Squandered Blessings by S.J. Drew



  Squandered Blessings

  By S.J. Drew

  Story and Cover Copyright 2012 S.J. Drew

  Two people sat in an intimate, yet airy room. There were two large windows, two plush chairs facing each other with a low, round table between them. The walls were painted in a neutral color and were minimally decorated with three psychology degrees and inoffensive paintings of landscapes. The day was cloudy but the room was well lit by more wholesome light than just fluorescent light. In one chair sat a middle-aged professional man dressed in business casual with a notebook and a pen. Across from him sat a college-aged, thin young man with dyed black long hair, green eyes, a pale complexion and a nervous disposition. He was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt with his college logo.

  "Well, Ignatius, how are you doing today?" asked the professional man.

  He pulled out a cigarette and a flip-top lighter. He snapped open the lighter, lit his cigarette, put the lighter back, and took a drag before answering. "Commencement is next week."

  "Congratulations."

  "Uncle Chris and his family are coming. They're bringing Grandma."

  "Good, good. I'm glad your family can share this important moment with you."

  "They're bringing Mom too," he said, bitterness evident in his voice.

  "We've discussed your parents in a roundabout fashion for a while. Perhaps this would be a good session for you to tell me more about your parents, especially your mother. This will help us get to the root of some of your parental hostilities."

  The young man put one leg on the other and started to fidget. He took another drag off the cigarette. "Alright, Doc, if that's what it takes for you to pronounce me cured."

  The older man smiled gently. "Ignatius, we both know that's not what these sessions are about. I'm here to help you cope with yourself. You can tell me whatever you feel like."

  He tapped the cigarette nervously. "I haven't seen Mom in three years. Would've been longer if I didn't have to sign the papers to check her into the home."

  "Your mother is in a home? Is she disabled?"

  "No, but she wishes she was. She tries to be anyway. What kind of woman checks into a nursing home before she's fifty-five?" he snapped, angrily snubbing out the half smoked cigarette.

  "You tell me."

  He laughed bitterly and lit up another cigarette. "Ok, Doc, I'll start at the beginning. Before I was even born. Mom and Dad met in college and fell in love and got married. Mom got interested in this new-agey stuff, but was too lazy to drop Christianity, so she hooked up with some crazy new-agey crystal-hugging Christian types. Dad didn't care as long as it made her happy. She wanted a man to take care of her, Promise-Keeper type taking care of her, you know?" He took a long drag. "Now, Dad wasn't exactly that type of guy, but he liked the idea of marrying June Cleaver."

  "So your father favored the ‘50s traditional gender roles of the man as a breadwinner and the woman as the housekeeper and the one to raise the children?"

  "Yep. But what Dad didn't know was that Mom didn't like to work. Not at a job, and not in the house. She worked part time until she got pregnant and then she quit because I was such a difficult pregnancy," he sneered. "Difficult my ass. Christ. I talked to Aunt Amy. What she went through with both my cousins was a hell of a lot worse. But that's how Mom worked. She liked being the center of attention, and liked getting sympathy. What kind of heartless bastard doesn't sympathize with a sick person?"

  "So your mother was a hypochondriac?"

  "No, that would've been too much effort. She just made herself sick with mysterious ailments."

  "Psychosomatic," offered the doctor.

  He blew out a long smoke stream. "Yeah. That's it. Anyway, she didn't do a damn thing around the house. She cooked like twice a week, did laundry sometimes, and let Dad take care of anything else. I remember being five years old and Dad begging, pleading, and nagging my Mom to clean the damn house before Uncle Chris and Aunt Amy came over because my cousin Ben had an asthma attack the last time they visited. I'm not surprised. Damn house was always a damn mess. Mold, pollen, mildew, food sitting out on the sink and stove for days. The place was a damn bio-hazard. It's miracle I didn't end up getting salmonella or something. Christ. Dad worked sixty hours a week for the insurance company. He didn't have the time to clean the house."

  "What happened?"

