Good Evening, Mr. Carter

Chapter 5

I would like to think of myself as a level-headed man, one who puts logic before emotion. I like to think things out, I have always been that way ever since I was a child.

I grew up in an emotionless house hold, my mother and father were nothing like the other parents, who would walk their children to school, give them a goodbye kiss, hold their hand when crossing the street, take them out to eat. I would watch as the children's mother and father would kiss each other. My parents would do nothing of such, they barely spoke a word to one another. They did not sleep in the same room- always keeping a seven foot distance from each other.

Was it my fault? Was I causing them to be like this? This is what I was thinking by the age of six. When I was at home, I did not speak unless I was spoken to. Every morning I would quietly get myself dressed, pack my backpack with my two folders and my small pencil pouch that only held two pencils and one eraser. Then, I would walk downstairs to the kitchen to be greeted with a simple 'good morning' by my mother. Most mornings, my mother would be sitting on our white leather couch in the living room, holding a hot cup of coffee as she read a book. By that time, my father was already at work- he was a stock broker. My mother packed me a lunch every morning as well, a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with either a bowl of fruit or a bag of chips.

I would walk to and from school every day, my house was six blocks away from where we lived at the time. I never complained and I never asked by father for a ride, he drove a light blue chevy corvette at the time. When I got home from school, I would take off my sneaker at the front door and if I wore a coat or jacket that day, I hung it up on the coat rack that stood a few inches away from the front door. My parents would be in the living room, my father would be sitting on the back leather chair smoking a cigar and my mother would be on the opposite end of the room, staring down at her book. The house was dead silent, a living hell indeed.

My father went by the name of Benjamin Carter, an enigma character.

My mother went by the name of Susan Carter.

Then there was me, James Carter.

Three is a terrible number, but what I did not know at the time- was there was another number that could be even worse than three, and that was the number four.

I will never forget that day, I was fifteen years old at the time and in my second year of high school. My father was out on a business trip for the week and I was just getting home from school. It had been raining since that early morning. When I walked into the house, I slipped off the black rain boots I wore that day and hung up my black rain coat. I noticed my mother was not in the living room, where she normally would be when I arrived back home from school during the weekdays. I placed my backpack on the kitchen counter, throwing away the rest of my lunch from earlier that I did not eat. I did not call out my mothers name or make any loud noise that would alert her that I was home. I walked upstairs, over to my mother's bedroom door. Her room was across the hallway from mine, on the opposite end of my father's room. I quietly turned the silver door knob to her room and peeked my head in to see if she was sleeping or reading in her bed.

There she was, her bare back facing me, the white sheets to her bed were lying on the ground. I saw her sitting on top of a naked man, I saw this man's large hands grabbing each side of her buttocks, spreading them apart as she bounced up and down on, loudly moaning. I saw the man's penis as it repeatedly went inside my mother. I stood there watching in silence the whole time. The clock struck four thirty when I finally had the courage to call out my mother's name. When I did, she turned around. That was the first time I saw what a devil's body looked like, and it was beautiful. The nipples on her breast were pointed outwards, parallel to the ground and perked up. Her waist was thin and her hips were slender, a perfect body.

My mother began panicking, she ran up to me, pushing me out of the room as she kept saying 'James please get out, get out'.

Later that evening, I heard a light knock on my bedroom door. It was my mother, she wore a short silk dress and her hair was still damp from the shower she took about an hour ago. I stood up from my bed, I was reading To Kill a Mockingbird By Harper Lee. My mother did not bother to say anything to me as she entered my room, instead she sat on my bed and sat in silence for exactly four minutes.

"Me and your father have been thinking about getting a divorce for quite some time. That man has been my lover for a few years now, I have been meaning to tell your father." I looked down at my mother's hands, they were slim and pale, and she wore no ring. Something I never noticed before. I stood in front of my mother, she was a beautiful women. She had fair skin, with no freckles other than the small beauty mark she had on the top right of her thin eyebrow. I placed my knee in between her thighs, making her fall back onto my bed, and while trying to push me off of her she said, "James! Your father hasn't touched me in years, please. This has nothing to do with you." I grabbed the top of the silk dress she was wearing with both hands, tearing it down the middle. I stood back up, staring at her naked body once again. Her torn white silk dress was on my bedroom floor.

I followed my mother as she tried running back to her room. I grabbed her wrist, stopping her in front of the second floor stair case. She continuously kept trying to pull away as she started to cry, while asking what was wrong with me. "What is wrong with you James? I am sorry! Please forgive me."

"You committed a sin, I am not the one you should be asking to forgive you." That was the last thing I said to her before she once again, tried pulling away from me. That was when I let go of my hand that was holding her wrist, then I watched as she fell backwards, down the second floor staircase.

I stared at my mother's lifeless body, lying on the bottom of the staircase.

I was not in the slightness angry nor sad, I felt no hate towards my mother.

It was the simple fact that a devil has no place here on earth. This world has been corrupted by people like my mother, no, she was not my mother- she was a devil.