Turning point

"You know, he's not really your son." She closely scrutinized her fingernails while talking - a chip on the right index finger made her frown.

"What?" He had been absently staring at the young blonde cashier. His mind slowly returned to the woman on the other side of the table - a woman he thought he knew, or thought knew him.

"I'm just saying, you know, biologically he isn't yours, so there really isn't any legal reason for the attachment." She gently rubbed the chipped nail before holding it up to compare with the others. She seemed satisfied with it as she met his gaze.

"I guess." He felt the stomach muscles tighten as her red lips turned upward to flash a smile. It was a smile that had meant so much only moments, seconds before, but the spell was suddenly broken.

"Don't get mad. I know you are attached to him, but he'll be okay. You know, you could think of me from time to time." A nail file appeared in her right hand as she pushed back and forth against the ugly duckling of her nails.

"Yeah." His mouth moved but the voice was barely audible. All of his air was suddenly gone, like he was back playing little league and had the wind knocked out of him.

"You okay?" She reached over and touched his hand.

"I'll be right back." He quickly pulled his hand away. It was a touch he never wanted to feel again. The room was spinning as he banged against the restroom door. He didn't bother lowering his pants as he plopped down on the toilet. With head resting in his hands, he leaned forward and tried to process what had happened.

He could not believe her words - her nerve. He wondered if she had ever listened to anything he had ever said. Their many conversations rolled through his mind like a home movie. A pattern slowly materialized as everything seemed to be focused on her. He sat upright and realized everybody had been right, he had been so stupid to miss it.

The cool water felt good as he rubbed his face. He slowly wiped the water away and wadded the towels into a ball. He tossed the paper ball from hand to hand while staring into the mirror. The ball slammed against the brushed aluminum trash can as the door closed behind him. She was talking on her cell phone as he returned.

"That was Jose. You okay?" She unsuccessfully tried to grab his hand while waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, I'm fine." His hands rested in his lap while she continued to speak. The words were unimportant as she talked endlessly about her day at the office. He scrutinized every line on her face, each blemise and imperfection suddenly revealing themself. He felt sick at how far he'd gone, gone with her. The mind switched gears, contemplating the next move.

"So, I told them, it was me or him. And, you know, I'm serious, I am not going back if he is there." She stabbed at the air with her index finger - the crack in the nail polish still evident - to drive home the point.

"No doubt." He had no idea what she was talking about, but he now knew it didn't matter - as long as the stage was hers, the focus on her, she didn't care. He suppressed the overwhelming urge to reach across the table and force the last breath from her still moving mouth. He craved the moment where her windpipe collapsed, but he knew it would have to wait. He had watched a documentary where a quick punch to the throat was outlined by a former hitman. He made a fist and examined it while she continued to speak.

"Look, I know I shocked you with what I said, but somebody had to say it. I mean, you've been living a dream and he is old enough to take care of himself. You need to think about me and, of course, yourself."

"Don't worry about it." The words made him smile as he knew she worried about nothing but her own future. Her words had poisoned his brain. Hate and disgust slowly filled him - pushing the idyllic love from his system. He had thrown away everything for nothing. He now knew she was no different than the rest.

"You know, I love you, I want you to be happy and you can always visit him. No matter what happens, I want you to be happy." She smiled and waved, as if she had said something funny.

"Yeah." He recognized the all-too-familiar downward spiral of his mood, but he wanted no medication or doctor or anybody. He wanted to feel the pain, experience the trauma, to remember. Hate and disgust were old friends he welcomed back into his world. He slowly calculated how to bring it to hers.

The old softy

"The body doesn't lie." I wave in the general direction of the bartender with no luck.

"What do you mean?" Jim leans forward and tugs the bartenders sleeve. The startled face is met with Jim pointing to me.

"I mean, you can't make yourself do something - or someone - that you don't want." The bartender frowns in disgust at my ginger ale order. I am embarrassed, feeling like I should order a real drink, but I resist the temptation as the yellow drink is placed in front of me.

"We're men, we fuck, that's what we do!" Jim drains half of his beer as a few other people turn as his swearing echoes around the room.

"Not really, haven't you ever been unable to go?" I grimace as the ginger ale burns my throat. From a distance, it probably seems like I am drinking something strong.

"That is confidential information." Jim smiles while waving for another beer. "So, what happened?"

"We were in bed and I suddenly lost interest - well, I'm not sure if I ever really had interest. So, you know, I went down and did my duty and she was happy."

"She was happy? I thought you couldn't perform?" He grabs the new beer and takes a drink while giving me a quizzical look.

