The boy named Bob

Chapter Two

I could never get used to this. Mentally preparing myself to enter madness. Standing there wishing it would be different this time. Hoping I could get a pleasant memory. I was standing in front of my doorstep with my eyes closed, ready to withstand whatever is inside there. Opening the door, there was an unusual silence. It wasn't pleasant silence. It made me stand on edge. Silence could mean only two things here at the Zota residence, and I wasn't ready for either. "Bob? Is that you?" the voice echoed from upstairs. Releasing a sigh of relief, I replied, "Yes, I just got here." "About fucking time, you had me waiting so long." Her pleasant soothing voice had now transformed into a rough, cranky tone. "Did you get what I asked for?" "Ah, crap I forgot that. I can explain tho." She didn't even wait for anything else. Stomping madly down the stairs, she flew past me in a very revealing outfit. My mother, Izumi Zota, is a beautiful woman. With 35 years of age, her voluptuous body had often had men reeling in after her. However, when you leave little to the imagination, it sends a different message. The stomping ceased. She had arrived at her destination. Mother was now in the kitchen, eyed a covered pot on the stove. "If you can't keep your end of the bargain, neither will I!" she yelled, and threw the pot onto the floor, spilling the contents from it. Chow Mein spayed with tomato paste, and a few meatballs were now sprawled along the kitchen floor. I let out a loud sigh. Loud enough for her to hear. Paying no heed to me, she went on; "This just goes to show what will happen if you continue to blatantly ignore me!" She continued yelling, but I was no longer paying attention to her. Something had caught my eye. Heading to the half opened trash can I picked up a Chinese packet and held it up for her to see. She was now quiet, with a half surprised face. "First of all" I began, "I never made a deal with you for this. Second of all, if we did have a deal, you broke it" holding the plastic bag even higher in the air. "And thirdly yo-" "Is everything alright down there?" a firm masculine voice echoed from the stairs above. I turned to see a young man, probably in his mid 20's staring down at us from the stairway. "Seriously mom?" I started out, but before I could continue, she suddenly broke down into tears. "I try to do everything for you," she sobbed, "and yet you continue to treat me like this." I looked at her with a face of boredom. She had tried this way too many times. Looking for an excuse from the unknown stranger. "You mustn't do this to your mother" he began adding a seriousness to his voice as he walked down the stairs. "She tries her best to support you." I scoffed. He knows nothing. His words had empty meaning in them. No truth. He was only supporting the lies he had been fed. And that made me hate him. Like all the others he would become another one that I would despise, another that would cause my very core to be disgusted at the very sight of him. Another face that I would never forget, even if I wanted to. "Anyways, I'd better get going." He continued, "This was fun." My mother let out a flirty chuckle, and the man exited. As soon as the door closed, I started moving up to my room. My mother was saying something, but I couldn't hear her. I didn't want to. All I wanted now was to count the seconds till she leaves for work. Then I could function.

My mother works as a bartender at a bar several blocks away. She says it a 'decent' job, and that it pays well. I never believed that. I never believe anything she says these days. My mother never worked a job before this one, and suddenly she likes this one? Please. To her it isn't a job; it's simply pleasure, a place where her body could attract the gaze of many men. I saw her working there once, I had forgotten my keys and had to stop by for hers. I didn't like the place. The atmosphere resented me there. It would have resented her too, if she hadn't changed. I saw her very close with one of the customers. It made me uncomfortable where I stood. I wanted to get out as quick as possible. I told myself to never get a reason to drop by again. You're probably curious, what I meant by if she hadn't changed. Well mother was once a divine angel, and made any house feel like a home. She wasn't alone. Neither was I. Dad was there too. We were content. I felt like this kind of happiness would last forever. Well one day it ended. I still don't know when. I just know it was my fault. My fault that I was not feeling well and had to be sent home early. My fault I didn't say something before opening that door. My fault for my innocence. My fault for telling dad even though I was told not to. I didn't understand at the time, that's why I told dad. I wanted my curiosity to be put at rest. I was four years old when that happened. 12 years have passed since then and I still hate myself for getting sick. For being innocent and disobeying orders. Maybe I would still be happy. Maybe I would still have a family. I opened the door to my room and peered around. It seemed as if she had already left for work. Good. Now I can get on with my day. I went downstairs dressed a blue worn out jeans complete with patches and holes and a sleeveless brown shirt. It was my working attire, for when a mess needed to be cleaned. There was a couple of flies nesting on the chow Mein on the floor. I cleaned up the mess and scrubbed the floor. "Good, glad that's over with," I said out loud. Going back up the stairs I ran into the shower buck naked and began cleansing myself. The shower was normally where all my thoughts for the day normally come flooding back to me but today was different. Nothing was on my mind. All I could think of was getting this day over with. I walked over to my room dripping water all the way through. I slipped into my pajamas and buried myself into my bed. Now all I have to do is wait for her touch, the only touch I look forward to.

v:C6o*