Until Your Majesty Runs Out

“It’s the perfect plan,” he said “just watch, babe. This is going to run so smoothly.”

I should have taken that as an indication this was going to get me nowhere fast. Nothing with Mike ever ran smoothly.

_____

I hate Sundays. Sure, it was still the weekend; you could sleep in, go out to breakfast with friends, plot an ingenious, in depth scheme containing illegal activities. Whatever floats your boat. However, all of the pastimes in the world couldn’t hinder the thoughts of the upcoming Monday. Thus, why I hate Sundays. They’re just a constant reminder that your leisurely hours are coming to an end; an antagonizingly slow one which just so happens to be laughing in your face the entire time.

“Are you tired?”
“No”
“Overweight?”
“No”
“Lacking Energy?”
“Not usually”
“Do you wish you could look and feel young again?”
“Again?”
“You can! By unlocking the power of natural juice with Jack LaLanne’s Power Juicer”
“Well what the fuck am I waiting for?” I asked to no one but myself, stabbing a piece watermelon in the process. Unfortunately, one of the many costly, yet satisfying perks of life I never bought myself was cable TV, so at Nine O’Clock on a Sunday morning I, of course, have nothing better to do than watch infomercials. I was sitting on the sofa in my living room picking at my fruit and scrambled eggs, watching uninterestedly as Jack’s wife was in the middle of shoving carrots and cucumbers down the contraption. My Blackberry started vibrating off of the side table, and I thankfully put down my plate because now I had something to occupy myself with. I quickly picked it up. The noise it made vibrating against any hard surface really exasperated me, but not nearly as much as the ringtones. My caller ID displayed “Mom” in dark, bold letters.

Grrrreat, just who I wanted to talk to.

“Hello?” I answered less than enthusiastically.
“Hi,” my mother answers back sharply “The hearing just ended, I’m in the car now driving over to the house. You called the movers, right?”
“Yes.”

“Alright, good. Bye”
I didn’t even bother to say anything. Ever since my parents finally put out and decided to get divorced, my mom’s had a drastic personality change and just has a bitter attitude towards everything and everyone; she didn’t talk to me anymore, she talked at me. Which was something I just never understood.

She won most, if not all of Dad’s money, bought a new house, and is taking most of the furniture. What is there to be upset about?

My father had just died of liver failure a little over a week ago, but my mother wasn’t upset. If anything, she was happy because it just made everything so much easier for her.

When my parents told me they were getting divorced, I wasn’t surprised, but it’s not like it came as a shock either. I always knew they fought, I was never there, but I knew it happened. I could see it. I could see the pain and discomfort behind their eyes, the uneasiness when my mother spoke, and how just the slightest word or action could set her off.

I had moved out and been in college by the time things really started going downhill, and it had just ‘progressed’, if you will, that way over the years. I had only been there to witness their petty arguments, like over what they were doing the upcoming weekend, or how my dad should be more helpful around the house. I knew there had been worse goings on, more serious and severe, but I had never been there for them; which was why I didn’t have to go to their court hearings. When my parents would call me to see how things were going at school, I’d ask how things were back home and they’d always deny anything was off.

_____

“I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger”
“And for you?”
“Just a house salad, thanks”
“Not a problem” our waitress said and smiled as she turned and walked away, pony tail bouncing behind her.
“Andy, why d’ya never eat anything?”
“Just because I don’t eat a pound of meat at each meal doesn’t mean I don’t eat.”
“So what’s the deal with your ma?” Mike asked, obviously understanding I wanted to talk about something else, while bringing a bottle of Budweiser up to his lips.
“She has all the money now.” I told him, laying my hands flat out on the table, admiring my fresh nail polish I had put on the night before. Although, the topic he chose wasn’t all that better than the previous one.

“You don’t get any?”
“No, no I don’t... I wasn’t really involved.” I said, almost absent-mindedly while I looked around the bar. There were other men here with their girlfriends, older men at the bar watching football, and the profuse smell of musty alcohol running it’s way into my nose.

It was giving me a headache.

“She doesn’t even want to give you any? Nothing?” he asked again, eyebrows slightly raised.
“It sure seems that way” I informed him, thinking of the conversation with my mother from this morning. The peevish tone to her voice, the whole subject that there wasn’t even one point to that conversation. She knew I called the movers. The only reason she was calling was to ensure herself that, in her mind, she was the one in charge, she was better than my father, and now that she won she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Or so she thought.

“You should ask her for some”
I laughed.
“I am not asking her for some” I stated, making eye contact with Mike, making sure my response was full of attitude like that was the worst sin I could commit.
“You still have student loans to pay off”
“I can take care of it. I have a job”

“Bu-”

“Mike,” I cut him off sternly, “I’m not getting any of it. The only way I’d ever get any of that money is if my mother dies, too”
We looked each other straight in the eyes for a good 10 seconds before Mike looked down at the table and let out a sigh I never would have guessed he was holding.
“Well,”
“Well what? Mike?”
“Never mind, never mind” He said throwing a hand up, brushing the subject away with the smallest of smirks playing at his lips.

What was he suggesting?

This kid was always playing with my head. Somehow getting me to think I couldn’t come up with any decent ideas or ways of going about life on my own. Ultimately implying I was more stupid than the average human being, but it never bothered me. Because he was always there to help, it never bothered me. He had never really yelled, or called me names trying to brainwash me; decrease my feelings of ‘self worth’. But I still never felt like I was in complete control of myself, I was always waiting for what was next like a dog straight out of obedience school.

