character

These are two stories I wrote forever ago. The purpose of both is to introduce several characters I intend to use in various stories. These characters are a family in my head still and I will one day start recounting their lives. I hope you enjoy this, their Genesis.

American Dream [or Yesterday Hurts] (Revised Version)

I still can’t believe I am here. I just can’t stand this. I guess I can’t say I’m lucky, but I can’t say I don’t deserve it either. Rejection that is. It still hurts, and I think the worst part is that I can’t do anything about it. I started with good intentions; I am not a bad woman. I had the chance to have a family like I dreamed of doing, and I loved every moment of it. I married a seemingly wonderful man and had two beautiful boys, Chad and Ivan. I love them so much.

One day though, my husband left me. He ran off with a woman with perfect teeth and big breasts. I hated her then. Maybe I still do. But why shouldn’t I? I was a good wife and was still a damn good mother, but sometimes, you know, that thing inside you, that desperation, just needs something to make life easier, so I drank. I wasn’t a heavy drinker at first, not really. I just had a little in the evening. It made it better, the pain that is. I knew it was getting worse, but I tried not to think about it.

My drinking started getting worse. My children were suffering from my neglect, I realize that now, but I still had to have something. It seemed to be what I needed. I soon turned to abuse. Oh, I would never become physical with them, but sometimes it seems that words hurt worse. They do. I know that now.

Ivan was my baby, and he was only eleven at that time. The divorce and the pain of knowing what his father had done had gotten to him and I guess he was pretty depressed. I didn’t see it then, I do now. I feel so bad for not noticing he was hurting. As his mother I should have been there for him. But I was too busy being comforted by my bottle of whatever it was I was drinking. My other son, Chad was twelve. He ignored the situation. He would go spend time at his friend’s house and wander around the neighborhood.

I didn’t try. I only made things worse. I love Ivan; I really do. But he is different. I knew back when he was five and six that he might be gay. I started calling him “fag” and “fruit” and any other name I could think of. The names made me feel better at first, but would always make me feel worse in the end. He would cry and sit up in his room. I heard him. I didn’t care. I mean, I did care, but I didn’t do anything. I guess I’ve been a lousy mother. I know Ivan didn’t even know why I called him those names, not that there is an excuse. He understands now. He came out to his aunt about a year ago. They have been so supportive of him, and I think he might even have a boyfriend. I guess I am proud. Not that he is gay, but that he is happy. At least he is. He never told me he was gay. Chad told me. I felt terrible when I heard that and wondered if it was my fault. No wonder he hates me.

Anyway, my drinking somehow led to drugs. I didn’t really expect it to, but it did. In the back of my mind I told myself that it couldn’t happen. It seems that Chad knew it would. Ivan didn’t want to be around me enough to figure it out, so I don’t think he knew I went that far. He probably knows, but I hope not. I love those boys and never wanted to hurt them, but I knew when I started that they would be taken away when anyone found out. I regret my drug use now, but it is too late for that, I guess.

I sent my children to stay with their aunt, my ex-husband’s sister. She is a good woman, and treats my kids wonderfully. She is Ivan’s biggest support. I love her so much for treating my baby so well. I think sending them there was the best thing for my kids. A few days later I called to the rehab center. I was so nervous and embarrassed, but I knew I had to do that for my boys. Chad was fifteen then, and Ivan was fourteen. He hadn’t said two words to me in three months. I deserved it, I guess. I was in rehab for six months. I couldn’t believe I had to miss both of my kids’ birthdays. Chad turned sixteen on the first of March. Ivan turned fifteen on St. Patrick’s Day. He has always been proud of his birthday. It makes him feel special to have a holiday birthday.

I had given custody of the kids to their aunt . She would have given them back, but because of my rehab I had to go to court to prove myself. It was ruled that the boys would make the decision to come home with me or not. I think I wouldn’t have gotten them at all if they had been younger. Anyway, Ivan has never been a leader. I really expected him to do whatever Chad did. I knew Chad would come with me. We have always been close. The boys were given another week at their aunts to make a decision. In that time, I rented myself an apartment and applied for some jobs. They were small jobs, but I figured they would have to do.

A week later I showed up to pick up the kids. Chad was ready. His bags were stuffed haphazardly, like he couldn’t have had any less time to pack, though he had a week. No one said a word as Chad gave me a hug and ran out to put his stuff in the car. Eighteen and still a mama’s boy. Ivan was leaning on the wall, like he was hiding. He looked like he was mad, but he was about to cry. He didn’t even look at me. I think he wanted to, but he didn’t. A got one of those lumps in my throat. I wanted to cry. I didn’t though. I just went home with Chad. On our way home, I cried. Chad starting saying that Ivan was a jerk and couldn’t believe he didn’t come. That day Chad called Ivan a “fag” and it killed me. I started crying. Chad said he didn’t mean it, and almost started to cry, I think. Ivan and Chad loved each other. They had to. Without each other they had no one. Well, they had their aunt, but they still needed each other.

Being rejected by one of my children really hurts. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be a good feeling. But Chad was at home, and I still felt as bad as I did before. I guess I was ashamed of myself for everything I had ever done. But I still loved my baby, even if he did hate me.

I started my new job, waiting tables. It wasn’t much, but it helped and the apartment was small enough to make up for the difference. It felt empty without Ivan, Chad told me Ivan had never felt like he belonged in the family. I wish he knew how much I loved him.

About a month passed and I decided to go talk to Ivan. I wanted to let him know how much I loved him. I went to see him at his aunt’s. I called for him and he didn’t come. His cousin told me he had locked himself in the cedar closet. I went to the closet and tried to open it. It was locked. I knew it was a stupid idea to put a lock on a closet door. said that the first time I saw it there. He wouldn’t talk to me. I could hear familiar music. I had bought a tape for his tenth birthday. It was all he had wanted. He had wanted it for so long. He still had it. I started to walk leave when Ivan knocked on the door three short knocks. I knocked back twice. Those knocks were kinda our little thing at our old house. His room was next to the master bedroom. I would knock three times and he would always knock back twice. It was kinda like saying “I love you” I guess. As soon as I had finished, Ivan slipped one of his paintings he had done under the door. The background was black and gray, with a red heart. In the heart two people, one with long hair the other with short hair. I turned it over and on the back was a note: “I love you mom. Ivan” I didn’t thank. I just left. I didn’t know what to think. I had the painting framed. It is hanging in my living room now. Ivan has still never seen it, and he has still not spoken to me. I decided soon after to look for some support. Divorce is hard, but I took mine too far. It destroyed my family and we will never be the same, not that we were ever really happy. I am so happy to have found this group. I hope you can help me relieve some of the hurt. Thank you.

Brian Fuchs 5.23.1998Continue Reading