Blaming the Brickle

To All Concerned,

I am truly sorry for what's happened. I loved my mother in my way. She was always there for me. The guilt was overwhelming. I had no choice but to end it all...I blame the butter brickle.

                                       Regretfully,
                                                 Gabriel Jones

         Gabriel Jones was fat. Not chubby. Not pleasantly plump. He was fat, absurdly fat. Greasy locks of hair fell over his eyes and about his ears. He wore only an oversized pair of pajama bottoms. He sat on the couch clicking through the channels on the TV.
         "Oh, mother...mother," he called. His voice warbled like a turkey.
         "What now dear?" Mrs. Jones was washing up in the kitchen.
         "I'm hungry. Bring me some more ice cream." Gabriel would have gotten it himself, but his predilection for butter brickle had left him in a sorry state. He was now nearly 500 pounds. Simply getting up to use the bathroom could take most of an afternoon.
         "I think you've had enough, Gabe."
         "God damn it mother, it's the only thing that brings me pleasure anymore. Do you really want your baby boy to suffer joylessly through his last days? Now bring me some more ice cream."
                "You're always so angry anymore. And why ya always talkin' about your last days? Stop bein' so morbid. What's happened to my son?"
         "Your precious son is buried under a quarter ton of blubber. Now please, mother, for the love of God, more butter brickle."
         "All this ice cream is doin' ya no good whatever. But if it'll make ya happy, I'll get ya some."
                Gabriel heard the freezer door open and then the clink of metal on porcelain as his mother filled the bowl. He sighed, relieved.
                His mother came in, carrying a bowl of ice cream and a napkin, her floral housecoat, clean and starched, hung past her knees. Her hair was pinned neatly in a bun.
                "Here ya are sweetheart."
                "Now don't call me that mother, it's embarrassing." Gabriel worked hard to prop himself up. He dropped the remote control and stuck out a fleshy hand to take the bowl. His thumb sunk deeply into the mound of ice cream as he positioned the bowl on his belly.
                "There's only half a carton left, Gabe, You'd better pace yourself."
                "Pacing is for expectant fathers," said Gabriel hardly looking up from his bowl. There was melted ice cream dribbling down his chin.
                "I'm not jokin', sweet pea, I'm not going to buy anymore. It's just not healthy to be eatin' that much butter brickle," said Mrs. Jones.
                "I'm quite certain that I heard you wrong, mother. You know I've nothing else in my life. The butter brickle is all I have. And don't call me sweet pea. I'm 36 for God's sake. Do you want the whole world laughing at your only son?" Ice Cream was oozing over the edge of the bowl, dripping its way down the sides of his enormous belly. He made no attempt to reach for his napkin.
                "Wipe up that mess. You should really put a shirt on, Gabe."
                "Maybe you should go cut a hole in the table cloth and I'll stick my head through."
                "Now petunia, you're just being silly."
                "Please mother, flowers? You mustn't ever refer to me in that manner. It's an insult to my masculinity. Now, please, I need a glass of water...with a straw. I'm dreadfully thirsty; I think I can feel my blood thickening. Hurry, mother, would you have your one and only perish of dehydration right here on your couch?" He licked the backside of the spoon.
                "My goodness, you're so dramatic, dear. You should be an actor," said Mrs. Jones as she shuffled off to the kitchen.
                "Next time they're casting for a giant shapeless lump, I'll be sure to try out. Maybe they'll remake The Blob, and ill make a million dollars. Oh God, I'm so thirsty," said Gabriel.
                "Don't say things like that. You're a handsome boy, you could be a star."
                Mrs. Jones reappeared with a tall plastic glass with two cubes of ice in it, just as Gabriel liked. A drinking straw poked above the rim. She handed the glass to her son and took the empty bowl.
                "There you are, peanut. Make sure ya wash it all down"
                "Thank you mother, but I'm quite sure I know how to drink a glass of water."
                Mrs. Jones wiped her son's belly as Gabriel slurped away. Then he belched.
                "Maybe I'm not fat at all. Perhaps it's just all gas."
                "You ought to say ‘excuse me', dear. It's proper manners after all." Mrs. Jones gently wagged her finger. Then she vanished again into the kitchen.
Gabriel was licking his lips as he fished around for the remote control, which had slipped under the edge of his leg.
                "Mother," Gabriel called out, "I'm sure you're aware that it won't be long until my hunger returns. You might want to consider heading off to the store for some more ice cream."
                "I told you, my little Turkish delight, once you finish this container...no more ice cream. It's not healthy to eat it so often."
                "You know I'm neither Turkish, nor delightful...and I'm certainly not little. Why do you insist on using such poorly chosen terms? As for the ice cream, you know it's all I like to eat. Don't be cruel. Would you have your dearest child wither away and die? Now please mother, I'll have to insist. More butter brickle."
                "Well dear, I do need a few things. We're running low on laundry detergent, and maybe ill pick up some fruit."
