Lumps

"What happened to your head?"

It was obvious that someone was going to notice it. The big "it". My mother didn't look too concerned, but her brow was furrowed all the same. For some unknown reason she looked like a giant Venus flytrap, ready to consume me whole in one bite. I took a step backwards.

"What is that big lump on your head, Bradley?"

I had always liked the name Bradley. Never Brad, just Bradley. Brad itself was a copout, just like saying half a word. Like saying "head" instead of "headache." Whenever someone calls me Brad i always correct them. It is Bradley after all. Even my friends call me Bradley. They have really tired of my constant corrections.

My mother was on top of me now, standing over me like a massive basketballer. She seemed so tall. Her arms were soft and welcoming, but was it a trap? Maybe like an insect or bug on a Venus flytrap i would be consumed. Absolutely demolished. I had to retain my wits.

"I don't know mother, I woke up with it..."

It was true. The massive lump wasn't on my forehead last night, but it appeared out of nowhere at some stage last night while i was sleeping, and here it is. I woke up, rubbed my forehead, and noticed a massive hill or mountain where there shouldn't be one.

"Don't worry mother, maybe an angel kissed me. You know, a female one. During the night i mean..."

My mother pulled a face. I don't think i was getting out of a hospital visit this time. Or i should say a doctor's visit. A hospital visit would probably soon follow. Nothing scared me more then a doctor's visit, those scarecrow doctors with thier crow-scaring tactics. I'm the crow in this instance. I could never get over my doctor Dr Philips hollow eyes. It was like a bird had come and plucked them one night. Or maybe an angel kissed them, i'm not sure.

Then again, if an angel kissed them like an angel had surely kissed my forehead, they would be massive bug eyes. Dr Phillips didn't even seem to have eyes. He just had sockets. He always wore a crucifix, which doubly scared me. I wondered if he knew i was an atheist just by looking into my eyes. Maybe he'd perform an exorcism on my lump...

"Bradley i'll call the doctor..."

Damn. I knew it had to happen. Now i'd have to go in one of those brain-scanning machines. I wonder what they'd find in there. More lumps? Surely a brain. The angels couldn't have been that horny when they kissed my forehead. Maybe they kissed me all over my head.

My mother made the call. She is always polite on the phone. A slightly different manner then she displays at home, when their are no guests. When there is just her and me. My father died when i was 12, which was a while ago. She took that blow somewhat hard. We all did.

My father's name was Tom, a very common name i can assure you readers. He loved AFL footy, he loved his job and his family (he was a carpenter... like Jesus!) and that was about all he loved. The one thing i could truly relate to my father about, the one thing i admired him for, was his sense of humour.

One time these Bible-belters came around to our house, dressed solemnly in navy blue, faceless people if you could ever meet some. My father happened to answer the door when they knocked. I was in the lounge watching TV at the time, so i heard it all. The conversation went a little like this...

"Hello sir, we are from the St Christopher brethren, and we'd wonder if you'd be interested in a brochure..."

"Sorry mate, we are all homosexuals in this house. So we do not believe in god."

I was stunned. Was dad hiding something from me? My father proceeded to shut the door in the faces of the religious people before they could respond, and being only 10-years of age at the time, I had a couple of questions i wanted to ask my father.

"Dad, why did you call me a homosexual?"

"Well, you do like art, son..."

I was dumbfounded. At that time, like most kids, i was slightly ignorant as to what homosexuality really meant, and i sure didn't like the sound of homosexuality, or at least what i thought it was. My father smiled at me, and was trying to get me to understand his joke, but at that age i was way below his punching weight.

"Dad, i'm not gay."

"I was just kidding Bradley... Sorry."

That is when i started to cry. You see, reader, i was prone to tears back then as a kid. A couple of years later my father was hit by a car and killed instantly. It was a rather dry day in the house that day, i can assure you.

"Bradley, the doctor says we, or you, can come in at 5pm today..."

"That is fine, mom."

I walked up the stairs at this point, and entered my bedroom. I then sat on my bed and rubbed my swollen forehead, and wondered what the hell it could be. Was it cancer? Surely not. Cancer doesn't just appear overnight. Maybe i had bumped it while sleeping...

I fell into a state of slumber as i sat on my bed, my eyelids half-closed, focusing on the wall in front of me until i couldn't see much of the wall or anything. I was not trying to meditate, just sitting and looking. Just as the black dots that were appearing before me threatened to envelop me like a swarm of bees my mother knocked on the door.

"Can i come in? That lump looks awful..."

My mother came in after i said she could, and she sat next to me on the bed. I should note that this is a Saturday, and there was no school.

"Bradley, did you bump your head?"

"No mother, my father the angel came back from the dead and smacked me one," i spat.

You see, i do have a rather short temper. My mother quickly left the room without a word after that outburst. I slowly closed my eyes until they were half closed and once again everything became blurry. The black dots were all i could see after a minute or so, and i wondered if i could compare them to those space invader enemies. That old game... Cause they certainly seemed like alien beings. i studied the dots until they formed one big mass. The angel that kissed me last night really does have a lot to answer for...