A Mother’s Right

by Hennessy Hanford

“Your boy’s been in the back of my shed again, huffin’ on that gas.”

Mrs. Swoon, after having had another long miserable day at the bank, was listening to her neighbor, Bill Tunney, on the phone hollering about her messed up teenage son, who was apparently addicted to breathing the vapors of gasoline to get some sick thrill.

“Your son is passed out in the shed. I’m sorry to say I hit him in the back of the head with a shovel. I thought he was some sort of prowler.”

“Oh, my Lord! Is he all right?”

“Seems to be. He’s breathing all right. Sure, he’ll have a headache when he wakes up. You better keep him off my property. He’s fixin' to end up dead if he keeps coming on back here. I’ve been mighty jumpy since that whole Jasper incident. Let’s not get into that.”

“When that sorry son of mine wakes up you send him straight on back here, you understand?”

“Yes ma'am. Sorry about hitting Jim Bob with a shovel. You need to get that idiot some help.”

“Don’t call him an idiot. And his name’s not Jim Bob for Christ's sake. Bloody redneck!”

“Christ,” she thought. “What the fuck was I thinking naming my son James Robert in Mississippi?”

She paced around her kitchen rubbing her temples. Off with the darned heels she had just been wearing for the past twelve hours. She started to blame herself for the disastrous life James was forging for himself, “Why didn’t I get out of Mississippi?” she said to no one in particular.

Her thoughts wandered back through the last sixteen years, and she tried to think of any good times her and James had had together, but all that surfaced were thoughts of one horrid incident after another. She remembered when he was seven, he had burned down their house on Magnolia Lane and when she confronted him about it, he showed no remorse, no apology did he offer - she remembered seeing the devil in his eyes as they stood outside the burning heap of wood and mortar. He had been expelled from elementary school in the fifth grade after repeatedly punching his teacher Mrs. Lange in the stomach, and when she had brought her son home, she began to weep uncontrollably only to be verbally assaulted by him, “Why are you crying, you stupid wench? That bitch Lange deserved it and if you don’t stop your whimpering, I’ll sock you one too.”

She found her trusty bottle of Vicodin and popped a couple while settling into her favorite chair. Popeye the family basset hound came and lay by her feet. “At least you love me boy, don’t you?” She thought it was a good thing Popeye wasn't like the other small animals she had found behind the shed. The ones James had got his hands on.

He looked up at her and blinked. She popped on the tube and settled into some brainless entertainment. An hour later her eyes began to get heavy while watching some worthless sitcom. Just as she had passed out, James came storming into the residence and slammed the door behind him. He brazenly dashed past his mother without saying a word and headed for his room.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” As she expected, no response was given and she waited for his bedroom door to be slammed. Just as she anticipated, the shock from the door nailing its frame rumbled through the whole of the house, causing Mrs. Swoon’s headache to return at once. She found herself returning once more to the medicine cabinet to retrieve what had been her long-time best friend, the little oval pill.

For a while, she heard thrashing coming from the interior of James’ room; he was no doubt throwing around anything he looked at. This continued for what seemed like an hour until all was silent. Mrs. Swoon then creeped up to James’ room and put her ear against the door. She lingered there, contemplating on what to do about this obvious lost soul. She put her hand to the knob and slowly started to turn it, expecting it would be locked. Amazingly it was not, so she subtly turned it all the way, then began to open the door. She opened it just a crack so she could peek her head in, half expecting to get a projectile whirled at her face.

What she saw was her son passed out on the bed with his face up. She opened it all the way now, the door creaking and cracking as she did so. She expected James to suddenly wake and scold her for this unwarranted entry into his lair, but he was out cold.

She walked inside the filthy room and looked around. It had been ages since she had been inside and was disgusted at the state of the place. Clothes, rotting food, empty beer bottles, and other objects were littered about. The smell itself was enough to make her want to vomit. She went to the foot of the bed and stood over her son. She looked at James’ face, reflecting that he resembled her physically quite a bit. The resemblance ended there - he was in no way like her otherwise. You almost couldn't tell, with him sleeping like this. Couldn't see the darkness within. She began to feel a deep anger welling up inside her, not geared toward her son, but toward herself because she could find no love at all within her for her only offspring. She stood over him quietly, thinking about the task she knew needed to be carried out.

Found in the opposite end of the room was a pillow with no case, once a brilliant white, but now a putrid beige. She walked back over to the bed and paid one more glance to the face of her son. She lifted the pillow, and with zero remorse, covered his face. She held the pillow firmly over him as her son lay there still. He never even felt the life drain from him, and Mrs. Swoon ruthlessly thought - this was better than he deserved. She held the pillow there, lingering another moment, just to be sure, as a lone tear drizzled down her cheek.