Boy Crucified Read Free Page A

never remember anything.
    “I, like, forgot. Anyway, she seems like such a nice person.”
    “That’s what they said about Stalin,” I replied. “And most serial killers too, for that matter.”
    “Really? Are you, like, going to come talk to her?”
    “I told you that if my mother ever comes to see me, you’re to tell her I’m not in.”
    “But she’s, like, so nice! And she’s been calling and calling, wanting to know whether you were here or not.”
    “Did you tell her?”
    “What was I supposed to tell her? Do you want me to, like, lie?”
    “I’ll be right there,” I said.
    I hung up the phone and made a face.
    “You don’t like talking to your mother?” Daniel asked, giving me an odd look. “What kind of shit is that?”
    “Technically, she’s not my mother. She lost custody of me when I was fourteen. Apparently beating your kid with a frying pan is a crime in the state of Missouri. Especially when you break a few bones. Who knew?”
    He made an uncertain face, as if not sure how or even whether to respond. Eventually, he said, “Wow.”
    I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and marched out of my office and down the hall to the reception desk. Mary Beth, chomping on her gum like a cow, offered a sheepish, apologetic smile.
    My mother was sitting in the waiting room, and when she saw me, she stood and came to the desk. She looked the same as the last time I’d seen her: deceptively small but incredibly strong, with long stringy hair I’m not sure she bothered to wash with any sort of regularity.
    “Tommy, I’ve been calling. Why don’t you answer my calls?”
    “You know better than to bother me.”
    “I need money.”
    “You know you’re not supposed to come to my job. You’re not supposed to bother me. Is that so hard to understand?”
    “But I need money. I just got out.”
    “Like I give a shit.”
    “Tommy!”
    “Why don’t you leave?”
    “It’s been six years and you ain’t even gonna fucking talk to me? You ungrateful piece of shit! All they gave me was a lousy fifty bucks! What am I supposed to do with fifty bucks? Huh? You tell me!”
    How about buying some razor blades and killing yourself , I thought, but held my tongue.
    “Would you please leave?” I asked. “Stay out of my life. Is that so hard to understand? I mean, haven’t I made my feelings completely clear to you? What else do I have to do?”
    Mary Beth was watching us and making horrified faces at me, as if I was the scumbag of the universe. Daniel had come down the hall and was now standing behind me, the look on his Asian features impossible to decipher.
    They must have thought me rather frightful.
    I had my reasons.
    “I’ve got nowhere to live, goddammit!” she snapped. “They gave me a lousy fifty bucks! You want your own mother out on the street?”
    “I have a restraining order against you, and you could be arrested for coming here.”
    “So arrest me, you fucking faggot!”
    “Get out,” I said. “Don’t be coming to my office.”
    I tried to sound brave, to talk tough.
    “You’re going to talk to your mother like that?”
    “You’re lucky that’s all I do,” I said.
    “Well, where am I supposed to stay?”
    “That isn’t my problem.”
    “Why don’t you let me stay with you? It’ll be all right, you’ll see. It won’t be like it was before.”
    “Why don’t you leave?” I suggested again, knowing it would be exactly like it was before.
    There was a hurt look in her eyes. She was desperate. But then, she always was.
    “But I’m clean now, baby,” she said.
    “Are you taking your meds?”
    “Where am I going to get the money?” she demanded.
    “The same place you get money to buy drugs.”
    “You think you know so much!”
    “I know enough.”
    “Come on, Tommy, let me stay with you for a few days. Just till I get something sorted out. Jesus! Is that so much to ask? You’re a fucking priest, for Christ’s sake.”
    “No,” I said.
    “What?”
    “No.