Life, Lies, and the Little Things

by Brandon Mason

“I had managed to escape the city. The skies began to fall. The drops lacked individual volume but fell in abundance. It was the kind of rain that made umbrellas and rain coats doubt their self-worth. The sensation nears a high; every inch of exposed skin tingles slightly. You barely feel it, or even see it, but you know it’s there. In the near mist appeared a young doe. Its face, deformed and bleeding steadily, stared at me vacantly, seeming rather indifferent to the apparent fractures in its skull. I approached with concern and it continued towards me with a shameless limp. The rain diluted the blood streaming down its neck. I knew what I wanted but not what to do. With good intentions but little consideration, I stuck out a hand. It didn’t flinch or run, but slowly began to hobble back to where it came from. The sky no longer held back.” - W

  The sun shined without restraint. It was fitting. Waldin’s mother always liked the sun. Though it might normally seem appropriate, she wouldn’t have wanted a rainy funeral. Everyone’s feet would get soaked, and no one liked wet socks, especially in the winter. A snowy Christmas Eve seems perfect until no one can go anywhere and everyone ends up with no gifts and half of a Christmas dinner. That’s what she would have said, or something like it. Waldin seemed to be handling it well, as he always did. Their time away had been cut short when he found a payphone to make his monthly call to his mother and the landlord picked up. He knew she’d pass eventually, but not then. She was only fifty. They said it was heart failure, but Waldin didn’t seem convinced. Ever since his dad died, he knew she wasn’t the same. His father had liberated her from a life of indifference and then so quickly sentenced her back to the same.

  Major depression was the clinical diagnosis, but there had to be more to it than that. No dosage of Zoloft could bring back the will to live. A pat on the back and a prescription might work for an STD, but not something that deeply rooted. I guess, in proportion, she was fortunate, because if you didn’t have the money you might just get the pat on the back, and that goes for any mental health issue. They might as well give you directions to the local homeless shelter or a prescription with a manual on how to abuse until your life doesn’t seem worth living anymore.

  Waldin had earnestly tried. There was no replacing his father. They had their moments without him, an occasional burst of uncontrollable happiness. A Sunday spent fucking up a vegetarian lasagna and ordering a pizza, or a long night drive filled with questions about what it was like to be a teen in the 70s; those times were impenetrable. But the next day she’d wake up as estranged as ever. Maybe it was retiring to an empty bed that always got to her. He tried to bring her out of the fog. Probably in all the wrong ways, but damn did he try. Then, one day, he just stopped. Soon after he left for college, and not without a great degree of guilt, he left her behind. As often as he could, he visited home, but those visits ate away at him. She seemed so happy to see him, too happy. It occurred to him that these were highlights of her life, and every time he left his throat sealed shut at the idea that, as soon as he was gone, she’d slowly fall again.

  After school he figured he’d visit more. Of course the opposite became true. His career took a firmer hold on him than even law school, and visiting quickly became an exclusively holiday occasion. A couple of times a year, he’d uneasily ask about how she was holding up, over a honey baked ham. She’d mention some new drug they had her on and try to sincerely say something like, “I think I might be doing a little better actually. Last year was a hard one, but this one seems better so far.” He never knew what to say, knowing if he pressed harder she’d only end up in a worse state. Every now and then he’d find himself staring at that dreaded water stain, and he’d picture his mother. She’d be sitting alone at the kitchen table, pushing her food around her plate, like a disinterested child. She’d finish washing her one plate and fork, and as she walked back towards the living room, she’d pause. This image rarely ceased to torment him. It was ever-present that day. Tears always used to creep towards his eyelids, hoping to sneak out undetected, but there was no reason to resist them anymore. He imagined she’d passed that way, in that very pause.

  Waldin figured it would just be him and Avalyn there. Russell stood slightly hunched over, seeming almost as surprised as Waldin by his own presence. Waldin always thought Aaron would be the one to show. He tried to be as cordial as possible, considering the circumstance, but his thoughts were constantly interrupted by Russell emptying another Tic Tac into his hand. Russ seemed clean but only a few days; still needed something to keep him fixated. Waldin couldn’t help but assume he had stopped using upon hearing about his sister and wanted to appear cleaned up for the funeral, only to regress immediately after. Either way, at least he had tried. How ironic would it have been if he had quit? All those years of addiction ended in a time of undeniable pain. I guess no one quits when things are going well. It seems even the darkest moments struggle to eradicate all light.

  The service was brief. Waldin stood overlooking the grave for quite some time, Avalyn close behind. She knew she couldn’t take that moment away from him. Russell stood off to the side, obviously uncomfortable and anxious at that point.

  “Always thought it’d be me first, Walt.”

  A leaf blew up and stuck to Waldin’s pea coat. It wasn’t even particularly cold that day.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  The leaf dislodged itself and flew away to dance with the others.

  “You know Aaron said he—”

  “Wanted to be here but couldn’t? Yeah I know. I’ll be sure to tell Mom—” Waldin paused, swallowing a frigid breath. “You know you can leave. She’s gone.”

  “Walt, I —”

  “Don’t. I know. Go.”

  Russell reached to put a shaking hand on Waldin’s shoulder, but pulled back, ashamed. He walked off slowly, staring at his cheap wingtips.

  Waldin reset his gaze on the grave. He was not the only one who suffered from those lost years. There was no escaping the damage of the past. He was different, but being different repairs nothing. Why did he think he could run away and not leave things behind? When trying to get away from it all, beggars still cannot be choosers. He couldn’t evade the idea that she died wondering if he’d even show up to her funeral. At least he was not a coward this time.

  Slightly startled by the sound, he turned around to see Avalyn on the verge of sobbing. Waldin recalled that she had never even met his mother. What a goddamned shame. They would have gotten along so well, maybe even better than either of them did with Waldin. He cried for his mother. But Avalyn could not. She only cried for Waldin. The implications were apparent to her. She could only imagine the suffering he would put himself through. In time, he cried for Avalyn too. She grabbed his hand and they gradually made their way back to the car.

  Chapter 13