Joker

ONE

Good people do good, my dear mother would always say and from as far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a good person, as corny as it sounds, I wanted to do good, be good, I wanted to make her proud.

But then I guess none of us are born truly evil, it's a turn of events that makes us like that, a mindset, a psychological problem that was there maybe from as early as birth.

They say the world is full of love, but personally, I don't think there's enough in the world for everyone, there is not enough to go around, so sometimes, someone's got to be the bad guy.

Maybe that someone was always going to be me?

That's my thinking anyway. The way I see it there's certain groups of people in this world, the power hungry, the mad men, and the followers. Some are power hungry mad men, some are power hungry followers, but you can't be all three, unless of course you were my step dad Joe Montgomery of the Chicago Montgomerys, he'd say that as if it meant something, as if you were meant to fear it or treat him with a newfound respect that you never had before it left his lips often in a drunken drawl.

Literally no one, and I mean no one knew what or whom the Chicago Montgomerys were or why he was forcing it into the conversation. My drunken, violent and all round scum of a step dad was nice once, or so I'm told, though any remnants of this 'nice guy' are long gone, all is left is the husk of a man that treats my mother with no respect, smokes too much, and drinks even more. A man that smelt of stale alcohol and often the perfume of women he'd tried, and subsequently failed to get oh so romantically into the back of his car.

I speak of him in present tense, I'm not sure why, he's dead, and very missed,

said no one ever.

Then there was my mother, the most perfect soul to walk the planet, she'd tell me stories of glass slippers made solely for the perfect foot, the wooden puppet who became a real boy and how sometimes a lady must kiss so many frogs to find her Prince, she'd clearly not kissed enough as Joe was still very much a frog and again as far back as I can remember I wanted to step on him just like one and crush him under my foot.

But monsters, my mother told me monsters weren't real, there was no such thing.

My mother was wrong, they were real, very real, she woke up next to one each and every day.

But sometimes, we don't realise they are monsters because we're simply too close to them.

Joe was not a good stepdad, Joe was not even a good husband, fuck, Joe was not even a good human being, the best part of him dribbled down his mother's leg the night he was conceived. the man, and I use that term lightly, was a punchline of a human being.

I remember crossing the road with my mother, not just my mother, my best friend, my idol, my entire world encapsulated in one human being, dear lord did I love that woman. the sun on her face, and my new sandles hurting my then tiny foot, a small stone rattling around under my foot, like a automobile in a hurricane, I limped and stopped until I could walk no more. I leant down in the middle of the road.

The sun on my face.

I looked up to my mother, my hand on my forehead shading my eyes from the overly strong mid afternoon sun, not a single cloud in the heavens above, the sky, the most perfect blue.

'Mommy I can't walk anymore'

'OK hunny' she whispered, 'wait until we get to the sidewalk, I'll fix your shoe then'

I looked down at my foot, in my four year old, maybe five year old head, that sidewalk was too far away, I'd never reach it, not with what was starting to feel like a small asteroid under my foot

I looked up at my mother

The sun on my face

'No mommy, now'

She shook her head, glancing around the quiet road for any oncoming traffic, as she gripped tighter on my hand

'Wait until we get to the side walk'

The sidewalk was too far away, those 7 or so steps seemed too much, my immature mind unable to comprehend the gravity and danger of what I did next.

In the middle of the road I sat down, pulled my small now sweaty hand from my mother's as she walked, I slipped my shoe off and the smallest pebble rolled out, bouncing onto the hard surface as it did.

It really was tiny, it felt so much bigger under my foot.

I looked up as I did, my mother's hand yanked me from the road, my ankles grazed on the floor, and my new sandle left my hand and fell to the floor, Bouncing slightly as it did. My mother, my dear mother pulling me to the sidewalk, looking at either side of her for traffic as she did.

She looked down at me as she placed me on the sidewalk

The sun on my face

'You silly boy, you never let go of my hand, do you understand?'

I nodded, my usually always calm mother had that sterness to her voice that seldom came out

I looked up at her,

The sun in my face

As she grabbed my arms and through gritted teeth said

'You don't sit in the middle of the road, if a car came you'd be dead, do you understand?'

A single tear rolled down my cheek, she was upset and I made her like this, my dear mother.

She grabbed my hand and lifted me to my feet, one shoe on. One shoe sitting in the middle of the road.

'Momma my shoe' I pointed wiping the tears away with my other hand. My mother looked over at the shoe and back at me,

'Stay here hunny while I get your shoe'

I nodded, I would do just as she said, I'd upset her once today, not again, not by being a silly boy.

'don't you move'

And I wouldn't

She stepped into the road, looking left then right. Then she looked back at me, checking I was stood where she'd said.

Then again she looked left then right. And walked into the road, crouching in the middle to pick up my shoe, her blue dress brushing against the warm tarmac as she did, and as she stood up she looked over at me, once again checking I was where she told me to stay, glancing over with a warm smile, and within that moment was struck down by a motor cyclist, he clipped her, sent her tumbling back, slamming her head on the floor beneath me I can still hear the sound to this day, Not a word left my lips as I looked down at her, as blood, like water from a faucet poured from her head, the driver gone in the distance. As she lay there motionless.

The sun on her face.

I would stand at that road beside my mother for the next fifteen minutes, her blood trailing towards me, staining my shoes, of course people would drive by, thinking some drunk had passed out in the road, it wasn't until a old man and his wife pulled up on their way back from seeing their son that my mother would make her way to the local hospital, the old man had a voice rougher than sand paper as he leaned out the window

'You alright there boy?'

He barely finished his sentence before looking down at my dear mother in a pool of her own blood, staining her blond hair, her eyes closed and still gripping tightly onto my shoe.

The old man jumped out of his car, and ran to my mother's side. While his wife ushered me into the car, sitting on her lap, she asked me, was I hurt, was I alright, that my mother was going to be fine, they were going to get her to the hospital and she'd be just fine.

Even at that early age, that pool of blood, her motionless body, I knew she wouldn't be just fine.

The old man picked my mother up, placed her onto the back seat, where his wife climbed next to her, cradling my mother's head. I remember the old man telling me to look forward, keep looking forward, stay looking forward, it probably looks worse than it is. It was a blur, I remember staring at my blood stained shoes.

If I'd just listened to her, if I'd just done as she said if I just.....

But I never.