Mothers

Part 2

 

“I’ve known you since you moved to this side of town and in all that time, I’ve never heard you say a single kind word to him. Not a single Goddamned one in fifteen years.”

 

“I’m sure that is none of your concern.”

 

“It Goddamn is my concern when he ends up on my doorstep because he thinks no one else gives a shit about him.”

 

“Brian has made his own bed, he knows that he is condemned in the eyes of the Lord and in mine.” She moved toward the door, hoping to show Deb out. “He’ll never change and he’s going to end up in Hell. I’ve told him this.”

 

“Do you have any idea what you have in him? Any fucking idea?” Deb was on a roll.

 

“I know that he is a sodomite and a sinner.”

 

“Jesus, Joan. He’s your son, for God’s sake.”

 

“He’s selfish. He always has been. He’s never cared about anyone but himself, ever since he was a child he’s been like that.”

 

“Well, maybe he was concerned about himself because no one else was.”

 

“That was out of line. He’s my son, not yours.”

 

“The fuck you care about him. I spent more time raising him and worrying about him than you ever did, and that prick who called himself his father—don’t even get me started about him.”

 

“I will not allow you to stand there, in my own kitchen and berate me in vulgar language about what you know nothing about. Brian was always a difficult, willful child, from the day he was born. He was never easy and you don’t know as much about him as you seem to think you do.”

 

“I know a Hell of a lot more about him than you do, I’ll bet.” She sat down at the table, prepared for a long siege. “Sit down, Joan. I have some things to tell you about your boy and I’m not leaving until you hear them.”

 

Joan chose to lean against the counter instead, glass of wine in hand, longsuffering expression on her face tinged with annoyance.

 

“Do you know that he’s in love? Did you know that? Probably for the first time in his life, he’s actually fallen in love with someone.”

 

“Brian? He would never allow himself to…”

 

“Well, he did and they’re as evenly matched as anyone Brian could hope to find. And you know what’s even better? Justin loves him back so much that it should be illegal.”

 

“Justin? That blonde boy? Brian is in love with that child? So—he’s a pedophile on top of everything else. I knew that they had—dealings—but I had no idea that it had progressed to thinking that they think that they’re in love. Dear Lord! I pray daily that Brian will release that youngster while there’s still a chance he can salvage his life.”

 

“As a matter of fact, Brian saved Sunshine’s life once already. Did you know that? He sat for three days in a fucking hospital corridor waiting to see if that kid would wake up after an homophobic asshole hit that sweet child in the head with a baseball bat.”

 

“Yes, I saw the news coverage. Vulgar, all of it, lurid. Brian was likely afraid that there would be charges lodged against him.”

 

Debbie stared for a moment. “He cried in my arms because he was afraid of losing him. Did he ever do that with you? I know your son a Hell of a lot better than you do.”

 

Joan stopped for a second, looking at Debbie to see if she was lying. “Brian cried?”

 

It seemed to Debbie that she had made a dent in the steel armor and that she might actually want to know if it possible, as though learning that his caring for someone other than himself was something she couldn’t quite believe and possibly didn’t want to.

 

Debbie had no way of knowing that Brian had indeed cried to her, that they had been on the floor of this same kitchen after yet another beating from Jack. Brian, probably about twelve at the time, had lain on the floor, his head in her lap as she sat with him, his arms around her and had cried while asking her what he had done to deserve it this time. She had tried to explain, but there was nothing that she could say that would make any sense.

 

It had happened twice more after that, and several times before and then Brian had closed down emotionally. Nothing she did could break through the walls of sarcasm and anger that he had erected to protect himself. He was still beaten, but he didn’t seem to care anymore. Sometimes he baited his father then would seem to wait—almost calmly—until the fists or the kicks stopped and then would leave the house, not returning for hours or sometimes days.

 

She knew that he usually went to Debbie’s and that either she or Michael, or occasionally the emergency room would care for him.

 

“Yes, he fucking did. He’s done all kinds of things for that kid. Did you know Brian pays his tuition so that he doesn’t have to take a second job and can spent all the time he has to on his schoolwork? He loves that little twink.”

 

Joan sat down on the chair across from Debbie. “Brian loves him? Brian doesn’t love anyone.” Not now, not since he was an adolescent—not enough to go out of his way for them, at any rate.

 

“Have you ever seen him with Gus?”

 

“That’s Brian’s bastard, isn’t it?”

 

“No, Joan. Gus is Brian’s son and your grandson.” Debbie got up to get herself a can of soda from the fridge. “You mind?” Joan shook her head. “Have you ever seen that little guy?”

 

“No. Brian has seen fit to tell me nothing about the child and certainly never offered to introduce me to either the baby or his mother. He knows how I feel about people having relations outside of marriage”.

