Embracing Despair

She stood in the rain holding the hood of the poncho close with one hand and fingering the handle of a knife in the other. She had found him hiding behind the closed door of the derelict trailer while she fought for courage. He was the reason she was alone. He was the reason she spent countless nights in the emergency room when he had returned home drunk and angry, always angry. He was the reason she took her son and ran. He was always the reason. She had loved him as long as she had been able. It started off great, just like all relationships, but it ended in turmoil. She never thought, not for one second, that her son would pay the price for her foolish mistakes.

Full of despair, she had buried him that morning, her son, her one and only. That cool, brisk morning is when the seed of vengeance rooted and began to grow. If only he hadn’t come home early from work to find his father preparing to take her life. He was quicker than the bullet, it seemed, but not quick enough. The bullet lodged in the back of his neck, and she watched as the light faded from his eyes. That is when that bastard of a father ran and tried to hide. He should have left the state, but instead drowned himself in liquor and a whore while he hid out in her home. Stupid. Always so stupid.

She wanted so many things for him, things he would never have. He was supposed to graduate high school next year, had his sights on Berkley. She couldn’t afford to send him there, but his smarts would have nailed down a scholarship. She was preparing for him to leave, but not like this. She was done being fragile and scared. She had been that meek doormat for far too long. She had paid the price for her lack of courage. Now the man responsible for all this would pay the price for everything he had ever done.

It didn’t take long before he realized what was happening, but by then, it was too late. She remained calm and collective, whispered in his ear as the warm blood flowed freely out of his neck and over her hands, “Make sure you tell the Devil I send my regards.” He reached for his neck, gasping for breath and eyes bulging while she watched them fade just as her son’s had. She laid the knife down next to his lifeless form and walked toward the door, never looking back.

As she sat at the table, hands clasped together in the bright overhead light, she scrutinized her fingernails. Most of the blood had been washed in the rain, but there was still enough left around the nails for the detective to swab. She had turned herself in, told the detective that had been working her son’s case everything that had ever happened from the very moment she met that stupid man. She had nothing left to lose and, honestly, didn’t really care.

“Would you like to make a phone call?” The detective leaned back with sorrow and pity in his eyes.

“No, I called my mother on the way here. She knows what happened and I can’t face her just yet. I know you have to lock me up, but there is one thing I would like to do before I am unable to.” She turned her palms over and laid them on the sterile table. It reminded her of the table her son slept on at the coroner’s place. She continued, “I would like to visit my son.”

They stopped for flowers on the way, selecting the marigolds as a bright and warm reminder that the despair was ending, and that peace was evermore. She dressed his burial site with the blooms, laid her hand on the freshly turned soil, and closed her eyes. “It’s over baby. I love you.” Light tears streamed down her cheeks as she stood to look down upon him. “I wish it had been me. You didn’t deserve this. I am so sorry to have let you down. Please forgive me.”

As she walked back to the car and the waiting detective, the wind wrapped around her in an embrace as if her son had heard her plea. She lowered her head as the tears freely flowed, and watched as a marigold bloom came to rest at her feet.