"Not exactly, but I went down on her." I make a triange with my hands and push my tongue through it a few times to drive home the point. I drop my hands as a group of women at a nearby table cheer rowdily cheer the demonstration. My face is hot as I smile, wave, and turn away from them.

"Oh, okay, gotcha, so she was into that?"

"Yeah, it was hard work, but I got her there." I mimic wiping the sweat from my forehead while laughing.

"I really don't like doing that." He looks reflectively at his beer as his mind seems to wander.

"Well, you think they like sucking dick?"

"Some do."

"Well, anyway, I did that. She came and we were done. She tried to repay the favor but I had lost interest."

"They usually take a non-performance personally."

"I thought you didn't know anything about that?"

"Yeah, but anyway, wait, you turned down a blow job?" He coughs as beer runs down his chin. He stares curiously at me, as if I just told him the world is flat.

"I couldn't physically do it. I don't know why I got into that bed. You know, we're men, we are trained for sex so turning it down is not part of the program. Shit, I'm not even attracted to her." I shake my head while chewing on a piece of ice.

"Very true, but I am questioning your masculinity. Who turns down head?"

"Lots of people. Especially from women who are not their wife." I slap his shoulder reminding him of Jill waiting for him at home.

"I guess, but I've never been in a position to turn one down - especially at home." He returns the slap while laughing. "So, you gonna see her again?"

"I dunno." I place a twenty on the wooden surface to cover both mine and his drinks.

Around

"No more secrets." She falls back into the plush sofa and touches a hand to her forehead.

"Secrets?" Both her words and their tone confuse me.

"You know what I mean. This family, this household is full of secrets." She stabs at the air with her hands for dramatic effect.

"You're mistaken, we don't have any secrets, we have lies. It’s the one thing we do well. When we're not lying to each other, we are lying to ourselves." I slowly lower myself into the wingback chair to my right - her left. I marvel at the chair's lack of comfort all the while wondering why we ever bought it.

"You were always so proud of your ability to lie. I just didn't think it would come back to haunt me." A blank expression washes over her face. She stares straight at me, through me. She seems to be waiting for an explanation, maybe even a defense.

"Well, it is a way of life. It's kind of like a Pringle's chip, you can't stop at one." I smile while admiring the comparison, but her expression doesn't change. "What do you want from me?"

"I want the truth."

"We've been down this road and you know everything. Believe me, there was no embellishment." A smirk appears and vanishes just as quickly as I await questions or more details of what she wants.

"Why did you tell me?"

"What do you mean?" There is no stalling in my voice; I am honestly at a loss for the meaning of her question.

"Exactly what I said. After so long and so much, why did you tell me?" She folds her hands across her lap, patiently waiting.

"Oh, I got it, well, I felt guilty and I was tired." I lean forward with elbows resting on my knees watching her process the words.

"Yes, but the guilt - or I suppose - was there for quite a long time. Guilt is rampant in your family. Seriously, why did you reveal the latest? Were you scared?"

"Yes, I wanted you to hear it from me." The swiftness of the reply surprises me as I realize the true nature of the questioning. She is no longer concerned with the event, rather why I confessed. I know it will be my true undoing.

"Ah yes, trying to maintain some level of control." She smiles while slowly nodding her head, but it is not a happy smile.

"I guess."

"No guessing needed. No, it was calculated like everything else. I wonder about your next move." She sits with arms folded while her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"Not really, but you won't believe me." I feel the moisture in my armpits. I wonder what she knows.

"That's the problem."

"What is?"

"I've always believed you; that's how we got here."

"Really?" I smile while thinking of what good have been.

"Something funny?"

"Not really, just a bit of irony. I always assumed you didn't believe me. Actually, I rarely believe myself." The words and their ramifications startle me.

"I am not sure that fits the definition of irony and it doesn't make sense. Why would you continue to tell me things when you thought I didn't believe you?"

"I just assumed you didn't care."

"On the contrary. I cared more than you could ever know, but those days are long gone." She makes a long sweeping arc with your arm to signal what is in the past.

I slowly shake my head as various thoughts arrive and disappear. I suddenly realize my confession - not the actual deeds - were my ultimate undoing. I chide myself for ever telling the truth. Our eyes meet as I stand and turn toward the door. I squeeze her hand before leaving. The wind is gusty as storm clouds swirl overhead as I stroll to my car.

Incoming

"What do you want me to say?" She sat in her recliner with an expression that was hard to discern.

I felt anger at the apparent ease with which she received my words - my speech - and pushed it all back in my direction as if I was supposed to tell her what to do. I had poured out my heart and soul to her, to this woman who had given me life. She had listened to me, but she had heard nothing. I bowed and shook my head, hating myself for expecting anything less.

