Mothers and Lovers

Know this, this story doesn't end happily. This isn't the typical boy-meets-girl, boy-falls-in-love-with-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-chases-girl, they live happily ever after type of story. This is my birth certificate stapled to my obituary
My mother is what you might call a pack rat, she hordes these random objects to keep her memory sharp. You see, Alzheimer's runs in the family. There's this box, it contains all the documents of my existence. It begins with the birth certificate. Behind that is my immunization records, then later my first coloring, first report card and so on. If I would ever happen to forget a portion of my life, there it'll be, laid out on paper.
Except, there's a good section missing from the pile, this is the time that she tried to forget. The doctor records are missing, the receipt for the hospital is missing and somehow the diagnosis seems to be left out as well. Followed by the letter I wrote home before going to the hospital is my obituary.
I'm not dead yet, but I would sure like to keep them thinking that I am.
Know this, I didn't care for my mother as much as she thought, sometimes I actually wished it was her that was dead.
My diet now consists of 6 servings of Valium, 3 servings of amphetamine, water and a few slices of bread. I weigh about 133lbs, which is small considering that I'm a little over six feet tall.
After my 6th grade report card is the doctor's prescription for Xanax, 100mg.
"Only God knows that." my mom said it like it was the introduction to every sentence. I've recently learned that it was just her cover-up so that I would think she was smart. Really, only everyone but her would know that. Some things are just too hard for a mother to accept.
All A's on the 8th grade report card, then a prescription of Lithium.
Know this, Valerie didn't find me, Cupid didn't hit me with any arrow, nor was it even fucking spring time, we were just communal drug users. There was no emotional attachment involved.
Before I died, I worked at a hotel, as a security guard. You wouldn't believe the shit you see on the cameras. Transgender in 5B, a divorce just down the hall, newlyweds fumbling in 14C, one frisky maid in the janitor's closet. Before the cameras had audio, the job was sort of a bore, when they did get upgraded, I would've worked for free.
When on patrol, I would remove the "Do Not Disturb" signs dangling from the door. It was the best to see the surprised maid walk in around 9am to the sight of her husband and his boyfriend.
Know this, I do not love, I simply utilize others' feeling for my own benefit. I'm selfish, but that's the only way to get ahead.
Behind my high school diploma is my psychiatric recommendation.
My mother now spends her days with dead tears caked on her wrinkled cheeks. She's not really old, it's the guilt that aged her. She blames herself, she should.
Behind my christening photograph is my checkup report, which states that I'm normal.
Sister Nancy would always tell me that all things are possible through God, but today, I'm making my own possibilities. I'm not waiting for God anymore. Now there's someone who should feel guilty, not Sister Nancy, she was just ignorant.
Valerie was a Catholic school girl before she met me. We both had that in common, we thought Catholicism was about as bad as burning in Hell. Hell, that's where I am at now, according to my mother and the findings in my hospital room, there was no chance for me. I was doomed from the womb.
I'm just glad I had a porn buddy to make sure my mom never found out about Indiana Bone and the Temple of Poon . A porn buddy is that friend that knows where your porn stash is so, as in my case, if you die, your parents think you were always the pure angel they raised you to be. That was the least I could do for her at this point, at least I wasn't a heathen and a pervert, just a heathen.
Valerie was my porn buddy, she knew, Room 103, fourth drawer on the bedside table.
By introducing her to first just weed, then pills, I feel like I've corrupted a precious angel. Someone's poor child, raised in the church, now a mild drug dealer and heavy addict.
Know this, it was not my intention to die, I mean, I miss that security guard job.
I got Valerie a job at the hotel because I wanted to spy on the random shit she would do during the course of the night, she slept during the day. She was a bore though, Maria was much more entertaining, and she ran a prostitution ring out of room 6B.
I would probably sleep in my car before I would sleep in a hotel. One gross fact is that hotels do not was the comforter, only the sheets. The male in room 3C plowing his newlywed wife on top of the bed, yes, you're getting the remnants of that. The severely obese woman naked in room 2B, you're laying on her ass. Hotels are so vile.
Just so you know, I'm not crazy, I never was. Just so you know, I'm an amazing liar.
The night of the crash, I had just left Valerie's apartment. We had just gotten into a fight, I was still pretty heated. Her husband was pretty heated. She was the last person to ever see me alive.
Know this, I wasn't in the car upon impact. I wasn't insured. If Anne Rice could fake her death, so could I. Behind my first newspaper column was my first alcohol purchase receipt. Behind my first birthday card was a picture of my first burn. I've been burning myself since I was one, training for Hell.