  "He cleaned the house for their visit, like he always did when it really mattered," he snapped, tapping the ash of the cigarette angrily.

  "Was your mother not even concerned about her nephew?"

  "Oh, sure she was. She said she'd clean. Then Dad would go to work the next day and she'd sit online talking with her weirdo new-agey pseudo-Christian friends. She didn't have any real friends. She alienated everyone who was left after college during her pregnancy. God, was Aunt Amy tired of hearing her whine and bitch and moan about being so sick and so weak. And she's family." He sucked on the cigarette thoughtfully. "I can't imagine anyone who wasn't family trying to stick it out. Hell, I was family and I didn't stick it out."

  The doctor made a few notes. "Go on, please."

  "Like I said, she didn't have any real friends. None of the people in her weird cult were in the area, and she didn't work so she didn't meet anyone, and she didn't drive so she didn't go anywhere. She just sat in front of the goddamn computer, not cleaning and telling everyone who would listen, hell anyone who didn't tell her to shut the hell up, how hard her life was and how she worked so damn hard, in spite all her health problems."

  "So you don't think your mother genuinely had any health problems?"

  "Not unless you count mental health problems. Ironic, isn't it? Mom had real problems, but didn't want to deal with those. Nope. It was easier to make up fake ones because then they could just go away when it was convenient. I figured that one out before I was ten."

  "And your father?"

  "Yeah, Dad. Poor bastard. He let her get away with it. Every damn day that man would come home exhausted and Mom would be all cutesy and crap with him, and then tell him she didn't feel like cooking that day, so he'd drag himself into the kitchen and nuke some leftovers." He chuckled. "I sure had it easy though. Mom never asked me to do anything and when Dad did, I learned pretty quick I could just ignore him and he'd take care of it." He blew out a stream of smoke thoughtfully. "God alone knows I survived growing up. I was left in Mom's care," he said, making a distasteful face, "for twelve hours a day, five days a week. I had chronic diaper rash because Mom couldn't be bothered to change me half the time. I suppose I should be grateful she remembered to feed me."

  "And this didn't prompt your father to be more forceful?"

  "I'm sure it did. I don't remember. But it didn't matter. She'd just start bawling when Dad really let her have it, and then he'd feel so guilty she'd get her way. Man, my life was really easy when I figured out that trick."

  "You've told me a lot about your aunt and uncle. How did they feel about this?"

  He fidgeted in his chair before continuing. "They thought it was total crap. But you know, what could they do? Uncle Chris wasn't going to tell his sister she was a lousy parent. Or a lousy human being."

  "And your Uncle Chris? Did he share these characteristics with your mother?"

  "Aunt Amy says yes, but she also says Uncle Chris realized he'd have to grow up when she told him she was pregnant. Mom never did. She never grew up. Christ. She's like this fifty year old toddler, only not a tenth as active," he said angrily. "God, it was a surprise to me the first time I remember visiting Aunt Amy and Uncle Chris. I was six, and it was Christmas. I remember thinking their house was so empty and that it didn't smell. Well,
it did smell, but not with the smell I was used to. I found out later that smell I missed was food rotting in the sink. Nice, huh? Anyway, when I was there, I played with Ben, who was a year older than me, and Margaret, who was two years younger than I was. I remember Uncle Chris came in and told us it was time to put away our toys and go to bed. And my cousins did. 'Why did you do that?' I remember asking Ben. ''Cause Dad says so.'” He paused to light another cigarette and sat in thoughtful silence.

  "And what did you think of that?" prompted the doctor.

  "I don't know," he said, taking a drag. "I remember being confused. I didn't have to do anything my dad said. Well, Ben and Margaret picked up all their toys, but I wasn't tired, so I stayed in the playroom and kept playing. Uncle Chris came back. 'I told you to put away your toys and go to bed,' he said. 'I will,' I told him. 'Now,' he said. 'Ok,' I said, and I didn't move. I knew how the game was played. I figured Uncle Chris would get