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Authors: Brian Francis
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in my throat.
“Freddy was many things, but predictable wasn’t one of them.”
“Do you know how it happened?”
“He got himself mixed up with a bad crowd in Hollywood. Showbiz types. Old men. They influenced him. They used him, Joyce. A bunch of filthy men took my son and squeezed his soul dry. He called me one night, crying. Said he couldn’t live with himself. He was ashamed. I remember his words to me. He said, ‘Mother, I feel diseased.’ That was his word. Diseased . Do you know what it does to a mother to hear her own child say that? I told him to come home right away. He could get a job in Balsden. There was no shame in it. But he refused. He said he couldn’t come back here a failure. The next time I heard from him, he’d taken a job on a cruise ship. He was looking forward to seeing the Atlantic.”
She clears her throat and stares at a point just over my shoulder. “So he went out to sea. One night, he was on the deck and went overboard.”
“No one went in after him?”
“I’m not sure anyone noticed. Until it was too late, of course. The current would have pulled him under very quickly. He wasn’t a strong swimmer, my boy.”
“You don’t think he …” The words slip out before I consider what I’m saying.
Mrs. Pender looks at me. She says, “You knew about Freddy, didn’t you?”
“Knew what?”
“His … predilection.”
“I’m sorry?”
“His way , Joyce. Those men saw it. They used my sweet boy and then tossed him aside. They might as well have pushed him over the rails themselves.”
A drop of sweat rolls down my back. I’m not sure what to say, so I keep my lips pressed together. I think of white suits and hard smiles. Pompoms and the cha-cha.
“A mother always knows when something isn’t right with her son,” Mrs. Pender says. “It’s her job to protect him, especially when he doesn’t have the wherewithal to protect himself.” She looks down at the tin. I hear her inhale deeply. When she speaks again, her voice is thicker. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her real voice. “I failed my boy. And, in the way these sorts of things tend to go, he failed me. I’m just not sure which of us failed the other first. But I have the rest of my life to figure that out.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I say.
But I do.
That night, I take John into the living room.
“Listen to me,” I say, holding him by the shoulders. “I’m signing you up for baseball. We’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a baseball glove and a hat.”
“I don’t want to play ball!”
“Your father can practise with you in the backyard. You should be spending more time with him and not with me.”
“No!”
“I’m not arguing with you, John. You’re playing ball this summer whether you want to or not.”
He squirms under my grip. Please don’t start to cry , I think. Please .
“You’ll make lots of friends. You’ll make your father happy. You’ll make me happy, too. Don’t you want to make us happy?”
“No!” he screams.
My hands are vises on his tiny shoulders.
“I bought you that doll,” I say.
He stops. I see the hurt in his eyes. Then the anger. Then resolution. My son and I have reached a new level of understanding.
A few days later, the construction crews move into the neighbourhood. By noon on the first day, half the trees behind our house are gone. Hal drops by and we sit out back, drinking coffee, listening to the chainsaws. And although I know I won’t see it again, I can’t stop myself from looking for the deer.
My roommate Ruth is dead. I’m certain of it.
She came down with a dry cough a week ago that turned into a gurgling hacking. I wasn’t able to sleep with the racket, especially when they brought in that hissing oxygen machine with its see-through green plastic mask and coiling hose. I felt like I was sleeping across the room from an alien. My nerves were raw. I resented having to put up with this commotion. How did
“Freddy was many things, but predictable wasn’t one of them.”
“Do you know how it happened?”
“He got himself mixed up with a bad crowd in Hollywood. Showbiz types. Old men. They influenced him. They used him, Joyce. A bunch of filthy men took my son and squeezed his soul dry. He called me one night, crying. Said he couldn’t live with himself. He was ashamed. I remember his words to me. He said, ‘Mother, I feel diseased.’ That was his word. Diseased . Do you know what it does to a mother to hear her own child say that? I told him to come home right away. He could get a job in Balsden. There was no shame in it. But he refused. He said he couldn’t come back here a failure. The next time I heard from him, he’d taken a job on a cruise ship. He was looking forward to seeing the Atlantic.”
She clears her throat and stares at a point just over my shoulder. “So he went out to sea. One night, he was on the deck and went overboard.”
“No one went in after him?”
“I’m not sure anyone noticed. Until it was too late, of course. The current would have pulled him under very quickly. He wasn’t a strong swimmer, my boy.”
“You don’t think he …” The words slip out before I consider what I’m saying.
Mrs. Pender looks at me. She says, “You knew about Freddy, didn’t you?”
“Knew what?”
“His … predilection.”
“I’m sorry?”
“His way , Joyce. Those men saw it. They used my sweet boy and then tossed him aside. They might as well have pushed him over the rails themselves.”
A drop of sweat rolls down my back. I’m not sure what to say, so I keep my lips pressed together. I think of white suits and hard smiles. Pompoms and the cha-cha.
“A mother always knows when something isn’t right with her son,” Mrs. Pender says. “It’s her job to protect him, especially when he doesn’t have the wherewithal to protect himself.” She looks down at the tin. I hear her inhale deeply. When she speaks again, her voice is thicker. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her real voice. “I failed my boy. And, in the way these sorts of things tend to go, he failed me. I’m just not sure which of us failed the other first. But I have the rest of my life to figure that out.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I say.
But I do.
That night, I take John into the living room.
“Listen to me,” I say, holding him by the shoulders. “I’m signing you up for baseball. We’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a baseball glove and a hat.”
“I don’t want to play ball!”
“Your father can practise with you in the backyard. You should be spending more time with him and not with me.”
“No!”
“I’m not arguing with you, John. You’re playing ball this summer whether you want to or not.”
He squirms under my grip. Please don’t start to cry , I think. Please .
“You’ll make lots of friends. You’ll make your father happy. You’ll make me happy, too. Don’t you want to make us happy?”
“No!” he screams.
My hands are vises on his tiny shoulders.
“I bought you that doll,” I say.
He stops. I see the hurt in his eyes. Then the anger. Then resolution. My son and I have reached a new level of understanding.
A few days later, the construction crews move into the neighbourhood. By noon on the first day, half the trees behind our house are gone. Hal drops by and we sit out back, drinking coffee, listening to the chainsaws. And although I know I won’t see it again, I can’t stop myself from looking for the deer.
My roommate Ruth is dead. I’m certain of it.
She came down with a dry cough a week ago that turned into a gurgling hacking. I wasn’t able to sleep with the racket, especially when they brought in that hissing oxygen machine with its see-through green plastic mask and coiling hose. I felt like I was sleeping across the room from an alien. My nerves were raw. I resented having to put up with this commotion. How did
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