_____

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I never in a million years would have been able to tell you this is where I’d be at this point in life. This certainly wasn’t where I wanted to be. I don’t think it ever fully registered in my mind. I wasn’t actually going to go through with this, I would find some clever little, snot-nosed way to get out of it like I would when I didn’t want to go to high school. But I couldn’t fake a headache, shove hot washcloths under my arms and say I had a fever. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I was hiding in the brush in the backyard of my mother’s new house. I’m sorry, did I say house? I meant oversized mansion, château, palace, all of the above, just for one person, mind you.

Mike was sitting in the car, and he could see me from where I was, so he would know if I tried to run, or if I didn’t return when I was supposed to. I heard whom I expected to be my mother pull in the driveway. When I saw Mike nod I knew this was it. I sprung up from my squatting position, running as quietly as I could over to the back door, taking a key out of my back pocket in the process. My breathing was sporadic, and it was having some effect on me because my chest began to feel weak. My hands were sweating against the metal key as I shoved it and turned it in heavy wood door. I was pressed for time, and if I screwed up, everything would be on the line.

I successfully trespassed into my mother’s house, now in her kitchen; clad with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops, but it didn’t matter. I could hear her shuffling about in the foyer, moving boxes and other items around. I tried to keep as quiet as possible, I couldn’t calm down, the ball was in my court and it was all up to me. I opened the drawer closest to the refrigerator, but it was full of spatulas and rolling pins. The next one; oven mitts and dish towels. The one opposite the refrigerator, several sets of flatware. Next to that, bread, chef’s, and paring knives. Careful not to move much around, I carefully selected a French knife I thought was most suitable.

I tip-toed over to the wall closest to the hallway, and stuck just enough of my face out to get one eye around the corner. My mom had her back to me, she was in the middle of putting a box of what looked like books down, and then turned to go into the living room. Taking a deep breath, I followed her in, making sure to keep my distance. I walked rather briskly at first, but my emotions got the best of me, and I slowed down a bit. I heard her drawl out a sigh. Something went off inside my head, but I sensed it was time, and I went through with it.

I brought my arm up, gripping the tang of the knife even more vigorously as it was warm and slippery in my hand. Stepping forward with my left foot; nothing else could be heard through the house but that slight creak in the floor. I brought my arm down in one swift motion and drove the slice of steel into her back.

I just stabbed my mother in the back.

I let out a sob as I did it again. My breath fluctuating with each passing second, I did it a third time and she turned around to face me, staggering back a bit.

She’s weak.

She was weak. She was finally weak.

A sudden epiphany washed over me, and I had her right where I wanted her.

I drove the knife towards her again.

She deserves this. For all the times she’s lied.

And again.

All the times she’s told me I’d never amount to anything.

And again.

All the times she’s gone out of her way to cause arguments.

And again.

All the times she’s said Dad was never good enough, and all the times she’d take me away from him.

And again.

And forgetting the definition of family.

I lunged at her once more. She was clutching her chest and breathing heavier than anything I’ve ever experienced. Over the next minute, the undistinguishable noises coming from both of us quieted significantly. My visions was blurry, my contacts irritated and my chest still heaving. I left her to bleed on her oriental rug. She was gone.

And so was I.

_____

My back was beginning to hurt. I had been sitting sideways on the cheap sofa in a Comfort Inn; my legs out in front of me while attempting to watch I Love Lucy reruns and relax with a cup of coffee. I was just staring at it, brushing the rim of the mug with my index finger and watching the white steam evaporate into the air until my phone started to vibrate in the pocket of my flannel pajama pants. I set my mug down on the coffee table and fished it out, not even bothering to look at who was calling.
“Hello?” I spit out, trying to hide the fact I was practically choking on my own words.
“Hi, Andrea? It’s your grandmother.”
“Oh, hi. How are you?

Oh my god.
I’m done.

“Fine...just fine. You wouldn’t happen to have your mother’s cell phone number, would you?”
“Yeah, I do actually,” I managed “Can you hold on while I look it up?” This was some kind of sick joke, I knew it.
“Sure”
I scrolled through my list of contacts, landing on my mom’s and trying my best to remember it long enough to repeat back. She thanked me, and said her goodbyes; I was about to, too but I knew I would never call my grandmother myself willingly, which is why I decided to go through with what I was about to do. This was it, it was all on the line, sink or swim and I was jumping in face first.
“Grandma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Why did Mom fight with my dad all the time? What changed?”
That’s when she let out a long sigh and I figured I wasn’t going to get anything out of her.

What am I doing?

“I assumed they wouldn’t tell you.” There was a long pause on her end, I was unsure about what to say to that, plus the fact I’d rather not talk to begin with, so I stayed quiet. “Your mother never took her...fall from grace lightly. It wasn’t something she could pride herself on, so she wouldn’t tell anyone because she had it set in her mind that no one could help her anyway. I suppose it started around when you were in high school, and your mother started working more, later so you would have more money for college. Your father got it in his head that she was having an affair so-”

“But she wasn’t, was she?”
“No, no. Your father just never believed her when she said she got another job. Anyway, he...he would hit her, beat her, and it just got worse when you were at school because you weren’t here to see it. See the damage he’d done”

“So, why didn’t she leave earlier?

Where are these coming from?

I knew I had definitely pressed too much, but if I was already this far in, it wouldn’t make a difference if I went any further.
“Underneath that vain outer shell of hers, she was scared. That’s why. She was ashamed that things had come to where they were, that she allowed herself to be treated that way. Your father had convinced her that she needed to stay, keep the family together, she better not leave. Without the comfort and satisfaction of a good home life, her life and your life would fall apart; or so he’d say. I guess she believed some of that too, because she just wanted what was best for you.”

____

I had nothing left to my name. No money, no family, no dignity. But as my arms were being strapped down, I couldn’t help but wonder just what the hell I would run into.