I felt a love for my younger sisters. Carmen was studying to be a Psychologist and Nadine was studying to become a doctor. Both were as beautiful as our mother. Both my sisters protected my mother in her time of grief and tried to do the same for me. Carmen, a light brown haired woman age 23 who slightly resembled Carmen Electra, and Nadine, a blonde who looks like a younger, more beautiful Pamela Anderson at the tender age of 24. I credit both their amazing looks (and my somewhat handsome looks) to my mother who is an exotic beauty originally living in Brisbane, Australia in her youth. Her mother was of Spanish-American decent (95% American 5% Spanish).
A picture of my mother’s beauty crossed my mind. I thought of her long flowing dark brown hair. It was enough to bring a smile to my face and make me momentarily forget me troubles at that time. She also had a radiant smile that could light up a room. Both me and Carmen inherited her hair color (and her easygoing personality), but Carmen dyed it lighter because people kept confusing her and mom for sisters. My sister Nadine inherited my father’s light blond hair and his somewhat serious personality.
Both my sisters inherited their mother’s ample breasts. They turned heads everywhere they went and were a source of pride for me and the reason I got into so many fights in my school years. I was very protective of the women in my inner family and remain so to this day. I bloodied more then one nose for making sexual comments about my sisters and I beat up more then one guy for lusting after my mother. In that way I inherited my father’s quick temper, but unlike him I could control it anytime I wanted.
Thoughts of mom replaced thoughts of Marissa. I thought of telling my mom what had happened and her embracing me in her arms. Laying my head on her chest and just holding each other for a long time like we did when I heard the news of my father’s murder and made the drive to her home immediately late that night.
The first hour of the drive to my mother’s current home flew by as thoughts came and went. I looked at the clock and saw I only had a half hour or so drive left, though it would be in noon rush-hour traffic. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t in a rush to get to her house and be alone until 5pm or later when she got home from work.
I allowed more thoughts of my mother to come to my head to help pass the time. How proud of her I was when she showed up to events during my school years. I fondly remembered the times when my father went overboard with punishing me, beating me, and my mother stopped him and was angry at him over it. She was always very protective of me and that’s where I learned to be protective of her and my sisters.
I opened my sunroom with the remote control and stretched my arms through the roof as traffic came to a dead stop. I breathed in the misty air that forecasted rain on the way. I thought about flipping the TV down to play something for background noise, but decided against it. Thoughts of my mom and sisters were passing the time much better then any TV show, DVD or music that I could think of.
I thought back to the last time I was with my mother helping her pack up the house we grew up in and lived all our childhood years. I understood her need to get away from it and start somewhere new. She had been married to my dad all her adult life and stemming back into her teenage years. She had me at a very early age. I really understood mom’s need to start over better after what happened with Marissa. She needed to get away and while she wanted to leave the home for her children we all supported her decision to start anew. In fact, my sisters insisted on my mother moving and told her they were fine with not having the home we grew up in. I was supportive as well, but missed the childhood home that brought comfort and a sense of home every time I returned.
I pulled up the long drive to my mother’s new home. It screamed of suburban lifestyle. Grass everywhere. A few trees bearing fruit and well spaced. Her new home settled on more then an acre of land. She bought a bigger home then what she originally wanted for herself in the hopes of grandchildren and if my siblings and I ever needed a place to stay. I admired the place and parked in one of three parking spaces on the side of the driveway.
The house was three stories tall with a two-car garage. It was brand new, but looked like it had been around for awhile. I saw the flowers in front of the porch and hanging from the roof of the front deck. I had to smile. My mother was such a warm personality that you could feel her presence even when she wasn’t around. Her flowers were well watered and cared for. It tugged at my heart that my mom was still so young and no longer had the love of her life. I knew I could easily move on and had my choice of some fine women, but I think my mother didn’t want to move on. She never talked of dating or one day remarrying. I felt so sad for her as I looked at the sky and felt drops of rain come down.
I returned to the car quickly and closed the sunroof and locked it up. In this area there was no need for locking car doors. There wasn’t a neighbor in sight, but still I was careful by nature, especially since my father’s murder. I carried my suit jacket and ran to the front porch as the drizzle quickly became a downpour.
Lightning flashed as I put my key in the front door and unlocked it. Thunder roared as I stepped across the threshold and shut the door gently behind me. I rested for a moment. Despite only being outside for about a minute or two I was soaked to the bone by the suddenness of the down pouring rain. I stood on the front rug as I hung my jacket in the closet next to me.
I took my shoes off and put them on the floor of the closet next to many high heels that was my mother’s prize collection and her sneakers. I breathed in the scent of her perfume and sighed. Home!
I looked around her house. It looked more lived in then the last time I saw it which was the home party me and my sisters through for her after she settled in. Her home smelled sweet and feminine. Flowers were in each room as I recalled from my childhood and teen years. My mother was very meticulous. She was a clean freak and loved being a housewife and mother. It showed. Nobody could mistake this for a bachelor’s home. She had pictures of me and my sisters on the walls and tables. That was her only way of crowding anything. Everything else was well spaced.
I took off my work shirt and work pants and socks leaving me only with my boxers which were slightly wet but enough coverage in case mom or one of my sisters made a surprise visit in the meantime. I quickly headed for the laundry room and threw them in the dryer. I stopped and looked at the huge framed photo of my family hanging well above the fireplace. My mom, dad, sisters and me all smiling. I zoomed in on my mother’s face. I had a hard time recalling the last time she smiled like that. That was the last photo of our family together as a whole. The last time her smile didn’t have a hint of sadness. Not that she didn’t try. I knew she tried to put on an act for her children. To reassure us that she was OK. A wave of sadness came over me. I wanted to see my mom smile like that again.
I went to the fridge and poured myself a glass of lemonade. I downed the glass and poured some more. Grief still overwhelmed me. What was I going to tell my mom?
My thoughts :
Mom comes home and surprised to see me asks why I am here. I tell her Marissa was screwing my best friend.
I dreaded this conversation that most likely would take place within hours. I went into the back living room and flipped on the big screen TV. Mom really wanted grandkids. I stared at her face in the huge poster-sized frame hanging above the fireplace. I felt a slight shiver and went and turned the fireplace on, thankfully it was electric and saved me time because it could be operated by remote control.