OUR LATE NIGHT CRIME FIGHTING HAD DONE THE JOB. I had managed to curtail my blood lust by the time I made it home later that night. It was just before eleven o’clock when I walked in the front door but my mother was still awake and sitting at the kitchen holding a bottle of wine. I didn’t notice any nearby glasses so I assumed she had been drinking straight from the bottle. Her thin face seemed a bit more hollow than usual as she glanced in my direction.
She didn’t say anything, just stared blankly at the space that I was occupying. I walked over to the kitchen sink, which was filled with filthy dishes. I rinsed out a dirty glass and poured myself a glass of water. I wasn’t really thirsty but I was compelled to hang around for a bit just until I was sure that she was okay. She could drink very heavily at times and I wanted to make sure she didn’t hurt herself as a result.
“Where’ve you been?” she finally asked without turning to look at me.
“I was just hanging out with some friends,” I replied, not looking at her either.
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she said before taking a swig of the wine.
“It’s no big deal, Mom. I’m just finally starting to make some friends. That’s all.”
“Is that right?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I paused as I considered telling her about Monica.
“Yes, that’s right. I actually sort of met this girl, too-”
The sound of the glass wine bottle shattering brought my sentence to a screeching halt. I quickly faced her and was relieved to see that she was unharmed. The wine bottle that she had been holding, however, was in a million glittering pieces on the floor beside her.
“You did what?!” she bellowed, her cold eyes glaring at me as though I had just mentioned an atrocity the likes of which she had never heard. “You can’t! You have to end it, Adam! You have to end it now!” she demanded, hysterically.
“What’s the big deal, Mom? I’m almost 17! What’s wrong with me having a girlfriend?!”
“Because you’re not right, Adam! Who knows what could happen!” she replied with a look of disgust on her face.
“What are you so afraid of?! What aren’t you telling me?!” I demanded, yelling at her as loudly as I could. She cowered in fear as the rage within me swelled so intensely that I could barely contain it.
It pained me to see her fearful of me. That heartache was the only thing that allowed me to calm myself. How could she be afraid of me? How could she think that I would ever hurt her?
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Mom. I’m still your son,” I said as I placed my hand on her quivering shoulder.
She violently jerked away from me and scrambled to the other side of the table.
“Get away from me! You are not my son! You-You’re a monster!” she screamed and bolted for the stairs before I could react.
As she reached the foot of the stairs, she looked back at me with an icy glare. “You’re the reason he’s not coming back! The reason I’m all alone. I wish I had never found you!”
She stormed up the stairs, leaving me behind wondering what had just happened. I didn’t know how to feel. I was far beyond devastated as the mountain of confusion and anguish overwhelmed me and brought me to my knees. How could she say something like that to me? Sure, she had been drinking, but from what I had heard, people often tell the truth when they’re inebriated. If the old adage about “liquid courage” was true, did that mean that she was serious when she said I wasn’t her son? What did she mean when she said she wished she had never found me? Suddenly my confusion matured into anger, my despair into rage. I had to leave and I needed to do it quickly. I knew that if I stayed for another minute I would demolish the entire building.
In one leap, I covered the entire staircase and rushed to my room to stuff my backpack with a change of clothing. There was nothing left for me in that place. My brother was dead. My deadbeat father had been gone for days and my mother had just disowned me.
She stood in the hallway as I exited my room. A hint of remorse flickered in her teary eyes as she stood in silence.
“Where are you going?’ she asked, her voice quivering with guilt.
I trudged past her without a word. It’s too late now, I thought as I stormed down the stairs.
“Adam!” she shouted from the top of the stairs as I threw open the front door and left without closing it.
By the time that she had made it to the front porch, I had already vanished. She fell to her knees and sobbed as I zoomed away into the night.
29. ALONE
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