Flash Fiction: The Call

Part 2 (of2)

My voice welled up, thick like a frog had lodged in my throat. I somehow managed to croak out a hello, but I was to surprised to do much of anything else. A hundred questions welled up in my mind. Where had she gone, why had she left, why had she said those things to my brother, why did she hurt my Dad, and more frightening was what did she want.

The conversation was a stiff an uncomfortable one, Mom never really answering any of the questions I managed to ask her, she just evaded them with a disingenuous syrupy sweet falseness that just made me more angry. She told me lies of abuse and neglect on my father's part, and denied the foul things she had told my brother. She was happy now, living with the love of her life, being soiled and pampered in ways that my Dad never did. She blamed us all, even me for not being there in the house anymore. For not caring enough.

It was my fault that she left she said. It was every one's fault but hers.

Tears trickled from my eyes and I shuddered with a silent sob. She closed the call saying I love you, but I simply hung up the phone and slumped to the floor. All the things she had said had hurt me, finally breaking inside. I swore then she would not make me cry again, I would be strong for my brother, for my father.

My 21st birthday was the last time I ever cried for my mother. And the last time I ever will.

End of Line.
Gerrad!