America the poor: A Wanderers Tale, Volume One

Chapter 15: Evil Among us, and Innocence lost

So living on 14th street, above a strict born again christian family. The head of the household was named Linda, and she wore the pants of the family, with a quiet subdued husband named Melvin. Nice guy from my early impressions, but his personality was completely subjugated by his wife. She ran the house, made the decisions, and her rule was law. She was dominating, but she kinda had to be.They had 5 girls and 2 boys. A large family was almost an understatement. They were loud, raucous, and a bit of chaos on 14th street.

'Since I was an only child, and never knew what it would be like to have brothers or sisters, and to share (except for Joseph, more on him later) I could only watch. The oldest boy was named Mark, and I witnessed how utterly miserable he usually was. He shared a bedroom with his younger brother, but was never free from his many sisters. He was a sad being. If he had something, he either kept it completely secret, or was forced to invariably share it with them all.

A candybar, a toy, whatever he had, he could never enjoy it alone ,unless he left the house, or visited me. I was never a friend, but an acquaintance, and not a christian, so I would never snitch, or tell anyone; To be honest, I didn't give a crap.

Was nice to have an associate to talk to at home, since visits from Joseph didn't occur as much, and I could see how miserable he was, dealing with his strict mother, and 5 tattletale sisters, who loved telling everything to Linda, no matter how small. His multiple sisters made existence absolutely miserable for him,and he visited just for temporary escapes from their prying eyes. As much as I despised my mother, I was always grateful that I was the only one, thanks to observing Mark, and his personal misery.

So I was short on friends, and even associates at that time. I knew Joseph and Carol of course, and sometimes visited, and Mark as well, but those were rare occasions. The vast majority of the hours it was just my mother and myself, and we couldn't stand each other.

We were like two opposite poles of magnets in a confined space, we were both there, but repelled each other, like a force of nature. Avoiding contact as much as we could. Occupying the same spaces, but revolving around each other to get a maximum range away from each other at all times. I was her only son.and she tolerated me, but she didn't really want to look at me.

Not exactly a loving ideal relationship of mother and son, but it was our existence at the time. I knew technically she was the head of our household, and in charge, but I still became a subtle influence. Pulling the strings in the background, so to say.

In some instances, not all. I was the whisperer in the darkness, influencing for unknown purposes, but quietly. Was I Monstrous? Certainly, but necessary for my very survival. Yes, I was a manipulator, but within limits. Some things ended up going my way, but the truly important things, the ones that really mattered in the great scheme of things never did, to my personal sorrow.

My mother and John Dunshie started spending time together. Dinner, drinks, some limited outings I suppose, and altogether too many times at my house to my liking. From the very first time I met him, I got an evil impression.

Like a scaly creature wearing human skin. Something always slightly off about him. He was poor, worked maintenance at the Royal Pheasant restaurant, doing all the crappiest dirty jobs they could give him, for minimum wage of course. He dressed dirty, greased his black hair, and rode a bicycle only, never drove. From what I gathered he also had a serious problem with his feet, and had to wear special types of boots to walk, greatly resembling the horrendous boots famous on Frankenstein's monster. Ridiculously stumbling around constantly like a bull in a glass shop, except at least bull's have some class and natural elegance, John did not!

Of course, my mother was probably desperate, and would settle for whomever she could, considering she was no prize herself, and getting older. She was very heavy, as I've previously mentioned, and was no beauty queen. Best way to describe her was very plain, with plenty of girth to spare. To be brutally honest, she was neither graceful, elegant, nor friendly or intelligent to talk to. She was amazingly stubborn, and unpleasant to look at. So her choices of available husbands were quite limited. She was my mother, and among all beings, I sadly knew her best of all, but I wish I didn't. As much as I was against it, she couldn't be persuaded or influenced against him.

He was neither smart, charming, nor handsome, yet her situation was such that she needed him around somehow, and nothing I could do about it.

He courted, in his strange way, and from her own loneliness and desperation, she was amazingly ripe for what he wanted, with his hidden insidious agenda. He was in his late 40's, single, but with hidden degenerate needs, with which my mother and me, was his sick opportunity, which was how he saw us ultimately. Not as family, but as vulnerable prey, and she accepted.