I just want to go ahead and get all of the really fucked up stuff out of the way now. I have social anxiety and serious trust issues due to the fact that I lost both my mom and brother when I was just a little boy. The fucked up part? It was a murder-suicide, courtesy of my apparently deranged mother. I don’t know why she decided to take my older brother with her but not me; I was in the house that night as well, fast asleep, but I was left unharmed whereas my brother had his throat opened up. She didn’t leave a suicide note, but I did find a ripped off piece of paper with only a few words scribbled on it in my room: Be the best you can be.
I went through a lot of trouble after that. I was bullied relentlessly by my classmates and constantly reminded that my dead mother was a murderer. Yeahhh, kids really are little shits. I didn’t start making friends and having a normal life until high school. That was my great revitalization; I don’t know what would have come of me had I let my mother’s sins engulf me completely.
Still, despite everything, she was my mom and I still love her. It took a lot of personal strength for me to do it, but I hung a picture of her up in my bedroom. It’s my favorite photo of her that I have; She’s laughing, her blue eyes gleaming with joy, her wavy auburn hair framing her pale, delicate face. Looking at it, you would never guess that she would eventually go on to do what she did. I didn’t stop there, though; My brother got a special spot in my livingroom, right above my T.V. stand, prominent and high. He’s around 13 years old in the picture; He’s wearing a birthday hat that my mom forced on him, looking slightly annoyed but begrudgingly happy, knowing that he was loved. I can’t look at it too long before the tears start flowing.
Things started to get weird about a month ago. Given my traumatic childhood, I’m sure it’s not a surprise to anyone that I do my share fair of drinking. And when I say “fair share” I mean to say that I drink a fucking lot. I’m a regular in several bars around town. On the first night in particular I ran into an old female acquaintance named Claudia at one of these scholarly establishments. One thing led to another and I ended up taking her home with me. As she went to the bathroom to freshen up, I sat stupidly on my bed, all of my clothes still on, blinking like an idiot and trying to fight off sleep. That was when my mother’s picture caught my attention. I immediately felt uncomfortable and wondered if I would have enough time to jump up and tear it off the wall; Who the hell wants their mom watching them do the horizontal tango, right? But getting up came with the risk of getting caught with it in hand, which could potentially lead to me having to tell the story of who she is and what happened to her. So she was going to have to stay. I would just have to pretend like she wasn’t there.
We were in the middle of the deed when, in my drunkenness, I happened to glance up at the picture again. What I saw didn’t make sense, but it didn’t fully register for a few long seconds. There were tears, actual, wet streams, running from my mother’s eyes on the wall. She was still laughing, but it looked as though someone had poured water on the photo. Claudia increased her rhythm, tearing my attention away from the photo, and I completely forgot about it. I didn’t even think about what I had seen until I was eating cereal on my couch the next day. I rose slowly, peeking into the room at the picture on the wall. Completely dry, looking no different than it usually did. I’d have to remember to take it down, or at least have it facing a different direction, the next time I had a girl over.
I had that chance about a week later. I met a very attractive redhead whose name I can’t even remember at the bar. I ended up bringing her home and, of course, I forgot about the picture again. I was completely wasted this time; The last thing I remember from that night, before I finished up, is the sight of my mother’s visage, her laughing smile gone, replaced only with a horrified expression that looked as though she was screaming, even more tears leaking from the colored paper.
I decided that I wasn’t going to bring the girls to my room anymore. I know I know, it would be easier to just take down the damn picture but I’m incredibly lazy and I didn’t think I’d continue getting as, well, lucky as I had been recently. I invited Claudia over one night to watch a movie with me. I really don’t know what it is about her, but I suppose I took a liking to her compared to the others. I was in the kitchen making popcorn when I heard her scream suddenly from the livingroom, causing me to drop the entire bowl of popcorn. I dashed over to the doorway and peered out at her; She was clutching her chest, staring at the spot above the T.V. Uh oh.
“Does that happen all the time?” she asked, raising a finger and pointing at the picture of my brother. Little droplets were forming just under his brown eyes, slowly rolling down the photo and dripping down to the T.V. I had to improvise.
“Yeah, it uh…does, actually. It’s the pipes in the walls. I’ve been meaning to get them fixed, the water just comes through the wall sometimes. My brother just has an unfortunate spot up there, you know?”
After Claudia had gone home for the night, I approached both pictures separately. “Come on, guys. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t have this. Please, I hope your souls have found peace, but you’ve gotta let me have my peace. I know you can’t agree, but this is my tranquility. Please, I beg of you.”
At least I knew I wasn’t going mad, given that Claudia had seen it too. Maybe I hadn’t been lying after all, though. Maybe there was some sort of leak in the walls. That was what I told myself to rationalize these otherwise completely irrational occurrences.
Lucky Girl Number Three was someone I knew from work named Vivica. We agreed to meet at my place and have a chill night; I had other intentions, naturally. During the deed I remember looking up at my mom, seeing that her head was turned slightly away now, her eyes squeezed closed. She didn’t want to witness the vile things happening in front of her, and I don’t blame her. Hell, at this point I was even grateful that she wasn’t looking anymore.
Claudia was over again the other day. The two of us were lying on the bed, her twirling my hair as we watched the news. The anchor was talking about the poor woman who had gone missing. She was only the most recent in a long list of women who had vanished. I stared at her picture on the screen, at her beautiful face and long red hair. Vivica hadn’t been reported yet, but I knew that it was coming soon. I shook my head slowly as I took a bite of my ham sandwich. “Poor girl. What kind of fucked up world are we living in? I hope they find her.”
“Me too. People are crazy, babe. I’m glad I have Superman here to protect me though,” Claudia grinned, playfully pinching my cheek. Mom is crying again, and her expression is so damn sad that I might shed a few tears as well. I sometimes wonder if she’s sad because of what she sees me doing, or if it’s because of the fact that she knows she killed the wrong son.