Mother teaches her son that growing up can be a good thing.
Enjoy…
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I still vividly remember when all of the trouble started with my son, Anthony, Jr. I remember it, in part, because it was my son’s 12th birthday.
No, I didn’t start sleeping with him when he was 12, you perverts! Yes, I have slept with my son, but that was years later when he was 22 and… look, we are getting ahead of ourselves here. Let me go back.
It was my son’s 12th birthday when my husband, we called him Big Anthony, left. I was a relatively young mother for someone with a 12-year-old, only 32. My husband was older, 45. I guess I had always known that Big Anthony was sort of resentful about Anthony Jr. He wasn’t planned. This whole marriage wasn’t planned. Big Anthony worked part-time for my dad at his garage when I was a teen. I started sleeping with him right after my 18th birthday. I got pregnant quick and he, a divorced father of three already, married me to keep my dad from killing him. There was no planning any of this. Neither of us would have chosen that life, but there we were.
In the years that followed, I had sort of deluded myself into believing that we had come together as a family. I had gone to night school and gotten an associates degree. I had convinced Big Anthony to quit the job at the garage to get a CDL, and he had a good full-time job driving a truck. And little Anthony was born, and I just adored him. He was such a cute little thing, and he adored me right back. Big Anthony never took much interest, but I always sort of chalked that up to babies being the woman’s domain. That justification got thinner and thinner as Anthony Jr. got older, but I never really reevaluated it.
But anyway, the 12th birthday. Anthony Jr. had asked to have all of his friends over for a big party. It was the summer time, so he wanted to do a sort of sleepover. I had agreed, but his father said it wasn’t possible. I was okay with that. I gave way to Big Anthony whenever he put his foot down. In my house, growing up, what the man said goes. My parents seemed happy, I didn’t have any reason to second-guess their methods. I told Anthony Jr. we’d just order a pizza in, me and him and Big Anthony. A family celebration. My son was disappointed. But he was obedient too.
So the night came. I ordered two pizzas, one that was Big Anthony’s favorite and one that was Anthony Jr.’s. I had made a cake and bought Anthony Jr. some new video game that went with the system his grandparents had bought him at Christmas.
“Mom, can we eat now?” Anthony Jr. asked at around 6:30. The pizzas has been sitting on the table for half an hour already, growing cold. Big Anthony wasn’t home yet.
“Just wait, your father will be home soon,” I responded, looking out the kitchen window towards the driveway. No lights on the road. He wasn’t home yet. I bit my lip. Big Anthony was usually home right before 6:00. I wasn’t worried, mind you. Just… a little upset.
“Where have you been?” I asked in a harsh whisper right at the front door when Big Anthony strolled in around 7:15. I had let Anthony Jr. start to eat 20 minutes earlier, but we had to wait on the cake and the presents.
“Christ, Beverley, I just stepped in the fuckin’ door!” Big Anthony said, his voice martyred and smelling slightly like cheap beer.
“It’s your son’s birthday!” I hissed. Big Anthony sort of screwed up his eyes and then shrugged.
“I will call him tomorrow,” Big Anthony said and my cheeks grew red.
“Not Kent!” I said, referring to his son from his first marriage. Kent had been born in January, “Anthony Jr.! We were having pizza and cake and giving him presents tonight,” I reminded him. Big Anthony didn’t even have the decency to feign forgetfulness. He just shrugged.
“Okay, well I assume he ate,” he said, “I am going to change and head back out with Russ and the guys. We can do the cake and presents on my way out.” My hands clenched into fists.
“Your son is waiting for you to celebrate his birthday,” I growled, “Not for you to do a drive by! And you have work in the morning, you can’t go out drinking.” Big Anthony’s eyes grew wide.
“You are telling me what I can and can’t do?” He said, quickly matching and then overcoming my anger. I took a step back, shaking my head.
“No, its just…”
“If you hadn’t fuckin’ realized, I just got off of work Bev,” he said.
“You already said that,” I said. But Big Anthony was still talking
“I go to work everyday for 10 goddamned hours and then you want me to come back here and work some more?” Big Anthony asked
“Not work, I want you to see your son on his…” I stammered.
“This is fuckin’ work for me Bev! All of this shit,” he said, waving his hand around the room, “I get an earful all day from Jenkins. And now, I have to come home and be given fuckin’ order from my fuckin’ wife,” the veins on Big Anthony’s neck were sticking out.
“You need to be quiet,” I said, looking over my shoulder towards the kitchen, wondering if Anthony Jr. could hear.
“I can talk how I want in the home I fuckin’ pay for Bev,” Big Anthony shot back, “Not that I want this goddamned house or any of this stupid shit in it.” Big Anthony said. My husband complained a lot about… everything in his life. I was somewhat used to that. But he seemed more worked up, more quickly than usual. And his reference to the house and the this being “work” was strange.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said and he started to walk passed me, heading through the living room, instead of into the kitchen. I rushed in front of him.
“Not nothing, what are you talking about? We need to do the birthday song, so get out with it and let’s go in there,” I said, tilting my head towards the kitchen. There was a cut out in the wall between the kitchen and the living room. From the corner of my eye, I could see Anthony Jr. watching.
“You don’t want to hear about it,” Big Anthony said. I rolled my eyes at his martyr act.
“I can decide what I want to hear, spill it,” I ordered. Big Anthony’s eyes dropped and he sighed.
“I never wanted any of this Bev,” he said, “I had a good thing going. Part time at the garage was enough to pay the rent and buy beer down at the bar. That’s all I wanted. And to chase a little pussy when I got bored. And that was you. And somehow that turned into all this bullshit,” Big Anthony said, looking around the room. Looking over at Anthony Jr.
“I don’t understand,” I said, it felt like the floor was shaking under my feet.
“And you know what happened today?” Big Anthony asked, “Today, Jenkins told me they are taking me off the road. They are going to put me in an office. Make me management. Give me a salary,” he said. My eyes brightened.
“That’s great!” I said. We could use more money. And the company Big Anthony worked for was profitable, there was no telling how high he’d go.
“I quit!” Big Anthony said, “I told him to take his necktie job and shove it up his ass.”
“You what?” I said, my mouth dropping open.
“I quit!” he said.
“Why didn’t you just tell him you didn’t want the promotion?” I asked, shocked, “You can just stay a driver.”
“I don’t want that job either,” Big Anthony said, “I don’t want this life.”
“It’s…”