"Seriously, how does one respond to being told they were or are a bad parent?" She crossed her arms and gently rocked the chair back and forth. I noticed the wetness of her eyes, but it was hard to figure out if it was allergies or sorrow. I assumed the latter.

"How am I supposed to know? I can only tell you how I feel. You've been leaning on me for direction for too long." I regretted the angry tone that had crept into my voice. I pushed my hands under my thighs to hide the shaking.

"Well, you seem to have made up your mind about a lot of things. You always were a headstrong kid, always so sure of what you thought you knew. You know, you can learn a lot from different perspectives." The rocking stopped as she leaned forward to highlight the seriousness of her words.

"I have an open mind. So, you're saying everything that happened didn't happen if I look at it through your eyes?" The open discussion felt liberating. I retrieved my hands as the anger subsided. I waited for her reply, anxious to continue the sparring.

"No, your childhood is what it is. It was far from ideal and I know it, we all know it. What do you think of my own childhood and your brothers and sisters?" She spread out her arms to emphasize the size of her point.

"We are talking about me, not them." The comparison served no point as far as I was concerned. It didn't dilute what had happened, it couldn't.

"Yes, I know, but you have to consider the other players. Nobody lives in a vacuum." The chair rocked angrily as she fell back appearing to lose her cool.

I sat silent as her words travelled through my mind. I shook my head as the point was rebuked. The only relation I could see with others was their part in my plight. It was my turn to cross my arms with silence as the only response.

"There are no human gods, people are fallible. You have to know that. You'll realize soon enough when your own kids point the finger at you. People love to blame their parents for every problem." A faint smile appeared and disappeared as quickly with her eyes fixed on me.

"Believe me; I know you are not perfect." Once again, no punches were pulled and I felt a pang of regret. I never wanted to hurt her, not too much, but only wanted to clear the air. I wanted an apology. I wanted recognition - validation - for what I felt.

"Your childhood and upbringing was what I could manage. I did my best whether you believe me or not." She seemed at peace with the simple explanation as she finished off the glass of tea. The sound of the empty glass against the table circled the room.

"It wasn't good enough and that bullshit answer isn't either." I rose and pulled the keys from a pocket to signal my departure and the end of the discussion.

"Sit down!" She angrily pointed to the sofa as it awaited my return. Her emotion was surprising as I followed the order and she continued. "Yes, it is a simple answer, but it is all we have. I am not going to apologize for doing my best, nobody should ever do that. Did I make mistakes? Sure, but I never gave up and you are here, we all are here, because of it. I had no training for being a single parent. It isn't a defense, but it is the truth. I am not perfect and I know you suffered, but no life is without suffering or hardships. It is what makes us human. Now, you can continue to blame me or whoever for whatever ails your mind, but I won't accept it and I never will."

The fog cleared as her fiery speech closed. I shook my head and smiled as our eyes met. The truth of our past was so clear, she did what she had to do, she did what she could and we all survived because of it. It seemed like a plausible explanation for so many things, the many mistakes of our lives. The key to compassion and forgiveness is realizing the fallible nature of human gods. I stood and went to her side, we embraced and I told her how much I loved her.

Listen up

All eyes turned in his direction as he strode through the narrow aisle towards the makeshift podium - a scarred, portable wooden lectern resting on a small white round table. He stepped over the cord as he reached his destination, noticing the dull silver microphone resting on the table.

His body shifted from side to side as he was introduced. He watched as the chatter slowly died and attention focused on the podium. There were a few familiar faces sprinkled among the group, those he had recently met.

A chill swept over his body. He was covered in sweat and suddenly nauseous. The sound of the door opening filled the room as he exited and ran to the nearest restroom. His prayers were answered as it was empty. His forehead rested in his hands while sitting in the tiny stall, expecting someone to interrupt the silence any minute.

The flush echoed in the brilliantly white room. Running water and a few towels left a presentable face, but the feet would not cooperate as he decided to return. The searching for advice and lessons from the college public speaking class were non-existent while trying to convince his feet to move.

The nerve finally returned and he was strolling towards the doors that served as his previous exit. The chatter had returned as he stepped into the room, feeling his right foot slide across the linoleum floor as he planted, awaiting recognition.

The smiling face of his sponsor briefly calmed the nerves. He nodded to confirm that he was okay and ready for a restart - or 'do over' as he and his brother liked to call it when they were growing up. He firmly grasped the podium - one hand locked on each side - and surveyed the crowd again.

He tried to look at only the foreheads as everyone had advised, but it was hard to avoid the eyes. He cleared his throat and glanced down at the blank wood surface, wishing for kind of notes. The words suddenly formed in his throat as he looked up. He opened with the usual line and it became easier as the words flowed and heads nodded agreement.