He Use To Be A Son Of Anarchy

Chapter Three: Mother of the Year

Waking up this particular Saturday morning put me in a rather shitty mood. The previous day my dad called me and basically demanded that I come to see him. Why is this so awful you ask? I'll tell you why.

It's not the two hour drive to my hometown, it's not the crappy two bedroom house that I grew up in and it isn't the fact that the man is dying. Okay, maybe it is a bit awful that he is dying, but knowing him he probably still had years. What makes me dread going to visit him is the condition he lives in. The man is a hoarder. It's sickening. Ever since I left for college he just started collecting all sorts of junk and it just got so out of hand.

So when I got into my car that morning I wasn't in the most cheerful of moods. The drive to my dad had been uneventful and to be honest I zoned out for most of it. My thoughts were occupied with what was so important that he couldn't tell me over the phone. A dreadful thought crossed my mind. What if he had bad news? What if he wanted to tell me in person that he didn't have long anymore? I mean, my dad and I rarely see eye to eye, but losing him would break my heart. The man raised me alone.

I pulled up into the driveway. After getting out and locking my door I took in the neighbourhood. The street was quiet. Most of the lawns were overgrown and on some various children's toys were sprawled. Overhead I could see a pair of sneakers thrown over one of the electric wires hanging high above the pavement. This ought to tell you a lot about the neighbours. My dad's house fit right in with its cracked off-white walls and unkempt lawn. The only difference was that my dad was not a drug dealer or user. He's more of a pack a day kind of guy. Or at least he used to be.

Slowly I approached the front door. Taking in a deep breath I knocked twice on the door. "Coming," a raspy voice called. I took a step back and waited. The door swung open. Inside stood a man with balding grey hair and a beer belly. He wore a dirty old t-shirt and a nightgown. He pulled his oxygen tank after him and gently touched the pipes entering his nose.

"Val, you're early. C'mon in," he stood aside and let me enter the house. "Hi, Dad," I said and hugged him briefly after he closed the door behind us, "Where's Rosa?" He shuffled off towards the kitchen. "She's not here yet. She went out to go buy groceries." I followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the small breakfast table.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked opening the fridge. "No thanks. Maybe later," I said eyeing the messy kitchen. Dirty dishes were packed in and around the kitchen sink. Some of the kitchen cabinets stood open revealing broken and dusty coffee mugs.

"Are you two getting along?" I asked wiping my hands against my jeans. I felt dirty just looking at the mess. "She's okay," he said pulling a carton of orange juice from the fridge, "I don't like her moving my stuff all the time." I sighed. "Dad, she's here to help you. You can't do everything anymore. And living like this," I waved my hand over the old newspapers sitting on the table, "Is not healthy. It's just going to make you sicker."

He gave an angry grunt. "I have lung cancer, Val. I'm going to die anyway." I felt a lump forming in my throat. "But don't you want to live, Dad?" I asked softly. His facial expression softened. And he stopped pouring his juice into a chipped coffee mug. "I've lived a good life, Val. I've done everything that I wanted to do. The only regret I have is ever picking up a pack of cigarettes, but now this is the way I am going to go. I can't change it." I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked away the tears stinging my eyes.

"I just want you to be comfortable," I said.

"I am. And I know you mean well by getting Rosa to help out around here, but I am fine, Val. She doesn't need to babysit me. But I won't say no to that chicken pot pie she makes." I smiled. Rosa lived next door. I knew her my whole life. She would babysit me when my dad was at work. Back then she was only twenty years old. She was a wonderful woman with a kind heart. Throughout my whole life Rosa had been there for us. She was like a mother to me and now she was looking after my dad for a small fee. She was struggling herself and she knew I couldn't afford to get my dad the proper care he needed.

"So, not to be hasty or anything, but what did you want to talk to me about?" I asked. His face saddened. "Oh, you probably should get back to your own life soon. Probably have lots of things to do," he said.

"Dad, don't be like that," I said getting up and moving towards him. "No, Val. I get it. You have a whole new life. God knows what you're up to now. You're wasting away in the middle of nowhere. You had such a bright future ahead of you, kid. Why did you let it go?" I tried to control my temper before answering him. "Is it so bad that I want to be an author, Dad? I could have been doing worse things."

"You have a degree in journalism, Val. You worked your ass off getting into college and now that you have actually accomplished something you want to tell me it was all for nothing?"

"Daddy, please." The tears were stinging my eyes. "Please just trust me on this." "I'm trying to, Valerie, but you're raising serious doubt within me." There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

"Okay, okay," he waved it off, "Let me get to the point then." He gestured towards the table and I sat down again. He sat next to me. "So, Val. I was wondering if you would do one thing for your old man before he kicks the bucket."

I took his hand. "Anything," I said. "You promise?" he asked raising a bushy eyebrow. "Yes, I promise." He inhaled deeply.

"I want you to talk to your mother."

My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. My heart started beating faster and my palms were sweaty. I pulled my hand away from his.

"I can't. Dad, I can't. I'm sorry. If it was anything else..." I stood up. "Tell Rosa I'm sorry I missed her. I'll call you later this week, okay. I need to get home." I quickly planted a kiss on his forehead and walked out of the house and got into my car. I drove off.

When I put some distance between myself and the house I pulled off the road and before I knew it I was sobbing into the steering wheel. After taking a moment to compose myself I drove off again.

I just couldn't believe my dad would ask something like that of me. My mother was the worst person I knew. She abandoned me when I was three. The only memories I had of her were the cigarette burns scarring my right forearm and the time I found her unconscious in the bathroom when she nearly overdosed on heroine. Helen Tanner was the worst mother in the world.

After composing myself I pulled onto the road again and headed towards Georgeville.

I will never forget the day I last saw her. She had been getting high with one of her friends in the living room. My dad came home early from work. He found her and the young man she had been seeing behind his back on the couch. He threw him out and proceeded to scold my mom for leaving me unattended.

She had tried to scratch my dad in a fit of fury. She said the most awful things. My dad eventually forced her out the door and I never saw her again. It was easier having her not around.

My parents never got married so there was no paperwork, nothing. My mom didn't even bother to fight for custody over me. That didn't bother me either. I didn't want to see her ever again. The woman was a druggie, a drunk and an even worse mother.

I was concentrating so hard on all the terrible things my mother was, that I hardly saw the small furry animal jump in front of my car. I gasped and swerved so sharply to avoid the damn thing. I heard a loud bang.

I stopped the car on the side of the road and tried to compose myself. Had I not been wearing my seatbelt I would have certainly injured myself. I slowly unbuckled my seatbelt and tried to gain my composure.

After making sure I had no cuts or bruises or broken bones I got out of the car. Immediately I knew that I would not be able to drive any further. One of the back wheels was completely flat. I could see a very large tear in the tyre.

"Shit," I yelled kicking at the now useless tyre. I did not have a spare and even if I did have one it wouldn't have done me any good – I can't change a tyre.

I quickly made my way to the passenger door and dug through my bag. Finally I found my wallet and pulled out the little white card that I was looking for. After going through my bag again I found my phone and quickly dialled the number on the business card.

"Al's Garage. How may I help you?" a friendly voice said.

After explaining to an overly friendly Al what had happened he said that he'd sent help right away. He himself was apparently busy fixing the mayor's car, but he would send someone else.

I got into my car again, silently cursing myself for being such a reckless driver.