Mom-ster

There's a hidden weight in every banal breakfast conversation now. It looks normal, seems ordinary, occasionally I can even convince myself nothing has actually happened. The only difference is where I wake up beforehand, which bed I'm leaving, but I shouldn't feel so much about it. Mom says I'm the man of the house now, and men love women, and I love her, so I'm supposed to love her. I do love her, I just don't love when she kisses me goodbye before I get on the schoolbus, the kiss is long and on the mouth. I just don't love what happens at night, but I'm at school all day and can pretend I'm like every other boy in the world.

My friend Talia rides the bus with me. Mom doesn't like Talia, so we're just school friends. I like her though. She invites me to her house after school, says her parents only allowed her to bring one friend over and she chose him. I send Mom a message but don't send it yet. If I only ask when I'm on the way there, she can't actually stop me.

I have a full day of classes ahead of me first. History, Algebra, Writing, break for lunch, Choir, and Woodshop. In History, we have to learn about what happened after the Civil War. The slaves were often arrested on crimes that weren't crimes, like loitering, because slavery was legal if the slave was imprisoned. Mom often says certain crimes shouldn't be crimes, that society has gotten too soft on children, that I'm basically an adult at fourteen. I'm white though, so I would have never been a slave in the first place. So I have no reason to be thinking about my mom at school. And the bell rings for Algebra.

Algebra is the most boring class I have today (since P. E. isn't one I have today) so I spend most of it doodling and trying to take notes, failing to pay attention. My mind wanders to this afternoon. Would Talia order in or would her family cook dinner? Mom generally cooked, so I'm half-hoping for pizza. Regardless, there will be cake or a piñata. Talia has discussed her love of hitting objects with sticks before many times. If I wasn't her friend I might be concerned. But Talia's beaten up bullies for me before. She's unlikely to ever lash out at me. I love her, I think to myself, a past more innocent thought of mine, and then I immediately quash that thought as it brings to mind images and imaginings of what my mom's version of love would be like with Talia. I don't want to think about that. Talia is safe, normal, not loved. Not involved with love. She's my friend, I think, and that same fondness has been stated in a less disgusting way.

When the party arrives, her Dad picks us up. I miss my own Dad just being near a Dad, and Talia seems to sense my unease, trying to comfort me with a hand on my knee. I don't react, but my mind is imagining it moving upwards. I don't want it to.

The party itself is a picnic in their yard, Talia and her parents. I'm an outsider, though they try to include me. They're a physical group, that's the problem. They touch me and my mind is broken, goes to the previous few nights. Nobody is rude enough to bring up though, not until after the pizza, cake and piñata are all destroyed. Talia and I retreat to her bedroom, a very obvious teen girl who was recently a little girl's room - unicorn stuffed animals, a doll castle in one corner. I'm not judging. Talia, meanwhile judged me the entire party, and intentionally sits next to me, bumps her knee with mine, laughing when I flinch away.

“What’s up with you, Eli? You keep flinching like we’re all going to turn into monsters or something.”

"Yeah, well, my family’s got a mom-ster,” I quip back. Talia burst out laughing at that pun. I'm proud of it, I'll admit and that joy comes out by also laughing.

Talia furthers the joke. “So, what’s your mom-sterns vibe, then? Vampire? Cannibal? Zombie?”

My laughter dies off. Vampire brings to mind memories of her mouth on my neck, her lips, sometimes she did bite me, but not in an actually hurtful way like a vampire would. I wish she was a vampire.

Or a cannibal - she cooks often enough to theoretically be feeding me my Dad's corpse, which might explain why she expects me to embody him now that he's gone.

"She's - I guess she's not the monster herself," I say, wishing I believed myself. "She's being haunted by my Dad's ghost, and it makes her act like a monster. So my discomfort with affection comes from that, how Mom expects me to be my Dad." Silence stretched between us, my breathing faster than normal.

Fuck. Fuck shit no goddamnit! I said too much, I think to myself, heart pounding like it did when Mom - I had just exposed Mom, I realize with horror as Talia's confusion can be read on her face.

