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"Because, Ed--you remind me of him."
Him?
It registers.
Him--my father.
She goes inside and the door slams.
I've had to take a man up to the Cathedral and attempt to kill him. I've had hit men eat pies in my kitchen and lay me out. I've been jumped by a group of teenage thugs.
This, however, feels like my darkest hour.
Standing.
Hurting.
On my mother's front porch.
The sky opens now, crumbling apart.
I want to hammer the door with my hands and my feet.
I don't.
All I do is sink to my knees, felled by the words that could deliver such a knockout blow. I try to make something good of it because I loved my father. Apart from the alcoholic section, I think it can't be totally shameful to be like him.
So why does this feel so awful?
I don't move.
In fact, I vow not to leave this shitty front porch until I get the answers I deserve. I'll sleep here if I have to and wait in the scorching heat all day tomorrow. I stand back up and call out.
"I'm not leaving, Ma!" Again. "You hear me? I'm not leaving."
After fifteen minutes the door pulls open again, but I don't look at her. I turn around and speak to the road, saying, "You treat everyone else so good--Leigh, Kath, and Tommy. It's like..." I can't allow myself to weaken. I pace. "But you speak to me with complete disrespect, and I'm the one who's here." Now I turn and look at her. "I'm the one who's here if you need something--and each time, I do it, don't I?"
She agrees. "Yes, Ed," but she also pounces. She assaults me with her own version of the truth. The words cut me through the ears so hard that I expect blood to ooze from them. "Yes, you're here--and that's exactly it!" She holds her arms out. "Look at this dump. The house, the town, everything." The voice is dark. "And your father--he promised me that one day we'd leave this place. He said we'd just pack up and go, and look where we are, Ed. We're still here. I'm here. You're here, and just like your old man, you're all promise, Ed, and no results. You"--she points at me with venom--"you could be as good as any of them. As good as Tommy, even.... But you're still here and you'll still be herein fifty years." She sounds so cold. "And you'll have achieved nothing."
Fade to silence.
"I just want you"--she breaks it--"to make something of yourself." Slowly she makes her way to the front steps and says, "You have to realize something, Ed."
"What?"
Carefully now, her statement comes out. "Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this."
I try to understand.
She's still on the porch when I go down to the front lawn and turn back.
God, it's dark now.
As dark as the Ace of Spades.
"Were you seeing that man when Dad was still alive?" I ask her.
She looks at me, wishing she didn't have to, and although she says nothing, I know. I know it's not only my father she hates, but herself. That's when I realize she's got it wrong.
