Forgive Me Mamma

He steps away from the rank taxi — rank just because or  because he was in it, he can’t tell — and walks up to his Mamma’s house. Will she recognize me? Will she let me in?  Orange flower pots, filled with pink and white pansies line the front porch,  and Momma’s gardening gloves and kneeling board sit on the first of three steps  onto the porch from the concrete walkway. The hall lights shine through her  wooden and glass front door. It looks quiet inside — still.

His footing unsure and his clothes covered in vomit, he  grabs the railing and stumbles up the three steps. He pulls off his shirt,  finds a cleaner area on the puke-covered garment, wipes sweat off his forehead,  dripping wet from the humid, stormy night, and stuffs the shirt into the back  pocket of his jeans.

He makes it up the first two steps and then falls backward,  skinning his elbows. He reaches up and puts the kneeling board down in front of  the steps. Kneeling in front of the house, he drops his head into his knees and  sobs into his lap. “Mamma, I’m so sorry I failed you,” he cries, shivers, and  shakes, almost uncontrollably. A cocktail of beer and shame pushes itself out  of his eyes, dampening his jeans in more filth.

The porch light flickers on. “Timmy? Timmy?”

“Momma, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

She kneels next to her son and blankets him with her weak  arms, bringing him into herself like she did when he fell off his bike or when  he banged his head against the coffee table. “My poor Timmy. I forgave you  thirty years ago.”

The front of Mamma’s nightgown moistens from the sweat and  tears and damp air, and her own eyes start to stream small droplets. She holds  her son with whatever strength she has left. “Thank you, Mamma,” says Timmy as  he passes out. Mamma rocks her son until morning, until the pansies spring  upward toward the sun, and the robins and doves chirp, and a new day begins.

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About mattdevir

I live with my wife – and inspiration – in Point Pleasant, New Jersey. I have written and produced television shows for The Discovery Channel, TLC, HGTV, and Baby First Television. In addition to reading my work here, you can also find it on Fictionaut.com, Istanbul Literary Review, and Pure Slush. I have many nicknames – Benny, Baber, and Beaver being the most popular. Every now and then someone calls me Faber. Feel free to use any of those. I understand my last name is a bit tough.
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