You Were My Son

Family is forever, and there are exceptions to every rule.

Linda stands at her bay window, phone in hand, waiting. Anxiously waiting. Her sweaty palms caused the phone to slip once, crashing to the floor, jolting her from her trance-like state. Her heartbeat pulses against the floor through her feet. Today is the day. The day her status of motherhood is being returned. For all she knew, her son Chris, was dead. But after ten years of silence, he is finally returning home.

“He’s late.” She says wiping her sweaty palms, one by one, on her skirt.

“By three minutes. He’s been gone ten years without so much as a phone call or email. Are a few minutes more really going to kill you?” Craig’s frustration shows easily in his voice, yet there is something else there, hidden deeper. It’s heartache. He’s done being a father and he doesn’t want to retake the role after all these years.

Linda opens the front door and walks to the street. The wooded road is desolate, as always. She closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sky. Her breaths become slow, deep, impacting. Each exhale expelling anxiety replaced by relaxing warmth. The blades of grass tickle her feet as she curls her toes around them. Each snap from the torn blades relaxes her further. She lets go fully, collapsing to the ground. Her body heaves, trying to produce tears, but they don’t come. The torrents from the past week have finally ended in a drought.

A car pulls into the driveway. Linda’s arms are around Chris before he can unbuckle his seatbelt. Her son leaving for college was the hardest thing she’s had to endure. Worrying every night for his safety frequently drove her to tears. When he was home, he was safe.

Craig joins them outside to grab the luggage. Their embrace is quick, awkward, seemingly unwanted. Linda fluffs her clothes as she waits to envelope him once more. Chris half pushes her away. Her love is drowning, smothering, unbearable.

“There haven’t been any incidents, have there?” She asks, unable to hide her surety that there had been.

“No, I keep telling you, people in college aren’t like those in high school. I’m fine.” Chris is more than tired. Tired of the worry. Tired of the overbearing. Tired of the love. High school was rough, but it’s in the past. No more broken bones and scars and bruises.

Chris shrugs her off as he sulks into the house. He’s already been home too long.

“Linda, come grab this suitcase.” Craig groans. His voice echoes her name.

She opens her eyes and sees blue. The tickle of the grass returns all around her body. She sits up and sees Craig in the doorway.

“He’s almost here. Get up. You look ridiculous.” The door closes behind him. She sees him through the bay window, returning to his study; his home within the home. It’s where he goes whenever he’s stressed. Sometimes Linda has to bring him meals because he refuses to leave. And yet he thinks he hides his emotions well.

Linda brushes herself off and returns to her spot at the bay window.

The sun glints off a car through the trees. He’s here. The pulsing in her feet returns. She holds her breath, not purposely. How much can possibly change in ten years? The car pulls up to the house. A sudden fear takes over and she closes her eyes. Everything can change.

Her eyes open at the sound of the car door slamming shut. She no longer controls her body. Adrenaline has completely taken over, maybe fear. His back is facing towards her. She notices his hair, shorter and blacker than before. He’s no longer the frail teen she knew him as. A movement in the car catches her attention. A female. A young woman sitting in the passenger seat.

“He’s married,” Linda whispers to herself. “My only son is married and I wasn’t there to see it. No. She’s just a girlfriend. He wouldn’t elope. Yes. She’s just a girlfriend.”

Linda shuffles to the door, ready to pounce. There’s a ring of the bell. Then a knock. She flings the door open wide, arms open wider.

Who is he?

This isn’t her son. This man isn’t familiar. It’s been ten years, but surely she would still recognize him. No, this isn’t Chris. He’s too tall. Face too full. Hair too dark. Nose too big. This stranger is just that, a stranger.

Linda averts her eyes to the young woman. How is it that she feels familiar? Her nose. Linda has seen it before. Those eyes. She’s looked in them countless times. But how? Her son. Where is her son? She begins to feel dizzy. Everything slows around her. She feels drunk; that moment where it takes a second for your mind to catch up to your eyes.

“Hello mom.” The young woman says.

An audible, yet unexplainable sound thrusts itself from Linda’s throat. She takes a step closer to the woman, nudging the man out of her way. She grabs the woman and squeezes. Linda goes deaf. She’s no longer aware of herself, her surroundings, anything. All she can do is squeeze. Her grip tightens.

Craig comes bounding down the stairs skipping two at a time. The man is already prying at Linda’s fingers. Craig slams into Linda, tearing her off of the woman. The woman collapses to the ground, hands around her neck, gasping for air while sputtering whatever words she can get out.

“Linda! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Craig screams as he shakes her.

“Where’s my son?” She wails. “What did you do to my son? He’s six minutes late!”

