My mom was never home then.  All of my older brothers and sisters had moved out, and my little sister had gone to live with her dad.  So, I pretty much spent all of my time at school and work.  My mother had been taking Black Beauties every morning and sleeping pills every night for years.  I can remember both bottles being on her night stand throughout most of my life.  I didn’t understand it then, but I now know (from my own experience) that you can’t make your body go up every morning and down every night with artificial stimulus without it taking its toll on those around you.

My mother loved to fight.  She was married five times to five different men, and she fought like cats and dogs with all of them.  When all of the men had left her, she started fighting with my older brother and sisters.  It wasn’t long until they all moved out, leaving only my little sister and me.  My little sister said that she couldn’t take it anymore, so she went to live with her biological father.  This, of course, left me alone with Mom. 

Since I was the only sparring partner she had left, I tried my best to recognize her cycles.  First thing in the morning, she would wake up and pop a couple of black beauties, but it would take an hour before they would kick in.  That was the worst hour of my life, repeated each day.  I woke up every morning to a blood-curdling scream across the house.

“Todd, get your ass out of bed! If you make me late for work I am going to beat your ass,” she would yell from the kitchen table where she would drink her coffee and put on her makeup.

The trick was to stay completely out of her sight, never saying a single word, during the first hour of the morning.  She was so wicked.  She would wait for me to get out of the shower.  I had hot coffee thrown on me at least twice a week, which was the worst, not because the coffee burned, but because it would keep me in her range for another ten minutes while I changed.  I would always try to get half way out the door, and yell back to her.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy!”

She would then blast out of her chair and chase me two doors down the street.  The confrontation would always end with her throwing her hairbrush at me.  I knew that all of our neighbors felt so sorry for me.  However, after the black beauties started to kick so would she.  She would try to find me walking to school to offer me a ride.  I was usually crying, so I just ignored her and cut through someone’s back yard.  I went through most of junior high with swollen eyes and coffee stains on my clothes.  Some of my first period teachers tried to talk to me about it, but I always felt like somehow it was my fault, so I shunned them away. 

After school, I would stop by the house on my way walking to work so that I could change clothes.  One day, my mom started getting big manila envelopes addressed to Sharon #48.  The return address was from Happy Ad’s, a local free newspaper.  Soon, I was so curious that I couldn’t stand it anymore.  So, I steamed an envelope and carefully opened it.  It was filled with tons of letters from sick men detailing all of the disgusting things they wanted to do to her and her best friend.  Each letter was addressed to Fun Loving Brunets, #48.  I tore out of the house and raced down to Kentucky Fried Chicken where I knew there was a Happy Ad stand.  I found ad #48.

“Two single fun-loving brunettes looking for a great time. We’re up for anything.” 

This had to be some kind of mistake, so I thought of every possible scenario to justify the ad.  When I realized that it was very true, I spent the rest of the walk home crying and thinking that my mom was a whore.

I was too upset to go to work.  Instead, I waited until my brother got off work.  Then, I called him.

“Go get a paper. You won’t believe what mom is doing.”

“I don’t need a paper to know that mom is a whore.  She’s been one her whole life. You need to get over it, save your money, and get out of there as soon as you can…just like I did.”  Then, he hung up.  I was devastated and he didn’t even give a shit.  I put all of the letters back in the envelope and never said a word about it again.

A few days later, I was woken up at two in the morning to a bunch of loud moaning and giggling.  I slept in the basement and my mom’s room was right above mine.  I could hear the headboard of her bed slapping against the wall.  I went upstairs and saw a suit coat draped across the kitchen table.  I picked it up and there was a wallet in the inside pocket.  I opened it up and saw the face of the man that was fucking my mom on his driver’s license.  I thought about taking his money, but I didn’t.  I just went down stairs and cried myself back to sleep while trying to suffocate the sound.  The next morning I wouldn’t even look at her, and I left for school without even getting ready.  She tried to talk to me, but I just slammed the door and ran off.  Then, just before lunch, I was called to the office.  My mom was there.

“Hi honey, mama’s going to surprise you and take you out to lunch,” she said, acting all sweet in front of everyone in the office.

“Oh that’s so nice!” they all replied, knowing nothing about why she was really there.  When we got in the car, I still wouldn’t look at her or say a word.

“Todd, I know why your upset and I understand.  When I was your age, one day I walked down the stairs and caught Grandpa screwing his cousin Louise, your grandma’s best friend.  It made me feel just like you do now.  So, I understand, honey…Where do you want to have lunch?”

I never answered her.  In fact, I didn’t say a word to her for days.  A couple of weeks later one of the guy’s that answered the ad flew my mom and her best friend to Las Vegas, but when he was done fucking them he bailed without paying them.  They should have noticed that he only bought them one-way tickets.  She spent the next day calling her kids trying to get a way back from Vegas for her and her friend.