 

“He’s the spitting image of his father.” She sipped her coke. “He’s got Brian’s eyes.” And Brian had Joan’s eyes.

 

Joan used the ice look that Brian had learned to use so well. It had stopped working on Debbie years ago.

 

“All he ever wanted was for you to love him. He brought home straight A’s, he made the eastern conference all stars in soccer and track, he won a scholarship to college and I’ll bet you never went to one fucking game or a single track meet. I know for a fact that you couldn’t be bothered to make it to his graduation because I was there and I saw the look on his face when he saw the empty chairs. Oh, he pretended that he didn’t give a shit, like he always does and you were too Goddamned busy to know that your son spent the night sitting in my living room crying on my shoulder after everyone else had gone to bed.”

 

“…Jack was unwell that evening.”

 

“Jack was too fucking drunk to stand up that evening.” Joan just stared at her. It was true; there was no point in arguing the fact. “And what about the times he wasn’t too drunk to stand up? How about all the times Brian came over so I could bandage him up because his shit of a father beat the crap out of him again? Where the Hell were you those nights, Joan?”

 

Joan poured herself another glass of wine. At first she had tried to stop Jack, but it wasn’t possible. He would lock her in the bedroom or the bathroom or out of the house and do whatever he wanted. After a while she stopped trying and found that four or five glasses of wine would make it all easier. She had even thought about divorce, had even gone to the Bishop about it, but it would mean excommunication. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t.

 

“All that kid ever wanted from you was for you to love him. He did everything he could think of to get your attention and when the good grades and the varsity letters didn’t work, he started getting into trouble but you had decided by then to just fucking write him off.” Debbie was close to angry tears. “And you still have the fucking gall to go to church and light candles and all the shit that goes along with it. When was the last time you even called him?”

 

“…Debbie—things were difficult and after Brian went away to college I couldn’t get him to come back or return phone calls or letters. He cut himself off from us.”

 

“Do you fucking blame him?”

 

 Joan sat down at the table, across from Debbie. She had brought her wine glass with her and set the bottle on the table beside her after she had refilled again. She spoke quietly, almost to herself. “I know you think that I’m a terrible mother and maybe I am, but I did love Brian. I mean I do love him.”

 

Debbie snorted in derision. “You had a hell of a way of showing it.”

 

A silence dropped over the kitchen while the two women glared at one another. Finally Joan broke it, speaking quietly, thoughtfully.

 

“Jack didn’t want me to have him. When he found out I was pregnant he insisted that I have an abortion but I couldn’t and still go to church and receive communion and take confession.” She sipped her wine. “When I refused he beat me, probably hoping that I would lose the baby. Then after Brian was born he said that he’d have nothing to do with him. He barely tolerated Claire and he always hated having children around, all the noise and the mess. He liked things clean and neat and he liked his quiet.”

 

Seeming to respond to the revelation and the openness, Debbie became quiet as well, her voice dropping to the level of normal conversation. “Why didn’t you leave him? You had family who would have taken you in.”

 

“I know.” Another sip. “But no one in my family had ever divorced and I thought that maybe things would get better. Brian was always so smart and such a good-looking child. People were always stopping me to remark on him.” Sip, swallow. “Besides, I had no skills, I couldn’t have gotten a decent job and supported them. I was trapped.”

 

“There was help. I raised Michael alone. It can be done, Joan.”

 

“I’m not you.” Sip. “So I raised Brian and at first he was so wonderful, so bright and such a happy little thing, always laughing. I used to sing that silly old song to him…’You are my sunshine, my only sunshine’…you know that one. That was our song. We would dance around the living room while we sang that, or sometimes the kitchen. Then Jack started drinking more and he lost his job. He just couldn’t seem to hold on to one after that.” Sip, swallow, sip, swallow. “Then it seemed that every time Brian did something, brought home another perfect report card or scored another goal, Jack would get angrier and angrier. I don’t know, maybe he was jealous. Brian was so handsome and all his teachers raved about how far he’d go and all.”

 

“How the fuck can a man be jealous of his own son? I mean, shit, how old was Brian then?”

 

“I’m not sure, maybe eight or nine. That was when Jack started hitting him. Oh, he’d been spanked a few times, you know, the normal childhood things, but he’d never been beaten.”

 

“Why the Hell didn’t you stop it or get the kids out?”

 

“He always promised that it would be the last time and he never touched Claire.”

 

“Did he ever hit you?”

 

“Only once or twice after that time he found out I was carrying Brian. No more than that. Brian was the one who always set him off.”

 

“How the fuck could you let him hit your kid? If someone was hurting Michael, I’d have fucking killed them.” Joan didn’t answer for a long minute. “Because it was only Brian and you and Claire were alright. I see.”