                "Fruit!? I will never eat such vile stuff. Do you think your bundle of joy is a circus monkey? I will never eat fruit."
                "An apple a day, dear..."
                Gabriel gasped. "The only creature that should put an apple in its mouth is a pig...roasted on a spit. Are you calling your beloved child a pig, mother?"
                Mrs. Jones put on her overcoat. The hem nearly touched the floor. In the mirror that hung by the door, she checked her appearance and fixed her collar. "Oh gumdrop, you're being silly again. I'll be back in a jiffy." She closed the door behind her.
                Gabriel sighed. "For God's sake...gumdrop?"
                While his mother was out, Gabriel watched a program on the History Channel about naval battles in the Pacific during World War II. Occasionally, he would peruse the TV Guide, which was always nearby, to see what he might be missing on the other stations. Partway through a segment of the first battle of Guadalcanal, his mother returned.
                "What took you so long, mother? I was certain that you'd deserted me" said Gabriel.
                "I was only gone for 25 minutes, dear. Must you always think the worst?" Mrs. Jones carried a single brown paper bag into the kitchen.
                "If I were to think the worst, I would assume that you'd forgotten the butter brickle. However, I know how you hate to see your baby boy suffer. And I'm quite certain there's a few containers there in that bag."
                "I bought ya a few things, dear. I got ya some grapes."
                "Grapes? I do believe I'm going to retch." Gabriel made a phony choking noise.
                "And I thought we could try some frozen yogurt. I got ya two containers of chocolate." Mrs. Jones said.
                "Please don't joke mother. You know you have no comedic sense." Gabriel seemed slightly concerned.
                "They were on sale two for three dollars."
                "You would betray your own son to save a few dollars. Judas!"
                "This is much healthier for you than the butter brickle. You'll like it. You'll see."
                Gabriel was now clearly worried. It took a lot to get him off the couch and moving around. The knowledge that there was only a single bowl of ice cream left in the house, and that he might never again taste the delectable sweetness of his favorite food was more than enough to get him up.
                Gabriel rolled onto his side and lowered his feet to the floor. Then with all his strength, his heaved himself up. He stood a moment, steadying himself, then made for the kitchen.
                "Frozen yogurt is like an icy knife in my heart, mother...," Gabriel puffed as he inched his way along, bracing himself against the wall as he went.
                "Now muffin, go sit back down. You're liable to hurt yourself." Mrs. Jones said, "I'll bring ya the last of the butter brickle. And later, you can have some of the yogurt."
                "I must see for myself, this terrible double-cross. How could you mother? My only joy. Your only son. The horror." Gabriel was sweating.
                "Oh Gabe, you really do have a knack for theatrics. Now go sit back down on the couch. Mama will take care of ya." Mrs. Jones said.
                Gabriel lumbered into the kitchen. "Where is it, mother? Where is this dreadful poison you wish to feed me?"
                "I put it in the freezer, of course, dear...behind the peas." Mrs. Jones was rinsing off some dishes in the sink.
                Slowly, Gabriel plodded his way across the kitchen to the freezer, steadying himself on the counter to his left. He was panting heavily now. He paused a moment, then staggered the last few feet and gripped the handle. Cautiously, he opened the door and peered inside. He gasped.
              "Its true, mother! Betrayed!"
              There, on the top shelf , behind the peas, to the right of the nearly empty carton of butter brickle, were 2, ½ gallon containers of chocolate frozen yogurt. On the front of the containers was an image of a slender, smiling young woman. Below her on the boxes were the words '50% less fat than ice cream'.
              Gabriel shrieked. Then, he reeled backwards in horror. Stumbling, he lost his balance, and fell hard to the floor.
              He lay there shocked and appalled, breathing hard.
              From somewhere underneath him, he heard the muted voice of his mother.
              "Be a dear and let your mother have some air," she wheezed, "that's my little dumpling."
              "Mother? Where have you gotten to?" Gabriel huffed.
              There was no answer.
              "Mother?" Gabriel called again, "I fear I may have fallen on you. Mother? Are you there? Would you leave you only son alone like this? Surely you wouldn't abandon me."
              Still, there was no answer.
              Gabriel labored hard to get himself back to his feet. There before him, on the floor of the kitchen was his mother. Her skin was blue like snow in twilight. Her eyeballs distended nearly to the tip of her nose. She was perfectly still.
              From the cabinet, Gabriel got a bowl and a spoon. Then, he opened the freezer and retrieved the last of the ice cream. He filled the bowl with the remaining ice cream and put the bowl on the kitchen table. Then, he securely closed the kitchen door and turned on the gas for the oven and the four burners on the stove. He lowered himself carefully into a chair, jotted a short note on a scrap of newspaper, and began to eat. He savored each spoonful.
              He was found almost a week later by a neighbor, his mother staring blankly at the ceiling and he, face down in a melted bowl of butter brickle.