A Bitter Pill: A Short Story

A Bitter Pill

A Bitter Pill

Copyright 2013 © Stephen M. Braund

ISBN: 978-0-9938644-1-4

All rights reserved.

“Daddy, where’s Mommy?” he asked.

This was it, the big question. I took a deep breath.

“Mommy’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

Just say it.

“Not gone like that.  Gone forever.” I replied.  Then added,

“Mommy’s dead.”

I watched his little face for any hints of a reaction. Comprehension. Emotion. Perhaps a trembling tic.

But there was nothing. That same blank stare.

Finally he spoke again.  “I thought there was no such thing as dead anymore.”

Fair enough.

“Dead isn’t what normally happens anymore.” I replied. “But it’s still possible. If you try hard enough.”

That was one way to put it. Another was there were still things that could be done to the human body that even the Nanos couldn’t fix.

That damned pill.

“She was very sad…” he said.

It was hard to tell if it was a question or just an observation.

“Yes, she was.”

Then he frowned. “But she was saying nice things about you again. I thought she was going to let you move back home.”

I had to wonder with all of the back-and-forth, when he had decided that her place was “home.” Especially since we hadn’t ever lived together in either place as a family.

“What kind of nice things did she say about me?” I asked.

“She said you weren’t such a prick anymore.”

I bit my tongue. “Oh.”

“Are you going to leave me too?” he asked.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re always sad too. Like Mommy,” he replied.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I guess nothing makes me happy anymore.”

“Not even me?” he asked, his face breaking into a beaming grin.

The sweetness and familiarity of that look swept me away to a different time and, for a brief moment, I almost felt like smiling back.

But then the memories flooded in and the emotions they brought with them hit me like a sucker punch to the throat. Before I knew it, I had sunk to my knees and was weeping helplessly on the floor.

To his credit, he waited for an ebb before speaking again.

“I’m sorry.” he said. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” I replied, finally catching my breath as I picked myself up off the floor. “It was nothing you said. It was just what you reminded me of.”

“What’s that?”

“My son,” I said.

“But I’m your son.”