"How would taking on your Dad's responsibilities make you recoil from affection?" I was tempted to make a really stupid joke. When Mommy and Daddy love each other very much... but that would be saying too much. I already said too much.

"Forget it, Tal, seriously."

"No, what, are you - is she actually a monster? Are you being abused?" No trace of the levity from before can be heard in her tone. Fuck. No, not -

"No! What? That's- no. That's - no. I'm not." I lie to my best friend's face. Or, am I lying? Mom loves me, she doesn't hit me or starve me or insult me except when I'm bad, and she only does the last one as punishment. She's never beaten or starved me.

"You're not what?" Talia asked, and I fought the urge to groan. She had read a bunch of child psychology books, she knew the quickest way to break someone's denial is to ask them to repeat the specific claim they're denying.

"I'm not being abused! Mom doesn't - she's never hit me or starved me or locked me outside or kept me from wearing weather appropriate clothing." Except when she kept me from wearing any clothing at all, I think silently, and to my horror I feel a tear form. Fuck. Fuck.

"Eli? Why are you crying, what's wrong? What - did I fuck this up?"

"No, you're fucking fine, you" my voice cracks here. I hate myself, but Talia doesn't deserve to feel guilty for caring. "Amateur psychologist, you. I'm the fuck up. I'm a liar. I'm just scared - she's all I have left, you know?" Talia hesitantly crosses the room, grabs a box of tissues, offers me one.

"Your mom?" Talia asks again, standing in front of me, and all I can think is how if Mom was her, she would have pushed me onto the bed by now, the distance between us closed. I desperately do not want the distance between us closed, and I think maybe that's a way I can tell her without telling her.

"Please don't kiss me."

"Eli? What?"

"Please don't." I repeat, and close my eyes against the disgust and horror I know she's going to have expressed on her face because Talia's heart is always on her sleeve. And I'm ruining her birthday.

"I - Eli, you know I'm a lesbian, what the fuck - shit." She's jumped to the correct conclusion, only she is not yet aware that it is because of how horrible the thought seems. "Holy shit, your mom - Eli?"

"I'm a liar, I'm sorry, I know you'd never - I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I'm sobbing and can't risk opening my eyes in case she hates me for being such a disgusting failure of a man.

"Why are you apologizing? Eli, you haven't done anything wrong, I'm just trying to understand what - what's happening."

What's happening is I blow my nose into her tissue, then throw the tissue into her trashcan. What’s happening is I say the words that have been crawling up my throat since Mom’s lips first met mine.

"My mom kisses me," I say. I finally say, only I've been crying so much the words are garbled and Talia has to repeat them back at me.

"Your mom kisses you?" I can't say it again so I nod. I nod and nod like a bobblehead. "Eli, what - here's another tissue, but - can you... I'm sorry, I know I should understand but I can't - I don’t --" Talia's crying now too. I did that. I made my best friend cry. "Can I touch you?" She asks, and that asking makes me nod again before I fully register the words.

Her hand rests on my shoulder, tentative at first, like she’s afraid it might make things worse. But then she squeezes lightly, and it's not like what I’ve been avoiding, not like the things Mom does. It's just... a gesture. A small, simple touch that feels like comfort.

She doesn't move her hand. I almost gain strength from the contact, weird as the thoight feels. It gives me a reference point to talk about Mom. "If Mom was here, she wouldn't have asked. Her hand would not stay where it is, but trail down my chest, down where... she's haunted by my Dad's ghost, and I'm meant to be him. I'm supposed to be my Dad. I don't- she kisses me and I sleep in her bed instead of my own. I'm so tired, Talia. I just want - thank you for this. Thank you for caring enough to joke, and then letting it be more than a joke. But can we not tell any adults?"

"For now. For now, let's just nap or some shit. You're tired." I am. I lie down on her bed, her hand leaves my body and stays away from it. I love her, I think again, unafraid of the idea. I don’t know what comes next, but no mom-ster sleeps in Talia’s bed, so I’m safe. I drift off, resting in a way I haven’t in months.