 

“Brian became so strong, so contained. I thought that he could take what Jack was doing to him and that he’d be alright.”

 

“Jesus, you thought he could handle it? He was a child, for the love of God. And how fucking long has it been since he was that happy little laughing kid you were just telling me about? By the time I met him, he was one angry, pissed off out of control pain in the ass.”

 

“I never understood how you managed to keep him so well behaved when he was with you. He became so surly and sullen when he became a teenager. Everything I tried with him simply didn’t work. There were so many times I wanted to ask you what your secret was with him. He seemed to be so happy when he was with your family, so much more at ease.”

 

Debbie thought to herself, “That’s because I never hit him with a fucking chain or beat him until he was unconscious.” But what she said was, “…I just loved him, Joan. I gave him a safe place to go and I fed him and I listened to what he had to say and when I had to I bandaged him up or took him to the hospital.”

 

“I tried to talk to him or get him to go to mass with me, but he would be so unpleasant that I finally gave up.”

 

“And just what the fuck would you do when his father was breaking a chair over his head or pushing him down the stairs or kicking his ribs in, Joan? You gave up then, too, didn’t you?”

 

“There was nothing I could do. By then most of my family was dead, Jack controlled the money. I was afraid that if someone reported what was going on—well, I didn’t know what would happen if that happened.”

 

They were silent for a minute as Joan poured herself another glass of wine. She looked over at Debbie. “When did you know that Brian was…is a homosexual? How did you find out? Did he tell you?”

 

“He didn’t have to tell me. At first, I mean when I first met him I didn’t give it any thought, but by the time he was fifteen or sixteen I was pretty sure.”

 

“…But how did you know? I had no idea and…”

 

“I walked in on him and Michael one day. I’d had some suspicions about Michael before that, but when I saw them both up in his room on the bed with their hands…well, it was pretty obvious.”

 

“You mean that they were…? Dear God.”

 

“It was just a hand job.” Joan’s face had gone white at the mental picture she now had. “And you know, I still thought that it could have just been, you know, teenage experimenting or something like that. Brian could have had his pick of any girl in that high school. Just like he has his pick of any man now.”

 

“…And he picked Michael.”

 

Debbie smiled. “Well, that’s a long story. They’ve never done it together and I don’t think that they ever will.”

 

“…Is Brian—the way he is because he spent time with your brother and Michael?”

 

“Honey, everything I’ve ever heard says that he was probably born gay. You didn’t do anything and neither did Vic. He’s just how God made him.”

 

Reaching into her large purse, Debbie started digging, finally pulling out a dog-eared envelope. “You want to see your grandson?”

 

Joan didn’t say anything as the pictures were taken out and handed to her. The one on top was a copy of the snap Michael had taken the night Gus was born, Brian holding him for the first time, smiling—really smiling and his eyes shining with astonishment, happiness and pride.

 

There were about twenty pictures in the pile, taking Gus up to his second birthday. The last one was from his two mother’s back yard during the party they’d had for him. Brian was sitting on the steps with Gus standing between his knees. In one hand Brian held a dandelion for his son to blow away, his other hand gently encircling the child’s hip. They were in a patch of sunlight. Gus’ attention was focused on the weed, Brian looked at his son with a small smile and an expression of wonder. There was no mistaking that Gus was a dead ringer for his father.

 

“Brian was such a beautiful child.” She sounded wistful.

 

“He grew up to be a beautiful man, too. I think that if you wanted to, and if you were willing to take the time, you could get to know him again.”

 

Joan drained the almost full glass before refilling it again. “He blames me for his father.”

 

“Yes, he probably does. And he wouldn’t be out of line to do so, but Jack is dead now and Brian would die before he’d admit it, but he still cares what you think.” Joan seemed to consider it. “Come on, Joanie. He’s still your son. You still love him. You don’t want to be alone. Call him and invite Justin, too.”

 

Looking at the wine glass, she seemed to come to some sort of decision. Something in her stiffened.  “He’s still a sodomite and a sinner who is damned to Hell, as is his young—friend.”

 

“He’s a wonderful, generous, damaged man who wants his mother to accept him for what and who he is and to love him.”

 

“Of course I love him, as I love all of God’s creatures and I pray daily for him to renounce and confess his sins.” The Kinney mask was in place, there would be no further lifting of it anytime soon. “I shall pray for that poor child, as well.” She rose. “Thank you for stopping by, but I’m afraid that I’m really quite tired and I would like to go upstairs to lie down. I don’t want to seem rude, but I would appreciate if you would stay out of my family’s private affairs from now on.”

 

She turned and walked out of the kitchen. Debbie could hear her step going up the staircase and the bedroom door closing.

 

 

Return to Simon's FanFiction