Pretty Little Black Parade

Mama

“Ezra your brother told me that something bad happened to you at collage. Something really bad. Were you involved in that shooting?”

I growl to myself. Of course the media had to make it into something that my mother would watch on the 11’oclock news before bed on a Saturday night. Sure, they can block out my face and not mention my name but, it was, after all my collage. I told my mom I had been away visiting my dads grave that day. Which wasn’t completely a lie, because I was, just, a few hours before.

“I told you, mom, I was –“

“I know what you told me but you’ve lied a lot to me over the course of your life, Ezra.”

“Mama,” I smile. “We’re all full of lies. You know that.”

“’Mama, we’re meant for the flies’…” She sighs, finishing my thought. I used to tell her that all the time in high school. She remembers.

“You were there, weren’t you?” She tries once more. I can’t stand seeing her so scared and sad, so I simply nod.

“Did you get shot?”

“Oh, mom…” I shake my head. “Stop asking me questions, I hate to see you cry.”

“I need to know.”

I lift up the sleeve to my t-shirt and let the bullet scar on my shoulder answer her questions. She runs her fingers over it. “My poor baby…”

“I’m okay, ma. It was just my arm.”

“It’s not okay if this is why you left Aria. Oh, Ezra.” She stands up now, pacing around the room. “Your brother told me all about her. She loved you so much.”

I shudder at that word. “Love.”

“That’s not all that happened, mom,” I say, getting angry now. “Much more happened. I had to leave her.”

“Like what?” She raises her voice, fed up with the past five years. So am I.

“I shot someone.”

The room gets surprisingly quiet considering the obnoxious washing matchine that you can hear from the laundry room, or the cars zooming by the busy road, or the air conditioning, the TV in the living room playing or the haunted toilet running for no reason. The room is dead silent.

Even more dead than Quinten.

“Tell me what happened.” She says again, in a surprisingly calm voice for what I told her. “Mom, there’s some major shit that I’ve done with a gun. You would cry your eyes all along if I told you."

“But I need to kn-“

“No, mom.” I yell. “I was going to hell beore I shot him and I’m going to hell now. Mama, we ALL go to hell. Wether it’s here on earth or actual hell, we all end up there. You’re hell is right here right now dealing with me, and my hell is coming to me so just let it go! I AM dying, the cancer WILL kill me and I WILL go to hell and you WILL be able to finally move on with you life.”

She’s shocked. White as a ghost.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I was such a bad son.”

I rub my forhead. My head hurts so bad. I thought the hospice drugs were supposed to help with that?

“Damn it mom I’m so sorry. You should’ve had a baby girl, you know that? You shoulda raised a baby girl. Or at least I should’ve been a better son. I could’ve been a better son…”

She takes my hand, and sits back down on the bed. “You still have a chance, Ezra. You have a chance to be a good son right now and go back to the hospital and fight and live. Give your life back to God and get forgiven.. and come home.” She looks so hopeful.

“I’ll never let you go, Ezra.”

“I…” I sigh. “I can’t, mom. I just can’t….”

She doesn’t look disappointed, but rather hurt. She gets up and leaves. I watch her walk out of the room and wonder if she’ll ever come back. Did I just see her for the last time?

No.

She returns a few moments later with two glasses of red wine. “I haven’t had one of these in like, ten years.” She hands me one. “But I need it.” She ruffles my hair. “You look like you need one too.”

Confused, I stare at the red wine. I haven’t had one in a very long time, either. And damn do I need it.

“Raise you glass high,” She says, toasting me. “For tomorrow you die.”

We toast and bring the cup to our lips, drinking it all in one sip.

“Now who’s being morbid?” I smile.

To my complete surprise, she smiles back.