“Get in the house! Get in, now!” Craig yanks her back by her arm as she lunges for the woman again.

“I want my baby! Give him back to me!” Her legs give out and she falls into Craig’s arms.

Craig adjusts his arms around her waist and hoists her into the air. He spins around and walks into the house. Linda, regaining control of her legs, begins flailing about, still screaming. A few minutes pass before Craig returns. The woman is standing again, her breathing returned to normal. Bite marks and red splotches cover Craig’s arms. They stand around in unbearable silence for a few moments.

“Chris?” Craig asks quietly, finally breaking the silence. It didn’t seem possible, but his face drops further, as if someone attached weights to the corners of his mouth and eyes.

“Yes dad. Except it’s Christa now.” Her chin drops to her chest.

“I take it this is why you’ve been gone all these years?”

“I’m sorry. It’s what I needed to do. I just couldn’t come home after.”

“Your mother… she hasn’t been the same. You leaving drove her mad. Therapy, pills, we’ve tried it all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She’s not the woman I married. She’s not your mother. I don’t know who she is anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You had to do what made you happiest.”

“I shouldn’t have disappeared. I should have discussed it with you. I should have been here.”

“What’s done is done.”

Christa wipes the tears from her face. One escapes her chin before she can stop it. The man wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts slowly rubbing it. He reaches out his other arm to Craig.

“I’m Eric by the way.”

“Craig, nice to meet you. So you two are?”

“Dating.”

Craig nods at this, but doesn’t verbally respond.

“We’ve been together for five years,” Eric continues. “That’s sort of why we’re here.” His face grows red, but not out of embarrassment; it’s a worried blush. Craig notices this. He motions for them to come inside.

“We’ll talk about it once you’re settled in.”

Eric returns to the car for the luggage. Craig takes Christa under his arm and guides her into the house. The red ring around her neck has darkened. The red splotches on Craig’s arms have begun vanishing, but the bite marks have started bruising.

Christa’s room looks the same as it did when she left as Chris. It’s probably the only thing that hasn’t changed in the past ten years. The lack of dust anywhere shows the frequency Linda cleaned it in Christa’s absence. She walks across the room to her trophy collection on the dresser. She grabs a weighty baseball trophy and tosses it back and forth in her hands.

The ball lands in his right hand. It’s about to bounce out when he places his other hand overtop to keep it in place. It’s the last out of the game. They won the championship finals. Everyone — teammates, coaches, fans, his parents — surrounds him. The pats on his back seem unending. The hugs never stop. He tries to swim out of the crowd, but it’s impossible. More keep joining.

His parents throw a party in his honor. The whole team was amazing, but he was the one who sealed the win. For his parents, that called for a party. Before this moment, what did they have to be proud of? The amount of people who bullied him in school? The amount of therapy sessions he required? Or the amount of times they each found him dressing in his mother’s clothing. None of that mattered now. Their son was finally a son they could be proud of. The type they could brag about to other parents. They were happy.

After the big win, the bullying stopped. For a while. Slowly, as the excitement about the game died down, it picked up again, only to get worse. Eventually, it became too unsafe for him to return to school. The administrators tried to intervene after the first few bruises appeared, but after the broken ribs, enough was enough. But it wasn’t enough.

They found his house. Rocks through the windows. Spray painted vulgarities on the garage door. It was never enough for them. His parent’s pride in him vanished. They tried to fake it as they still loved him. But they were no longer happy.

A knock on the bedroom door startles Christa.

“Dinner’s ready.” Craig says peeking his head in the door.

Christa smiles slightly in response and follows Craig to the kitchen. Every time they enter a new room on the way, Christa scans around hurriedly.

“She’s taking a bath.” Craig says, knowing what Christa is looking for. “I told her to join us after she’s done.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Eric asks while rubbing Christa’s back nervously.

“It’s hard to get through to her, but I think she understands now.”

“Are you ok with that?” Eric asks rubbing faster.

“Yes.” Christa responds, the uncertainty showing on her face.

There’s a sound of water rushing through the pipes. Everyone takes a deep breath in preparation for things to come. After a moment of silence, Linda enters the kitchen. Her hair is dripping, bubbles still clinging to the sopping clumps. She’s wearing mismatched pajamas, which are soaked completely. She stands rigid in the doorway looking straight at Christa. Her face is dead, emotionless, cold. A puddle is forming at her feet.

Craig doesn’t acknowledge the situation. Perhaps this is ordinary behavior for her. He waves her to a chair next to him.

“Yes.” She replies dryly.

Her movement is slow, shoulders and arms limp, like a zombie. She takes a seat, shoulders slumped, face towards her plate. Silence.

