The Poems - part six

This meeting up every month started to become a normal occurrence. We would visit his father, and I would read him a work of mine that I really enjoyed writing. With every passing month, his father got worse, but he still was holding on for some reason that I never understood. Every visit I would look into his blue eyes that started to turn to gray with the passing of time. He was happy. I don’t mean in the sense that he’s giddy and jumping off the walls saying “Yippee! I’ve got cancer!” I mean he seems like his life is fulfilled. He doesn’t seem to want more out of life, but there is something that keeps him here. With his fading eyes, I can see that he won’t be around much longer and I worry about him, and Jack.
After our visit, Jack and I made dinner and talked for a while. We didn’t say much of anything important, just typical things. It’s hard to explain, because we both know that we are pushing the bounds, and that there is something that is drawing us together, but we get to a plateau. The flirting is more or less teasing and a teacher just being funny; the physical contact is just him being comforting and reassuring not touchy-feely. We both wish that there would be something that pushes us over the edge, no pun intended, but we both know that this event that we are longing for won’t happen, and even if it did, there would be serious consequences.
I leave his apartment, and he squeezes my hand like he usually does, waits in the doorway, and I drive off. The calmness of his presence always puts me in a better place. It makes it hard for me to say goodbye, knowing where I’m going home: a place that is a living h***. I unlock the door, and I throw my purse and keys on a chair. I walk into the kitchen and my mother is sitting down, smoking a cigarette with the ash falling onto the table. She is wearing a bathrobe; she is naked underneath. I can tell, and I know what she just did. The robe is half off of her left shoulder, and she has it tied at the waist, but she is holding the robe closed too. She has a disgusted look on her face. On the other side of the table is my notebook. Suddenly, all the horrible things that I wrote and all of the stories about her, flash before my eyes. I knew I was in for a huge argument.
“What is this?”
“It’s my notebook.”
“No shit, you smarta**! What is in it?”
“It’s my writing notebook. I write poetry and short stories.”
“You lying f***!”
“I’m not lying!”
“You, you wrote about me in here!”
“All writings are based on something true.”
“I want you to tell me why the f*** you are writing about me!”
“For English class we are supposed to write something every week…”
“Ohhh! You son of a bitch! I can’t believe you! You wrote about me and then gave it to your motherf***ing English teacher to read and judge me! You are so f***ing lucky that I don’t just get Marv out here right now to beat your sorry little a**!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me what it’s like! You call me every name in the book in there. You say that you hate me and my ‘lifestyle’. What f***ing lifestyle is that?”
“You should know! You’re the one that sleeps around with these losers and you work these horrible jobs! You aren’t my mother! You use me, because you don’t know what else to do with me! I’m the biggest mistake you’ve ever made! You never loved me did you!?” I start to cry.
“Don’t you dare change the f***ing subject!”
“You’ve hated me all my life! You use men as a way to make yourself feel better, and you are trying to bring me down with you when something goes bad! I’m not yours to control anymore! I’m my own person and you have never been able to see me and accept me! You’ve made me hate you!”
“Now listen here you little b****, you are my daughter, and there is nothing that you can do to change that! And you better d*** well respect me, or so help me God---”
“WHAT!? What are you going to do!? Call the cops!? HA! Child services will pull me out of here in no time!”
“That’s enough! I want you out of my house you little piece of s***! You can get all of your things tomorrow, but you are not sleeping under the same roof as me! I refuse!”
“Gladly.” I grab my notebook, purse, and keys and I slam the door. It is raining very hard. I get to my car, and I start to drive, but I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’m doing. I pull over and I burst out crying. I start to convulse and my body aches with pain. I get out my cell phone and look in my notebook. I call Jack as I continue to cry.
“Jack, it’s Rachel”, I say, still crying.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Calm down, I can barely understand you.”
“My mother. She found my notebook.” I sob, “She read it Jack.”
“Oh my God!”
“She kicked me out. Just like that. After all the things I put up with, she kicked ME out! I’m her own daughter and she sends me out into the rain, but her “f***-buddy” Marv is between the sheets with her in our cozy house, when he drinks her money away.”
“Where are you? I’ll come get you and bring you back here.”
“No, no. I just… I just burst out crying once I drove off. I didn’t know who else to call.” Now the tears are starting to dry up.
“You don’t seem fit to drive. I’ll come get you.”
“No, I don’t want to impose on you.”
“Well, you aren’t. Plus you need a place to stay.”
“You’re inviting me to stay over?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Wow. Thank you. But I can’t let you come out in this bad weather. I’ll be over in 5 minutes.”
“I promised you that I could keep you safe. Let me come get you.”
“No, I’m feeling much better now. I think I’ll be fine to drive a couple of miles.”
“Okay”, he said still worried, but he trusts me. “I’ll see you soon.”
“See ya.” I hang up the phone. I put the car in drive and I continue over to his house.





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Hope_is_everywhere said...
Dec. 25, 2010 at 11:38 pm
It's great.keep writing.
 
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