Mould

When was the last time I dreamt?

Lying on my back on the cold, dewy grass in the dead of night, I attempted to recall a single dream; what happened in the dream didn’t matter. The desire to recall one thought, one single emotion quickly turned into frustration until I could no longer lie still and propped myself up on my knees, slowly taking in my surroundings. It was difficult to see much of anything in this silent darkness without the aid of my glasses.

I forcefully buried my hands into the moist ground and balled my fists, pulling out and feeling a few earthworms writhing between my fingers. I smiled, somewhat nostalgic from the sensation. I was never afraid of insects, even less so as a child; my Mom, however, would threaten me with her broomstick from hell whenever I would carry any into the house.

What sounded like a flimsy screen door slammed shut nearby and made my head jolt up in its direction. I squinted my eyes, spotting a porch light that was just recently turned on not too far away and a man in front of it holding his hands up to his mouth and lighting a cigarette. He then exhaled and eventually looked in my direction. Even from this distance, I could see the confusion and uncertainty contorting his weathered face. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and held it between his index and middle fingers of his left hand and seemed to reach into his back pocket and cautiously made his way towards me. I looked down and examined myself; shirtless, shoeless, with two handfuls of dirt and worms. I wouldn’t be surprised if he shot me right on the spot.

“Hey…who’re you?,” a deep, rough voice with a rich southern accent bellowed as he approached. “Fuckin’ speak, boy!”

“I-I…I’m just-“ I stammered, more than likely from the cold. The sharp click as he cocked his gun made my heart skip a beat. I had a feeling that’s what he was reaching for. “I don’t want any trouble, please.”

He stepped right in front of me and looked down, tossing his cigarette to the side. My complete vulnerability must’ve made him a little less defensive, even if for a moment. I haven’t spoken that much yet.

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“I...don’t know,” I mumbled. He didn’t have to know everything, now, did he? I was smart enough to know that if I wanted to keep my head, I would say as little as possible. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I’ve ever been held at gunpoint; so I was actually able to speak without crying and pissing myself.

“Must be drugs, huh? You kids these days don’t even know half the chemicals and shit you’re gettin’ fucked up on. Get the hell up and come on.” He sighed as he un-cocked his gun and put it in his back pocket, then held his hand out for me. I was taken aback for a moment at his sudden mercy, and hurriedly took his coarse, calloused hand. He snatched away from me in disgust and wiped his now dirt covered hand on his jeans after he helped me up. “What’s that shit on your hands, boy? Why were you diggin’ in the ground? Nevermind, just come in and get cleaned up. You look like death, and you seem batshit crazy, but harmless. Try anything, though, and you’re gettin’ a bullet in the head.”

“Y-yes sir. Thank you.”

“Whatever.”
I took a look back to where I was before; lying on the ground staring at the stars above, and asked myself if I would ever be able to let this go. Maybe this was just a dream; maybe I would soon awake in my bed from this terrible nightmare. Maybe this was just a nightmare within a dream, and that was why it felt so real. I didn’t want to cry or make any sudden movements in fear of making this gentleman apprehensive for the last time.

The straightforward gentleman ordered me to stand by the doorway so I wouldn’t track dirty footprints on his newly polished hardwood floor while he went to the back and picked out a pair of clean clothes. When he returned, he shoved a worn t-shirt and jeans into my chest, forcing me to grab a hold of them.

“Change out of that shit on the porch and wash your feet with the hose, I’ll fix some’n t’ eat,” he mumbled, turning and walking towards the kitchen.

“Yes, sir,” I immediately returned to the porch and began to change into my new clothes. They must’ve been his own, a very long time ago. It made me wonder why he hasn’t thrown them out considering how old they were. I had hoped that they didn’t mean anything to him.

After spraying my feet down with the garden hose on the side of the house, I lightly dried them with my dirty pants, making sure not to make them dirty once more, and made my way back into the livingroom. The gentleman and I eyed each other for what seemed like forever while he sat at the kitchen table and lit up another cigarette.

“Food’s cookin’.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Well? What the hell you waitin’ for, an invitation? Sit down,” he commanded, and I slightly bowed my head and sat down in front of him at the table. I kept my head down, pretty grateful that a huge flowerpot decoration was placed in the middle of the table, obstructing our views of each other. “It’s not every day that I spot a weirdo in my field, much less one that’s respectful of his elders.”

“Staring down the barrel of a gun would humble anyone, sir,” I commented. He chuckled, the low rumbling from his chest gently vibrating the rickety table.

“You’re goddamned right about that, son.”

“I guess I owe you some sort of explanation for why-“

“Boy, you don’t owe me anything. Just eat and get outta here,” he replied, exhaling deadly secondhand towards the flowers that were luckily already brown and shriveled up. I wondered for only a moment why he didn’t throw them away, until a portrait of a woman above the kitchen sink caught my eye.

“Sir?”

“What?”

“May I wash my hands?”

“Don’t know why you made ‘em dirty as hell, anyway. I don’t care.”

I stood up and made my way to the sink, turning on the faucet and squirting some lemon scented dishwasher liquid into the palm of my hand. Peeking over my shoulder, I checked to see if he was still looking the opposite way and I looked up at the portrait once again.

It was one of a middle-aged woman, resting on a rocking chair on what seemed to be the back porch of this very house. The picture itself was somewhat worn and began to lose its color, but the liveliness of the woman and the vibrancy of her extravagant sundress made it seem like it was just taken yesterday. She was somewhat blinded from the sun and squinting her eyes a little. The expression on her face was one of sarcasm, as if she was just about to retort to having her picture taken without her permission, and her smile was one of fondness; one that told me that she had known and loved the person who took the picture for years.

