Writing Challenge|Memories

Calling That Someone From My Past

I just want to know why

A few days ago, I was tagged by three writing buddies of mine on the same story. Joe Luca, the originator of the story. Rasheed Hooda who contributed his take on Joe’s challenge, and then Sherry McGuinn, who, God love her for it, prods me to push the envelope every single day by writing a beautiful response and then, again, tagging my butt.

So I read them all, and I loved all three of their stories, and I, of course, went about my busy day of working at my JOB and trying to write something decent for a change.

Due to the Nasty McNasty bug known as COVID, I’ve been a stay-at-home, work-from-home kind of dude. I’ve gotten used to my honey’s Amazon fix and order in, so when the doorbell rang, I didn’t think too much of it. I just got up and went to fetch it. Imagine my surprise when I saw a perfectly wrapped box sitting atop our little front porch bistro set.

Oh, my surprise wasn’t the half of it. I’d just read Joe, Rasheed, and Sherry’s iterations of Joe’s challenge. I knew damn well what was in that box. For six days, that package has been sitting on the counter in the kitchen. In fact, the missus keeps asking me to open it and see what’s inside, and each time she does, I tell her I know what was inside. I just don’t think I had enough courage to do what I knew I would have to do.

Sherry? Joe? Rasheed? Today I opened the box. I opened it and took that phone out and took it down to my office. Right now I’m staring at it trying to will myself to pick up the receiver, just pick the damn thing up and make the call.

Deep breath.

Another deep breath.

Okay, I don’t remember her number, but the note said I could just dial the name. The note said they will answer. I sure hope so.

“Hello?”

“Mamma?”

“Hello, Buster. I’m so glad you called son.”

“Oh, mamma, I miss you so much. I…”

“That’s okay, Buster, let it out. Let it all out. You’ve been holding this in for all these years, haven’t you?”

“Uh, huh.”

“It’s okay to cry, Buster.”

“I know, mamma. It’s been so long.”

“I know. But you have to know I’ve been watching you and I see you’ve done real good for yourself. You’ve become a wonderful husband and father. I wished I could have met Sharon and the girls. They’re beautiful.”

“Yes, mamma, they are.”

“But you didn’t call me to talk about your family, did you, Buster?”

“No.”

“You called because you wanted to know why I left you.”

“Yeah. Mamma, I was only eight years old. What did I do so wrong that made you leave?”

“Honey, it wasn’t you. I loved you and your brother, and I loved your father so much.”

“Then why, mamma? Why did you leave?”

“Because staying would have made things worse. You and your brother needed something I couldn’t give you at the time. You needed loving and nurturing, which was something our family wasn’t allowing me to give you boys. Something certain family members weren’t allowing me to give to my husband, your father.”

“It was because of Butch, wasn’t it? Because of what happened to him, wasn’t it?”

“Mostly. But I love your older brother just like I love you, honey. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t my fault. Sometimes things just happen, Buster.”

“So you left us because you thought it was the best thing to do, the best thing for Butch and me?”

“Yes, but now I see just how wrong that decision was. I should have stayed and fought for your father, for your brother and you. But I didn’t. I took the easy way out. It was wrong to think an eight-year-old boy and his eleven-year-old disabled brother could resist the influence of the family as they sought to turn you boys against me. When you needed me the most, I abandoned you.”

“I know, mamma. All these years, all I’ve ever wanted was to hold you, feel you brush your lips against my cheek, hear the words you love me as you whisper them into my ear. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you, needed from you.”

“I know, Buster. And I do love you. I will always love you. You have to understand that in your heart. You have to stop punishing yourself. You have to stop punishing me. Can you see it in your heart to forgive me?”

“I…”

“There, there, son. Those tears of yours will eventually stop flowing.”

“There’s…there’s nothing to forgive mamma. I’m so glad we got a chance to talk today. I’ve always loved you. I always will. At least I know why you did what you did. I just regret you were never a part of my life growing up.”

“That is the biggest single regret I had when I was alive Buster, and it remains with me still. So now you know.”

“Yes, now I know. All those years when you were alive mamma, all those years wasted. I just want to say…I need to say…”

“What, Buster? That you’re sorry? That love is a two-way street, and you could have reached out to me all the years before I died?”

“Yes. Yes, mamma, I’m so sorry. I…”

“It’s okay son, stop crying and listen to me…it’s easy to understand how you’re feeling right now. We both could have done a better job, but we didn’t, and thankfully the God/Goddess picked this one time for us to be able to talk to one another again. We have an opportunity to set things straight between us. Let’s both take advantage of it. Just be thankful and understand I have always loved my little Buster, and I will always love my Paul, the man I’m proud to call my son.”

“Oh, mamma.”

“I have to go now, son. Hear this, and lock it in your heart and keep it always until you die and then some. I love you.”

“I love you too, mamma.”

“Goodbye, son. Hope to see you when it’s time.”

“Goodbye, mamma.”

Thank you so much for reading. You didn’t have to, but I’m certainly glad you did.

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© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.