The misguided [SV]

The escape

Cloth. Necessary
Money. Necessary
Guitar. Necessary.
Since I was a kid, I’ve always wished I could fly. I wanted to feel the wind brushing my skin. But most of all I wanted to fly, because I’d love to have a fresh start.
I neatly pack my cloth in an old bag.
Cloth and money and my guitar are mandatory for my escape to New York. Living here brings many bad memories.
I hear a soft knock on the door. “Come in” I respond. Mom opens the door and slides in; in her hand is a glass of wine. How classy of her.
Her eyes on the bag.
Confused looks on her face which she quickly wipes off. “You’re leaving?” She asks, taking a sip of her wine. She looks very calm, her cornflower eyes pale and wary. A random stranger would mistake it for a sign of relief.
“Yea.”
She lights a cigarette and inhales the smoke in and puts the glass of wine on the nearest table. Mom lives on wine and cigarette and Shakespeare. I remember on Walter Funeral how she’d smoke when nobody’s not around. It’s a way of covering her sadness and frustrations. Me and her are somehow alike.
“Where are you going to go? Do you have any money? Do you……?” She went on. I heard it all before, I kept on packing.
Mom noticed I wasn’t paying attention. Damn.
Mom, Your wariness is showing, I think. But instead I say, “I’m 18. I can take care of myself.”

“Yes. Yes you can.” She responds .
There’s nothing but awkward silence left between us.

Mom is right. How am I supposed to live in a place like New York? New York doesn’t want me. I’m just one more Bum.
I’ll figure it out.

“You don’t have to go.” She whispers, taking another sip of wine.
“Yes I do. You know I do. There’s nothing left for me. Walters gone. Emily’s gone. I never want to see dad. “
“I’m still here.” She says, and takes a step forward. I take a step back. I crash into a pile of corny song I wrote.
“You haven’t been the same after Walter died.” I say.
My throat hurts; I start breathing heavily and swallow hard. The brackish water wells up on the edge of my eyelashes wanting to fall. Wanting to make me look weak. I feel the first drop of salty water softly gliding down my cheeks. Its saltiness coats my lower lips. It tastes so weird, like salt, obviously. Making its way for more tears.
“Don’t play innocent with me.” mom snapped. I haven’t heard her shout so emphatically sense. Walters’s death. “You know you’re the cause of Walters’s death.” She’s like a bomb. Ticking until she explodes. Boom! Leaving a massive amount of damage, some temporary, some permanent.
“No. No, I didn’t.” I argue. “You and I both knew he was going to die.”
“No, Son” she responds. Using the word son so heedlessly and hastily. She takes a few steps towards me.
I wish I could fly, I say to myself.
“You killed him. I told you not to go and you left him.” Her green eyes filled with mingled emotions of grief and despair.
My throats hurting again. My mouth is dry. My ears are as red as the wine which is now in her hand.
“Got to hell” I spat the words without thinking of the consequences I’m going to face. My mom’s eyes aren’t filled with anger but disbelief. She never expected me to say that. I never expected me to say that. We’re both shocked.
There’s a long awkward silence between us. The only noise I hear is coming from my radio.
Before I could say I’m sorry mom’s hands came in touch with me cheeks. I feel an excruciating pain on my face. She keeps calm. She waits for me to give a response. And I do. I take my bag and walk through the kitchen to where the small TV sits. Without Thinking. I nudge the TV and watch it fall off the table to the ground.
I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on my mom’s face so I walked outside and into my car, I went.
“Before you go” my mom says following me outside, “Take this. Walter gave it to me to give it to you when you got older.”
How could she keep this from me? “I never opened it” she adds.
“Good bye, Joel”, she says.
“Bye.” I respond.
I start the engine and drive down the street in my black Buick.