Simon's dark side makes an appearance.
When we get back to the house, I take off my sweat jacket and head right up to my room. My mom asks if she can get me anything and I respond with some homemade popcorn. It’s an inconvenience to make it the old fashioned way, but she does it anyway. That’s what I love so much about her.
My room is filled with photos of people. Some I know, like my mom and my dad, but most are of people that I find in magazines that I will probably never meet. When I look at someone I can tell what makes them happy. Happiness is an emotion that I can read as if it were a book.
Some people read, others like to express their happiness through art. Many like to be with friends and family, a few are fine being by themselves. Sadly though, most people can’t find happiness no matter how hard they look. I like to think I can help people find their happiness.
I have a National Geographic magazine from the early eighties that my mom had stashed in a linen closet. Instead of putting linens in the closet, it’s filled with books and magazines from throughout my mother’s life that she has a sentimental attachment to.
This one has a picture of an Irish girl sitting in a street holding a small bouquet of flowers. The flowers are vibrant and full of color; she was obviously going to give them to someone special. The girl is covered with blood, ash and soot. The building behind her was victim to a fire bomb and the storefront was all over the street. The girl shielded the flowers with her body because she knew that they were for someone who needed them to help bring him or her joy. That person’s joy was more important to the girl than her own safety.
The world needs more people like that little girl.
I take Mary Poppins out of its case and put it into the DVD player. I’m pretty sure now that I have met Evelyn I won’t need many movies to make me happy while the basement door shuts.
The movie begins and my eyes focus on the screen, but my thoughts are focused on Evelyn. I’m going to write her a poem. Poems make her happy. I don’t think I can write one that she will have to analyze to figure out, however I can be pretty straight forward.
My heart begins to pound in my chest as my body temperature rises. …..it’s not supposed to happen for another fifteen hours. I scream for my mother and seconds later she bursts through the door.
“Oh no, Simon honey. Come with me, come with me.” She puts her arm around me and starts to move me out of my room towards the basement. I shrug her arm off of me. “Get off me!” I scream.
“Simon. You have to move faster, honey.” “I scare you don’t I woman?” She’s terrified. I can tell. “I love you, sweetheart.” The sound of her voice sickens me. “Mom, I don’t know if I can make it. Help me…” I plead with tears streaming down my face. “We’re almost there Simon.”
She gets me to the basement door and she starts to open it…and I slam it shut ripping one of her fingernails off as the door gets torn from her grasp.
“You think I’m going down there? Not this time. I’m going to show you what real fear is.” I turn towards her and I grab her throat. I could crush it and she knows it. Her terror fills me with excitement. It’s fear that moves me. Lust, hate, sin is why I am here.
“Mom, hit me with something. I can’t control myself!” She picks up the pot she just used to make my popcorn in and hits me across the face. Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough to piss me off.
“You’re gonna die whore. Just like the love of your life did when I slit his throat.” That got her attention. “You want to hit your little Simon again? Woman you don’t have…” She lets out a scream that rarely comes from a mortal.
“Mom?” I speak too late and the pot hits me across the face and I collapse to the floor. She grabs me by the arm and drags me to the basement door. I want to tell her I’m okay, but my mother, the woman who raised me since I was an infant, opens the basement door and shoves me down the stairs. My arm fractures in two places and there is a sickening crunch as my nose breaks when I slam into the floor.
I wake up to find myself naked and bloodied, chained to the basement wall. My mother is standing in front of me, her face is red and her eyes are bloodshot and swollen from crying.
“Got anything else to say you little bastard?” I’ve never heard my mother talk that way. Especially to me, but I know why she did. I deserve everything that happens to me.
I begin sobbing. “Mom, just leave okay. I need you to go. I don’t want to hurt you.”
But I will…