“When is Chris coming?” She finally asks looking directly at Christa.

“For God’s sakes, Linda, what did I tell you upstairs?” He slams his fist into the table. The plates jump, and so does everyone else.

“Mom, it’s me. I’m Chris. Only I’m Christa now.” Her voice shakes both in fear and disappointment. She lightly rubs around her neck.

“No, I want my son. Where is my son?” Linda’s voice grows louder. She begins massaging her temples as if confused.

“I’m your son, only now I’m your daughter instead.” Her voice is pleading.

“I don’t have a daughter, I have a son. You’re not my son. Where is he?” These last three words come out desperate, like a mother looking for her lost child in a department store.

“I’m your child!” Christa yells, jumping out of her seat. The chair skids behind her. She stands there, palms flat on the table, leaning slightly forward as if ready to pounce.

“You’re not my son!” Linda shrieks, also jumping from her chair, which topples over behind her.

“And you’re not my mother!” Christa yells back. “Not anymore, you aren’t! You’ve changed more than I have! Where did my mother with the unbearable love go? I used to suffocate in your hugs! I used to drown in your kisses! I used to hate you because you were so god damn overbearing!” Christa stops yelling. She pauses for a moment, lost in her rage. When she begins speaking again it comes out as a low, raspy whisper. “You’re nothing like that. You’re nothing like my mother.” Christa storms out of the room. Eric trails behind her.

Linda doesn’t move. Craig stares at her for a few seconds and then follows the others.

“Stay here. Do you hear me?” He demands as he walks out.

Craig stands at Christa’s door debating what to say.

He walks in, forgetting to knock. In front of him is a wide-eyed boy. Craig’s gaze falls to the floor to follow whatever the boy dropped. It’s a tube of lipstick. He’s in a pair of heels. They’re his mother’s. He’s also wearing a skirt and bra. Craig can feel the blood rushing to his face. His fingers curl inward. He takes a hard, demanding step forward.

“What did I tell you?” His voice is loud, deep. The boy’s apologies are squeaky and rushed.

This wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t the last.

Craig tears his wife’s clothing off his son’s body. He drags him, by the wrist, to the bathroom. Chris takes a deep breath before he’s dunked under the water streaming from the bath spigot. A wash cloth grinds into his face. He’s dunked again and again. The punishments aren’t like this every time. Eventually, Craig gives up.

The door opens. Christa is now in front of him. He opens his mouth, but still doesn’t know what to say.

“We’re leaving.” Christa says, bag in hand.

“Not yet, please.” Craig pleads as he motions for her to sit on the bed. He joins her. Eric sits at the desk.

“She needs time. What just happened is what she needs to snap her out of this.” Craig’s voice is desperate. He needs Linda back.

“I don’t have time, dad. That’s why we’re here.” Her voice cracks. “We’re getting married next Saturday.”

“What?” Craig is shocked, but smiles for the first time today. “That’s great, but why so soon?”

“We’ve been dating for five years, sir.” Eric responds.

“No, I mean why so soon after telling us?” Craig’s eyebrows droop, head tilts.

“Like I said, I don’t have a lot of time.” She closes her eyes and drops her head as she says this. She begins whispering, as if she’s too afraid to say it out loud. “I have cancer.”

Craig remains silent. His face squeezes towards his nose.

“But they have treatments for that.” He says confidently.

“None of which have worked.” Eric says, joining them on the bed. He puts Christa’s hand into his and places them both on his lap.

“I was recently taken off chemo because it wasn’t helping. I just got the color back in my face the other day. This is a wig.” She says as she pulls up her hair revealing a fuzzy scalp underneath.

“I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Christa has never seen her father this way before. Caring was never a word she would have associated with him. Yet in this moment she considers it one of his greatest traits.

“I left for ten years. I didn’t want our first phone call to be about me having cancer. I wanted to get better before I told you, but that isn’t happening. I still had to come. I need to ask for your forgiveness, before I no longer can.”

Craig wraps his arms around Christa. She feels his tears dripping onto her shoulder. His body is shaking slightly.

“I forgive you.” He whispers. “But only if you forgive me for not accepting you as my son.” His voice is now as shaky as his body.

“As long as you accept me as your daughter.” She says as they embrace each other tighter. This hug is new for Christa. It’s not backed by a forced kind of love, but a chosen love. He doesn’t need to respond. Christa knows his answer. The tear stains on her shoulder are proof.

Linda stands at the bay window, phone in hand, waiting. Anxiously waiting. She watches her husband sending the two strangers off, wondering when her son will arrive.

He’s six hours late.