The room was small and Anthony Jr. hadn’t done anything to make it feel large. He had a twin bed, a massive book shelf stuff with DVDs and comics and a variety of other things, and a large desk for his computers. There was only a couple of square feet of space in the middle of the room to walk around. And that (like everything else in the room) was covered in dirty clothes, Mountain Dew cans, and empty Doritos bags. I had given up on asking him to clean it up.
As I walked in, Anthony Jr.’s back was to me. He was on his computer, wearing a headset. I knew he was playing a video game. Anthony Jr. took after me, more than his father, I realized at that time. He had the same dark hair (though a bit shorter), the same round face and nose. His acne had cleared up, but unfortunately that had just given him a bit more of a baby face. His eyes were like mine too, large and dark. Though, they were hard to see with greasy hair draped over them. He had a small, wiry body. His elbows and his knees looked large on his unmuscled frame. If he had not been wearing a shirt, I knew I would see his ribs under his skin. He was not an unattractive boy. Just so very… boyish for 22.
“Shut the fuck up guys, she’s my mom!” I heard Anthony Jr. say and I realized that one of his friends in his game must’ve seen me standing by the door and said something. I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Anthony Jr. threw a quick glance back over his shoulder at me. I saw his eyes grow wide.
“God mom! What’re you wearing?” he asked, mortified. He turned towards his computer and slammed it shut. I looked down at myself. I was wearing a skin-tight white “wife-beater” tank top. I could actually see my nipples poking out through the thin, aged fabric. It was not a large enough shirt for me and it was tight around my waists, not dropping all the way to my hips. My bellybutton was exposed. I was wearing a pair of red hip hugger panties that accentuated my flat stomach and also my legs. I looked back up at my son and shrugged.
“You didn’t have to stop playing your game,” I said, “I just wanted to say goodnight.” Anthony Jr. had swiveled his chair around so that he was looking at me. I felt his eyes wandering all over me. Any mystery that remained regarding those few seconds of silence with Dyland were now put to rest. His eyes were practically bulging out of his head. The same boost of self-esteem I’d felt earlier surged again.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Anthony Jr. asked. I looked down again and shrugged.
“It is so warm in my room,” I lied, “I just wanted to be comfortable.” At this point, I realized that I had absolutely no plan for what I was doing. I had just been sort of dragged in here by my fears and my unconscious thoughts. I had no idea what I was going to do. I just let myself go now, trusting the instincts that had brought me here because I didn’t really have any choice now.
“Oh,” Anthony Jr. shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I smiled a little bit.
“Have you thought at all about what we talked about last week?” I said, taking a few steps into the room and sitting down on Anthony Jr.’s bed. I leaned forward slightly, allowing my son to see down my shirt. His eyes followed me there.
“Huh?” he asked, after a long minute, his eyes rising back up to mine, “What did you ask me?” I sighed, annoyed.
“The continuing education classes at the Community College. The last day to register is Friday. Did you think about it?” I asked. Anthony Jr.’s eyes flickered back down to my tits and he shook his head. I decided that I really had his attention now. I was going to go for the jugular, ask the questions that I never really had the courage to ask before. I felt confident now.
“Why not? Why don’t you ever do any of the things I ask?” I said. I leaned back now, putting my hands behind me on the bed and propping myself up. Anthony was still staring. He shrugged.
“I dunno,” he said. A childish answer.
“Is it because I’ve been a bad mother?” I asked, honestly laying out my fears to him, “Have I failed you? Is there something that I should have done for you that I didn’t do?”
“What? No!” Anthony Jr. said instantly, shaking his head vehemently. “Why would you even think that?” I shrugged. I thought about retreating now. The next thing I was going to say was going to hurt his feelings, and I didn’t want to do that. But Anthony Jr. was still looking at me. Staring at me. The confidence was there. I needed to use it to say what needed to be said.
“You aren’t exactly setting the world on fire kid,” I said to him softly, “I can’t get you to go to school. Or get a job. Or even clean up your room” I tossed a Mountain Dew can onto the floor, “I am the only parent you’ve got. It must be my fault.” I said. I saw Anthony Jr.’s cheeks get red, with embarrassment. He dropped his head. Shrugged.
“I don’t think it is fair that you’re picking on me,” Anthony Jr. said, his voice a whine. I sighed loudly and shook my head. This was why I didn’t speak to him like an adult. It just made him whine like a kid
“I am not here to pick on you. I am being honest with you Anthony Jr.,” I said, “You don’t do anything. And I blame myself for it. Those are just facts,” I said.
“I just want to do my own thing, I don’t have to conform and be like everyone else,” Anthony Jr. countered. I raised my eyebrows.
“Please,” I said, “I never said you had to be a doctor or a lawyer. Go… be a lumberjack or an interior designer or a house painter or whatever! Don’t conform to… whatever. I don’t need you to be anything in particular. I just want you to… make something out of yourself. Anything.” Anthony Jr. seemed, for a moment, like he was going to say something. Then he lapsed into silence for a minute. When he spoke again, he wasn’t whining.
“I’m not a loser, mom,” Anthony Jr. said. His voice was small, choked. The whine earlier was a defense. This was something real. I felt a sudden burst of compassion for my son. I wanted to rush across the room and wrap my arms around him. Of course he wasn’t. Of course! But maybe because of what I was wearing or maybe because of how I was feeling, I didn’t.
“I never said you were. You brought that up yourself,” I said, letting the words hand heavy. Anthony Jr. bit his lower lip. We sat in silence for a long time. I admit, it was uncomfortable. But I think it was more uncomfortable for him. Finally, he looked up at me.
“I haven’t ever been any good at anything, other than video games and stuff. Any time I try other stuff, I just mess it up,” he said. His grades going back to age 12 backed that up.
“You never get better at things if you don’t try,” I said, “I wasn’t good at…”
“I don’t even care about being good at things mom. I don’t want to be good at anything. I am… I don’t know. I am scared, mom,” Anthony Jr. said.
“Everyone messes up sometimes, that isn’t anything to be scared about,” I responded.