A Place on My Pillow

“Mom?” Alex called out carefully.

“In here, you stupid boy,” a rough feminine voice replied. Alex sighed.

“Alright, one thing you gotta know before I let you meet her,” he said, turning to Polly.

“What’s that?”

“I’m sorry about this, but, you cannot hold my hand.”

“And why not?” Polly asked, slightly offended. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. Alex stepped closer to her and pulled her arms gently away from her chest.

“It’s nothing personal. It’s my mom. She will rip you apart if she thinks we’re dating.”

“I’m a big girl, Alex. I can take care of myself,” Polly said firmly. He took her hand and held it in his own for a moment.

“I know you are, but you don’t know my mother. Please, just, don’t.”

“Okay,” Polly said and he kissed her forehead gently. He lead the way into a room off a long hallway, doors lining it like a hotel corridor. Inside was a sickly looking woman with almost translucent skin and the meanest eyes Polly had ever seen, not a sparkling, good-natured hazel like the twins’ but a dark, almost depthless brown. They stared into your soul and chilled you to the bone. Polly had never seen their equal. And she was honestly, quite unexplainably frightened by them. She was properly scared. A pair of eyes. A simple pair of eyes and she wanted not just to hold Alex’s hand but to hug him close and beg him to take her away from those eyes.

“Mom,” Alex said, his voice stiff and lifeless, uncharacteristic for him.

“Hello Alex,” she said, her own cold and hateful.

“This is Pollyanna,” he said, gesturing to the blonde girl beside him. Polly smiled as best as she could, but she really just wanted to leave. She wanted their little visit to be over.

“Hello. My name is Laura,” she replied formally, impersonally. She didn’t care who Polly was and she didn’t care if Polly knew who she was. She was just going through the motions, just to be polite.

“It’s n-nice to me-meet you,” Polly stuttered, turning her eyes down. The women lay in bed, propped up on pillows and hooked up to machines that beeped in rhythm.

“Why are you nervous?” she snapped.

“I,” Polly stopped. She couldn’t explain it. It was the woman’s eyes, soulless as they stared, unblinking, unwavering. She stared inhumanly, not only chilling her inside but weakening the walls of stone she’d built up against the evils of the world. She’d never met an evil like this, who could tear you down with a stare, who would break you apart without moving her frail body.

“Leave her alone, Mom. You have no issue with her.”

“Fine then. Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here. You called Cady.”

Polly glanced between the two, watching as nothing happened. They stood at a stalemate.

“I believe, Alessandro, I have the right to call my own daughter.”

“Not when you did it just to make her hate herself. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“She’s my daughter. I have the right to do that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“And who are you to say that I can’t?”

“Cady is my little sister. I swore I’d protect her, even from you. Don’t call our house again or I’ll have you arrested for harassment.”

“You wouldn’t do that. I’m a frail, dying old woman. You wouldn’t deny me the right to call my own child.”

“I would,” he said, his voice low and dark, threatening almost. Polly didn’t particularly like this side of Alex, even though she knew it was necessary. His mom was a nasty old bat, who honestly deserved this side of Alex.

“You used to be Mommy’s little boy, Alex. What happened?”

“You became a bitch when you got sick, that’s what. You don’t want to die, fine. No one does. But that doesn’t give you the right to treat everyone else in your life like shit because you regret all the things you didn’t do. You didn’t become an actress because Dad knocked you up. You didn’t marry a rich man who could care for you for the rest of your life. You count all the things you didn’t get to do. But what about the things you did get to do? All the moments you shared with Cady and me? All the times that you and Millie had Sunday brunch on the back porch? Why do those mean nothing to you now?”

Laura stayed silent, stunned by her son’s words.

“Don’t fucking call my house again,” Alex growled, and grabbed Polly’s hand. She expected his grip to be tight and angry, but as always, it was gentle but firm, radiating warmth. “Come on, Polly. Let’s go home.”

“Home?” Laura asked as the pair headed out. “Alex! Wait! Come back.”

He didn’t even so much as pause. He strode confidently out of his mother’s house, his childhood home, Polly right behind him.

“What was that all about?” she asked him, shutting the front door quietly behind them. He stood on the porch, looking out over the small expanse of front lawn that he’d grown up playing in, Cady right at his side.

“She had to be taught a lesson.”

“So you called her a bitch?” Polly asked.

“Nah, I’ve called her a bitch to her face my entire life. No. It was more the reminder of the good times she used to have.”

“That’s a lesson?”

“For her, it is. She hates to be reminding of the past. I forced her into it, by bringing up her lost dreams. She had no choice. But anyway, we now can continue on with our day. I just needed to get that out of the way.”

Polly smiled up at him, warming his heart.

“I did not like her,” she assured him.

“You are too cute,” he replied and kissed her on the forehead.