Sacrificial Mother

Mother was a creature of many a’things; creature of nature, habit and sacrifice. Which one ya fed was which creature you’d get. Many folks got the creature most beloved, nature of their own likeness. Yes, many received the shinin’ smilin’ face of dear Mother passin’ through the grocery store or see her sittin’ at church with concern foldin’ a wrinkle between the eyes, listenin’ to the pastor drone on about the awful evils trespassin’ the grounds of the earth. What nobody knew were of the other creatures lurkin’ beneath the surface waitin’ to be fed by Father, by me.

Make no mistake, Mother was no victim; on the contrary, she craved the scraps of malevolence thrown to her over the fence from time to time. Father fed her habit, a little somethin’ she picked up in her younger days she just couldn’t shake. Booze inflames the blood and chills the bones of your body causin’ an unbeatable battle. Mother couldn’t go more than two days without a drop dampenin’ her lip.

Father tried dryin’ her up of course, but failed each time. Clinics, those we could afford, never worked; at home remedies of every kind had no effect. After the fire she set, he gave up and decided feedin’ her habit was the safest of choices. He had more control that way, or felt he did.

Mother was a lousy drunk. Forever cussin’, hittin’ and breakin’ up the house and she slept ‘round unabashedly. Always malicious to Father, insultin’ ‘em with her rancid Wild Turkey soaked tongue and her laugh woulda chilled every vertebra ya own. She drove Father to an early grave, leavin’ her to me.

A man now and not a boy any longer, I took head of the household, right along with the responsibility of Mother. The drunken wraith tottered and cursed, drunk or sober nowadays. Her mind gone, the drink had infected her brain along with everthin’ else. Clinics and hospitals did no good in the past, they ain’t gonna be any help now either. Father fed the creature of habit for years; out of town bar tabs, hotel rooms and hush money. He sacrificed, I sacrificed, only fittin’ her last creature be sacrifice.

The old house, a mirror of the vacant eyed occupant, with its yellowin’ daisy wall paper would be the first to go. Faded discolored tentacles of smoke stretch the length of the walls up to the ceilin’ billowin’ with violence and ferocity. A true tell-tale sign of the creature’s nature. One a’ many creatures to inhabit this dwellin’. A huff of stale, warm piss creeps ya nostrils upon entry, welcome home. Memories scream their secrets so loud makin’ ya blood boil. In the foyer, the incarnate of ungodliness, eyes newcomers with a keen predatory glare from her perch on the wall, a portrait set in earlier days. Mockin’ ya. Mockin’ me.

My father built our house with his own two hands. His blood , sweat and tears crafted every detail right down to the carved rose banister. Set on multi generational land, the two story Prairie Gothic Victorian was his pride and joy. To see it now is disgraceful. Nothin’ a quick strike of a match won’t cure; baptism by fire. Then all his wasted sacrifices will be redeemed. All but one.

His weakness for Mother aside, my Father coulda conquered the world. A sharpshooter with even sharper wit, he was the envy of the toughest of men. Joined the Marines young, fought hard to come home only to succumb to pretty predator. My Father taught me everythin’ I ever needed to know. From huntin’ my first Buck to drivin’ a stick and everythin’ in-between. As years passed hard times had dulled his faculties. Leavin’ him wasted to nothin’. Too busy feedin’ the creature to feed himself.

My Mother taught me plenty too. Slaps, kicks and screams echoed off the walls. While other houses sit full of warmth, ours purely lacked it. Cold can’t begin to describe the deep dampness sinkin’ in the pit of ya stomach, makin’ all the little hair rise on the back ya neck. If the cold wouldn’t get ya the fear would. The house vibrates with unbridled wickedness , walls bending to its will. Soon it will bend to me, fall for me. Crushin’ under my boots , dustin’ the earth.

Freedom within sight , one last sacrifice needs to be made. The unshed tear-filled kinda good-bye. A well earned farewell to Mother. The finality of this moment will scorch all past discretions leavin’ the earth cleansed. All will be set to the natural order once more. I tip my hat to the creature once before my departure, sayin’ all that needs sayin’, “Till we meet again.”

The passin’ headlights blind me as I drive down the highway, but I refuse to pull over, needin’ to make most of the night drive. I smile to myself, applying more pressure on the gas pedal when an occasional thump reminds me of my urgency. I glance in my review, nothin’ but lonely highway and a long forgotten past.

The endless stretch of desert is welcomed with cacti and canyons, beautifully deserted, discreet and ironically dry. Sunrise, a few short hours away givin’ me just enough time. Another thump and I grin hittin’ the gas…just enough time.

I slow at the turnoff, the car jostles over tough terrain, pebbles ping off the sides and thumps in the trunk get louder. I drive the car into a downward slope, out of sight, and shut the car off. Steppin’ out the driver’s side, my boots crunch rocky ground, dust scatterin’ about. Dry as a bone out here. I sniff the arid air, perfection.

I open the back seat retrievin’ a shovel, tarp, hammer and rope then scan the horizon for a final restin’ place fit for a jackal. Spottin’ the ideal place, I haul the essentials, dumpin’ them unceremoniously to the desert floor. I walk back to the car and lift the trunk, eyein’ the creature inside… Mother.