Page 24 - TheBridge_Vol16
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He is pacing around the room, his lips spitting Beside me, the Child picks up his camera
silent words. and looks, dumbfounded, at his mother.
She laughs and embraces him. She is still
“What is it?” I think to myself. beautiful.
The Teenager stops pacing and drops his The Teenager reaches for the man, but my
hands to his sides. For the first time I see mother stops him. She looks at the Teen—
his eyes. I think—I know—I see tears in at me—for a moment with disgust. Or is it
them. He rubs them dry with his forearm, confusion? Do you recognize me?
refusing to let tears fall from his face. The
Teen turns his head to the open doorway She raises a shaking finger and points to
and raises clenched fists. the door behind me. The Teen stares at his
mother, puzzled. He whispers something.
To my side, the Child raises his eyes from I know what happens next.
the camera, awestruck. He puts it down and
opens his arms. His mother, years older now Her brow furrows as she screams, liquor-
but still vibrant, meets his embrace. stenched spit spewing from her cracked lips.
Her finger shakes as she motions again to
I look ahead and see a woman approaching the door. The Teenager shakes his head. She
the Teenager. For thirty-nine years old my raises her hand high into the air, obscuring
mother looks ancient. Dark bags hang from light from the room’s only bulb. It casts a
her hollowed eyes. Thick wrinkles run across shadow across her son’s face. Her hand blurs
her thin face and arms like misshapen spider- in a downward rush.
webs. Is this really you, Mother?
I open my eyes. The room is still dark. Long
She drops a half-empty beer can to the floor shadows stretch across the tattered carpet in
and turns to the man approaching from the fading daylight. Soon the sun will set and
behind her. The Teenager doesn’t know the the room will be left silent in the night.
man’s name.
I shake my head in disbelief.
I still don’t know your fucking name.
I’m really home again.
The Baby wipes tears of laughter from his
eyes. His mother, young and full of life, ceases
her tickling onslaught. She looks at him for a
moment, her face bright and responsive, and
mouths the word “boop” as she pokes his nose.
The baby shrieks with high-pitched laughter.
The Teen lunges forward, propelled by the
unfamiliar hormones pulsing through his blood.
He screams expletives through gritted teeth.
The man behind his mother screams back, veins
bulging out beneath yellow waxen skin.
12 | The Bridge Vol. XVI | 13
