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There have been a few injuries here and there over the years. One time, I got knocked unconscious. I was a sophomore in high school, skinny as fuck, working out constantly and not eating properly. Meaning, I consumed junk food and soda instead of protein and water. Of course, my ass got knocked out. My mom had been so freaked out, she gave me a huge speech when I got home about how she lost my father and my older brother. Dad left her and so did my brother the minute he could get away.
She wasn’t about to lose me too. Not if she could help it.
My mother is not a bad person. She’s just a reminder of the past that I’d rather soon forget. Stuck in the old house, stuck on trying to get money out of my dad, though it’s a futile effort on her part. He feels as if he doesn’t owe her shit. He paid child support when he had to and the moment that was over, he didn’t give her another dime.
So she struggles, and she does what she can. If I ever get into the NFL, the first thing I’m doing is buying her a new house and a new car. I will set her up for life, so she doesn’t have to worry about any of that shit anymore.
Thinking of her makes me want to call her because we haven’t talked in a few weeks. And because I’d rather do anything but work on class assignments, I pull up her number on my phone and give her a call.
“Camden,” she breathes into the phone as her greeting. “You’re alive.”
I chuckle, a little uneasy. She always likes to give me shit when I don’t talk to her for a while. “Hey, Mom.”
“How are you? How’s football? How’s the team? Are you enjoying your classes?” I hear a dog yip in the background, followed by a bird chirping and I can tell she’s outside.
“I’m good, the team is great, we have a home game this Saturday, and my classes are all right,” I say, answering all of her questions.
“How’s Knox?” Mom loves Knox. She thinks he’s a good influence on me, which is funny because if anything, I’m probably a better influence on him. At least I try to be.
“He’s doing all right.” I stare at the roughened top of the picnic table, unsure of what to say next. This is my problem with my mom. We don’t know how to communicate anymore. Once I went away to college and found new interests and new friends, it felt like she was stuck in my past life.
A life I don’t really want to acknowledge any longer.
It’s not like I hate where I came from, or that I had an extra rough childhood. I wasn’t physically abused. But it was…hard, witnessing the demise of my father. The way he destroyed his marriage thanks to his addictions, and how he treated my mother. The things he said to me. He never once tried to lift me up. He always preferred tearing me down.
And it sucked. He sucks.
He’s the one who pays for my college and supports me financially while I focus on football, and it’s the least he can do after what he put me through. I’ll gladly take his money, even though I want nothing to do with him.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she says, forcing me out of my momentary funk.
“It’s good to hear yours too.” I clear my throat. “How are you?”
She tells me about her dog and her job working as a server at a local restaurant in the town I grew up in, offering a funny story about an encounter with some customers.
“I’ve started dating someone,” she adds casually, just when I’m about to wrap up the call.
“You have?” I’m stunned.
“Yes. He’s a very nice man, who’s a regular of ours at the restaurant. His name is Greg,” she says.
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“About a month. Maybe longer.”
“And you’re just telling me about him now?”
“I wasn’t sure it would amount to anything and besides, we don’t talk that often, you and me.”
Ouch.
“Well, if he makes you happy, I’m glad, Mom. You deserve happiness.”
“So do you, Cam,” she says softly.
I frown. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you work so hard and do so much, yet you never really tell me much about your—feelings.” She laughs, the sound nervous. “I don’t know how you’re really doing most of the time, and I can only hope that you’re happy. You’re still young, with a lot of life ahead of you. I hate to think of you miserable. Like your father.”
