AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Can’t believe I just related Mom to cancer. But let’s be real here—that’s exactly what she is, right? A fucking tumor that tries to kill me over andover and over again, and I wonder when I’ll eventually just cut her out completely. I wonder if I ever could.
I wonder if you have a mom and if you like her. Or if she’s a poisonous, soul-sucking leech, like mine.
Anyway, Mom showed up to tell me she has a boyfriend and a job. And you want to know how that felt? It felt like she was rubbing in how great her life is now that I’m not in it. Hell, shekindasaid it herself. She looked happy even if she still looked like a sick fucking junkie. The last time I had seen Mom look happy was probably when I was, like, six or seven, when she was sober and back from one of her little “trips”—which I later realized was code for rehab.
Anyway, whatever. I don’t give a shit anymore. One day, I’ll be happy too. At least, I hope so. And I hope that when it happens, I’ll be far away from her.
I hope I never fucking see her again.
And I think, most of all, I hope you’re happy too.
Soldier
***
Dear Rain,
Why did your parents name you Rain?
My mom told me once that shenamedme Soldier because, once upon a time, she believed I’d save her life. It’s such a cruel irony that Iactually didsave her sorry ass time and time again, and she never acknowledged it. Not once. Her self-absorption and addiction and whatever the hell else is wrong with her have left her so completely incapable of looking outside of herself that she can’t see the sacrifices I’ve made for her. Which is why I don’t think she could’ve picked a more appropriate name for me. Because my life has been one massive war of survival and sacrifice, yet somehow, I prevail.
What does that say about me? What does it say about her?
I’m thinking about Mom tonight, obviously. I wish I weren’t. But that’s my downfall too. She’s my mom, and for every moment that I hate her, there’s a moment in which I miss her and all the potential we had to have more than this dysfunctional, toxic bullshit of a relationship.
Anyway, I’m wondering why your parents named you Rain. Was it raining when you were born? Were they hippies? Did they make sweet, passionate love outside during a thunderstorm the night you were conceived?
I just laughed out loud and woke up the guy next to me. He’s pissed. I should stop now.
Soldier
***
Dear Rain,
Today, they moved me from laundry duty to the kitchen again. I like the kitchen, so I’m cool with it. Laundry gave me too much time to think and get trapped inside my own head. You’d think I’d feel like that about cleaning, but I don’t. Cleaning is relaxing. There’s instant gratification for the work you’ve done. You can see your progress as it’s happening. But laundry? Hell no. All I can do is load the machines and watch them spin while my mind plummets into places better left untouched. It’s too monotonous, you know? Kitchen duty is better. I get to hang with a couple of the guys I like and eat asmuch of thefood as I want.
Not that the food is great, but you get used to it.
Anyway, one of the guys on the kitchen crew asked about my scar, and I thought about you. It’s a little crazy, isn’t it? Of all the shit I’ve been through, the one thing that marked me for life was a direct result of saving you. And I’m gladforit. I’m glad for this scar. Because every time I look at it or touch it or someone asks about it, I get to remember all over again that Iam capable of doingsomething good without it ending in someone else’s pain. And if I tell myself that enough, maybe, one day, I’ll start to believe it.
Soldier
P.S. Oh, and he thought my scar was pretty badass, like I’m some kind of gallant hero or something, and for once, I agreed.
***
“Are you a bad guy?” Noah asked me one weekend as I pulled the weeds from the small plot of dirt I had to my name.
I glanced over my shoulder and wiped the sweat from my brow. “Doyouthink I’m a bad guy?”
He dropped his gaze to the gravel beneath his feet and seemed to consider his own question for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he replied, although he sounded unsure. “But you were in jail, and my friend Greg says that only bad guys go to jail.”
With a deep breath, I sat back on my heels and rested my hands on my knees. “Good guys go to jail too, Noah,” I said, choosing my words carefully, still not wanting to divulge too much information. “Unfortunately, sometimes, accidents happen, and even good guys have to pay for them.”
“So, is that what happened with you? An accident?”
I still wasn’t sure that his mother wanted me to talk about this stuff with him. But he was curious, and his questions were incessant, and trying to steer him away from them was exhausting.