“My wife,” the gentleman blurted out. I jumped and turned the faucet off, twisting around.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Eh,” he mumbled, waving his hand before lighting another cigarette. He looked up at me and handed me a cigarette. “You need to relax. Sit back down.”

As I sat back down at the table and lit the cigarette, he stood up and made his way to the counter by the stove. My mouth began to salivate as the scent of roast from the crock pot slowly made its way to me. When was the last time I’ve eaten pot roast? I was too hungry to think clearly.

He slapped a medium sized portion of roast on a plate and handed it to me. I had just noticed then that the table was already set up for two, with utensils and a napkin neatly folded on each side. Laying my cigarette in the ashtray, I thanked him before digging into my meal like a rabid dog. I didn’t go too crazy though, I used my fork and knife. It still couldn’t have been a very pretty sight, but it was just too delicious.

“Good, huh? She taught me how to cook. Haven’t cooked a day in my damn life until I met her,” he said, chuckling. I succeeded in regaining my sense of self control to examine his face, and it was one of pure longing. It would’ve been rude to ask about what might’ve happened- “Died of cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled with a mouthful of roast, and immediately regretted speaking before I chewed my food. He didn’t seem to mind or even notice that I had spoken. I knew that he was lost in his memories of her for a moment, and that’s where he liked to be. I’ve seen this look before too many times, and left him to his thoughts.

I didn’t want his last impression of me to be a guest who wouldn’t clean up after himself when he was offered a meal, so I did just that. I waited until the hardened look in his eyes came back and thanked him for feeding me and not just killing me instead.

“Yeah, maybe you’ll do some good in the world,” he replied sarcastically. I smiled and made my way towards the front door. “You're in Kentucky. There’s a town a ways up the road-“

“Oh, I know. Thank you.”

“You know where you are?”

“Yes.”

“Damn, coulda fooled me. You had the most dumbfounded look on your face before.”

“I get that a lot, anyway.”

“Come to think of it, I feel like I’ve seen you before,” he mumbled, paying attention to my face for the first time.

“I probably just have one of those faces. Have a good night.” I smiled once more and made my way out of the front door.

One of those faces. One of those relative faces, perhaps. It didn’t take me very long to figure out that the sundress the woman wore was the same one that was passed down to my mother years ago; the sheepish smile and elegant poise was also a dead giveaway. Like mother, like daughter.



The wind forced the trees and bushes to dance as I walked down the middle of the lone country road in the dead of night. I kept my head down as I trailed the yellow lines in the middle of the black moonlit pavement, stepping onto each one. Even though I knew exactly where I was at this point and where I was going, I was still in a daze. I still felt so incredibly lost. I held back tears as I questioned why this happened to me, why anyone would do something like this to someone. Or better yet, how I could be so naïve to think that I could trust him. He must’ve known where my grandfather lived, even though I didn’t, and intentionally tossed me on his farm. Or, he didn't and it was just some twisted act of fate that forced me to meet him. I didn't know whether to feel relieved that my grandfather was a generous but blunt soul, or angered because he had neglected me and my mother for years. I knew I had the right to feel hurt because of the whole situation. Years of not knowing who my grandfather or grandmother was seemed not to fully amount to the hurt that I was experiencing at this moment. But, now was not the time to be vulnerable. I decided to hold it in until Mom knew that I was okay.

After a while, the street names became more familiar and I eventually turned on Spanish Grove, where I lived. Once again, I was torn between feeling at home and like I did not belong.

As soon as I stepped onto the porch, my Mom turned on the light and peered through the blinds before opening the door and running towards me.

It was kind of ironic. All of this time I wanted nothing more than to feel loved, and here she was crying into my shoulder, worried sick and thinking that she had lost the only child she ever had. I couldn’t help but cry as well, to undo the guard that I had so desperately wanted to keep up.

We went inside and sat down in front of each other at the kitchen table. She eyed me cautiously, checking for wounds on her damaged little pup, and then finally spoke.

“He won’t be coming around here again. I promise you that.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I mumbled. I dared to look into her eyes for only a second, worried that I may have pissed her off and was about to be beaten into unconsciousness and left for dead again, until I saw her begin to cry again. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I knew there was nothing you could do.”

“I could’ve grown a backbone. Could’ve stood up to the son of a bitch like I wanted. And I actually liked the bastard for a while.”

“He’s three times your size, then some. I wouldn’t have allowed you to,” I stood back up and poured her a cup of coffee, adding extra sugar and creamer like she preferred. I gave it to her and she smiled a small, defeated smile, like the one her mother gave in the picture.

“The police have been called over here so much, that…heh, there was no point anyway. I knew that he got you good out there, but I also knew you’d find your way back to me. You always do, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He won’t hurt you again,” I knew that he would be back, and I knew that he would kick my ass again. But, no amount of physical pain I endured from him could equate to the suffering my mother has been through. I held her hand across the table to comfort her, when she noticed my outfit. “You weren't wearing this before you left. Where did you get these clothes?”

“I…I ran into Grandpa on the way. He invited me in and offered me a change of clothes.”

“Well...no wonder they seem to fit so well. He didn’t know it was you?,” she asked. I shook my head no. She smiled as more tears ran down her soft, almond colored cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s for the best, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” After hearing the stories she’s told of him of how he raised her and the horrible things he’s done, I had to hold back from lunging at him where he stood as soon as I realized who he was. She definitely didn’t need more abusive men in her life.

“I love you, you know that?” I stared at her for a while, attempting to deny that anything else could be true. I heard her say it so much, as if she was trying to convince herself of it as well. But, she had to have loved me. Every mother loves their child. If she didn’t, then what was the point of all of this pain?

“I love you, too.”