too.  Re-hire was a long shot but as I hugged my wife against my naked torso I felt invincible.  If the world was genuinely cruel then I would never have been blessed with such love.  As the hour wore on our bodies fell into a synchronized sequence of breathing and soon I plummeted into deep REM along with Beth.

There had been no dreams that I recalled no discomfort and no fear.  Waking here in Beth’s arms with a watery sun illuminating the eastern sky, this moment was the best Christmas present I had ever been given.

“Morning, handsome,” whispered Beth. “Did you sleep well?”  I nodded.

“You?”

“Lovely feeling you near me, finally,” said Beth as she opened her eyes and nuzzled against my shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Thomas, so much.”

“I missed you too, Beth.  You’re my compass,” I whispered.

“You’re my sextant,” she said seductively.  I grinned.

“When will you come back to the apartment, Beth?”

“I don’t know, honey.  You can move here though, any time you want to.”

“But it’s not fair on your mom and dad.  The house isn’t that big,” I protested.