Part 17 (1/2)

If she catches you, who knows how long it will be before we can see each other again? I love you. Now go on.

He's right, of course, and I hurry. But when I turn the corner, I can see our car in the driveway. My stomach lurches, like I'm in an elevator and the cable snaps. I fall to my knees and vomit until there's nothing left but cramps. I wobble to my feet, up the sidewalk, and in the front door.

Mama Is Waiting Sitting on a straight-backed chair, facing the door. You were with him just now, weren't you? She already knows the answer. Why try to lie?

The truth is doubtless magnified by the tear storm in my eyes. ”Yes.”

I expect the same chaotic anger she threw at me yesterday. She stands, and my muscles clench. But she stays remarkably calm as she approaches.

I knew it when he didn't show up at church today. I'm not sure why it took me so long to realize what the two of you were up to sitting back there.... Her jaw goes tight, and her left hand reaches for me.

I wince, but she simply slides her arm around my shoulder, guides me toward the kitchen. We need to talk.

I'll make some tea. She pushes me into a chair. My stomach churns acid as I watch her put two cups of water into the microwave, reach for teabags and sugar. Silence overwhelms the room until she puts the steaming cups onto the table. Get the cream, please.

I go to the refrigerator, take the cream from its reserved spot on the top shelf.

Mama pours a little in each cup, hands me the carton, which I return to its place.

Wordlessly she hands me a cup, takes a sip of her own, gestures for me to do the same. The tea is sickeningly sweet, but I don't dare not drink it.

Finally she says, There can only be one explanation for such total disobedience.

Head spinning, I wait for her to finish.

You are obviously possessed by demons.

A Poem by Seth Parnell Demons I never believed in demons or monsters lurking under my bed.

But lately I've started to wonder if evil hasn't in fact infiltrated this world, slithering streets and sidewalks, wearing what- ever disguise suits its immediate purpose.

When a choirboy is molested, is it by the devil in a priest costume?

Or does Satan play a more clever game to get what he wants?

To win the contest, accomplish his goals, might the prince of hatred mask himself as love?

Seth

I Never Realized

What a bogus holiday Mother's Day is until I didn't have a mother anymore. No one to send flowers to. No one to cook a special breakfast for.

The ironic thing is, my mom used to call Mother's Day a ”Hallmark holiday.” You know, something invented to buy pricey greeting cards for.

I know how much my men love me, she said more than once. I sure don't need a three-dollar card or candy to prove that there fact to me.

Regardless, Dad and I always sprang for some silly card, with glittery roses, spring greenery, and flowery sentiment.

Maybe Hallmark should invent some new holidays, like Dead Mother's Day. They could tweak their old motto: When you still care enough to send the very best.

Only where would you send it to?

Better yet, how about Breaking Up Day? They could invent a new motto: A cheerful good-bye when you don't give a d.a.m.n anymore.

No Card To ease the pain of Loren leaving today. Part of me doesn't want to see him.

I'm not much good at good-byes. But the bigger part wants to hold him one last time. Wants to haul him off into the bedroom, make love to him, convince him he can never go away.

Dread simmers in my gut.

Approaching Loren's door, it works itself into a full boil.

I reach for the bell, change my mind, let myself in with the spare key Loren gave me.

”h.e.l.lo?” Even as the word slips past my lips, I know he's not here. He rented the apartment furnished.

Couch. Coffee table. Easy chair. Nothing missing.

Nothing except Loren.

His absence overwhelms the room. ”Loren?” I say it, knowing it's useless, follow the silence into the bedroom.

The closet and bureau drawers are empty. The only trace of Loren is a hint of his cologne.

That, and a note left on the bed, beside rumpled memories: Dearest Seth, I'm sorry to have left you this way, but I couldn't say good-bye face-to-face. Total coward, I know. Rent is paid through the end of the month.

Go ahead and use the place until then, if you want. I'll write you once I'm settled, okay?

I wish I could see you graduate.

It's such a big day-the start of the rest of your life. Enjoy!

I love you very much. Loren.

I Haven't Cried Since Mom died. I mean, after something like that, what's left to cry about, right?

But I let myself cry now.

Loss is loss. Doesn't take death to create it. My legs give way. I slide to the floor next to the bed, rest my head against the bare mattress.

I can smell him there, smell us there. I reread the note.

Phrases jump out at me: ... see you graduate ... rest of your life ... love you ...

Suddenly, certainly, it hits me.