Brian slammed the door, wood splintered but not much, damage from previous attacks on the unsuspecting door had created more of a pulpy mess than a frame. He heard one of her stupid reality shows coming from the other room. He could wait till a commercial or just interrupt now.
"Frank is that you?"
A muscle in his cheek twitched involuntarily. He took a shaky breath, shambled toward the living room, toward a conversation he did not want to have. His mother lay sprawled across the sofa, pillows, cushions and a blanket askew. "Did you eat today?"
Bleary eyes focused on him momentarily, then returned to the show. "Yeah, I think I had some spaghetti."
"Think or you did?" He gritted his teeth and mumbled, "It makes a difference you know."
"What's that Frank? Speak up. You never were a great talker. Remember we had to get you that speech whatever it was, when you was little?"
The mountain of the day overwhelmed him. He gritted his teeth. "I'm leaving.
"Okay, bring back some Subway."
"No, Im not coming back. I cant stand to see you like this. I gotta be Frank with you, but Im not mom, Im Brian. Look at me. Really look at me." His voice trailed off as a pleading whine.
The eyes lost their haze again, focused on him for a moment. He felt a rush of elation, then she spoke. "Frank, stop playing games. You know Brian died years ago. Now, hurry back with that Subway."
A tear trailed its way down his cheek when the door closed behind him, but he didnt look back. Sometimes the one you need to save is yourself.