There's a rumor that Valerie was found murdered near her apartment, her left ring finger chopped off. Her husband was very heated indeed.
My father left my mom when I was only nine. By then I could've used a new box, maybe even a small bookshelf of the memories my mom desired. I feel part to blame for him leaving, he didn't ask for his wife to go crazy, pregnancy just does that to a woman
If Tupac could fake his death then so could I
The fact is that wasn't in the car when it exploded.
The fact is, I didn't expect to be dead. My mother doesn't feel the same way. It was declared that the wreck was my suicide attempt. Turns out, the wreck was what saved me.
Salvation
Rebirth
Every major religion preaches that when you die you live forever.
Sister Nancy used to say that your body was a shell that held your soul.
Religion, for most, is just a way to cope with death.
Know this, I didn't always hate the church, God made me that way.
I don't know what happened to Valerie, only rumors. I've heard tales that just contradict each other. It's near impossible to filter the truth because every bit of every rumor I've heard is contradictory. I know for a fact that her husband is in prison. I have a dealer who saw him there.
Know this, I never took any of the pills that I was instructed to. I sold them all. I'm more or less a squirrel storing for a long winter. Now, the snow is falling.
My mother looks at my kid photographs everyday, except the one taken upon arrival at the hospital.
Know this, Valerie and I were never together, in that emotional sappy way. By the end, I thought she was just a dope fiend.
Sister Nancy used to say that I needed to get saved. I agreed
My mother used to take me to the park, she would make anecdotes of what I would do while I played. I was an only child. I was her one attempt to continue a legacy. But now, I'm just another dead son.
I had heard rumors about my father as well, apparently he became one of those dot commers, invented some search engine website that is worth multi millions, but I'm not sure on that.
Know this, even if my father was a multimillionaire, I still wouldn't want to see him.
Abandonment beget animosity. Animosity beget loathing.
Sister Nancy used to say that abortion was wrong, that killing the innocent was a sin. I think that the death of one while still innocent lets them live that way forever. I say that abortion doesn't seem like such a bad idea. If it was my mother who chose abortion, I think I would've slapped her a good high five. Why would anyone want to bring another person into this world? I wasn't always this cynical, God made me that way.
I know it's cynical, but my mother is just a waste of my time. She's old and very unproductive, worrying about me is just a waste of hers as well. I didn't always dislike her. I think it was her addiction to keeping me a child. Her biggest fear was that I might grow up and leave, well, I'm pretty gone now.
These days, I hide out in a shed far in the woods outside of town. I sneak back into the house every night to make sure my mom isn't dead yet. Not dead like me, but really dead.
If she wasn't so feeble and helpless, maybe then I could sympathize with her, my mother that is. If only she wasn't so old.
Valerie is someone that I don't really care to see ever again. I think she's beautiful and all that shit but really, I don't have a reason to see her again. Though I have the feeling that one day we may cross paths.
Know this, I feel more alive now that I'm dead. I guess life works funny like that.
One day, my mother and I got heated. The situation developed into me throwing a chair and stomping out into the car, this is the last time she'd see me alive.
We argued over everything but at least now she doesn't have to worry about that. Something as simple as microwave dinner instructions could be a full on fist fight with us.
Sister Nancy used to say that a family that prays together stays together. What if we all prayed the family fall apart?
Valerie was an amazing tool for prying apart my family. She gave me excuses in order to stay away from any get together. I had TB for my family reunion, for Christmas, it had developed into lupus. I would just spend my holidays with Valerie instead.
We exchanged Valentine's day cards while I was in quarantine.
We kissed each other on New Year's Day while I was still recovering from my pneumonia.
We made love while my mom blew out her birthday candles.
We got high while they put my grandmother in the ground.
It's just about time for me to head into the house to check on the frail living skeleton.
Sister Nancy would say honor thy mother and father. Well, this was my method.
First I walk around the house, listen for the television, telephone, radio, anything other than her snoring. Next I tap the window to see just how asleep she really is. No response. I creep in through the front door. The lock is broken from me slamming the door shut. I walk to her room. To get to my mother's room, I have to walk through the kitchen and den and then through the hallway. I get past the kitchen without a sound.
The fact is, I actually know where Valerie is. She's about half across the country now, escaping that crazy ex-husband. Technically, he isn't her ex-husband. Apparently, I have to sign divorce papers for us to be split.
I'm not crazy, I promise.
No light in the house is on tonight. Through the dark all that's visible is the cold stunned stare of two eyes. "Can we talk this time?" says a voice, old and stressed with grief.
Know this, mothers and lovers will always stay with you, even when you die.