Sins of the Father

*

And I’m dead.

Wait wait wait……back up a few minutes.

*

See that body mangled in the street? That’s me. I mean, I can tell it’s me. I lived as me for 23 years. My brown hair torn at the scalp, the ruby sheen of my skull now a bright juxtaposition against the black asphalt. The quiet of my soon to be corpse.

I’m very quiet. I can’t say much except for some non-committal sounds coming from my dying mouth. It’s not quite a moan, not quite a cry. It’s gurgling and wet, though, and plenty fucking gross.

I’m quiet. It’s quite the juxtaposition against the people screaming in the street at the other drivers, at the pedestrians, at anyone. It’s funny how people react when something bad happens. It’s like a pool of anger they’ve been filling just boils up and all kinds of things bubble out.

So, yep, I’m dying, soon-to-be-dead. Everyone around me is keeping me at arm’s length, waiting for the salvific sound of sirens.

I guess it was a bad decision to text my girlfriend while I was driving.

But let’s back up a little bit. A few years this time.

*

I’m 16. I’m in the car with my driving school instructor.

This dude. Mr. Goodhew. Fuck. He could kill a party in record time. Belly hanging over his belt. Receding hairline. Bad breath. He’s virginity’s spokesperson.

“So, Allen…..no….not so much brake there. You can keep the speed up. See the sign? You can do up to 45 here.”

And yea, more like that. On and on. I don’t say anything. I listen because I want to be able to get out of my house, away from my fucking parents.

We get done with the drive and I pull the car into the strip mall that holds the driving school.

As we park, Mr. Goodhew looks over at me all serious.

“Allen” he says, gently coughing into his fist. I pause getting out of the car and look at him. The way he says it, it’s strange. I shut the door and look at him.

“Allen, if you learn anything from these lessons, remember: Stay off your phone while you drive. That will get you, and other people, killed. Can you do that, Allen?”

Jesus. What’s next. Write me a fucking letter with a heart next to his name. I mock him by putting my hands in my lap and saying

“Yes, sir. I solemnly swear to never touch my portable electronic smart device while operating a motor vehicle.”

I say this with the inflection of a person who is sitting on the stand awaiting questioning. Mr. Goodhew, being the virgin that he is, doesn’t pick up that I’m being sarcastic. He just nods his head.

“That’s good, Allen. That’s good. Take care of yourself.”

I nod and head to my mom’s car.

Let’s back up. Back up, back up……no not there. A few more years…….there.

*

My mom is sitting in the hospital. Fuck. She’s young. And pretty. Holy cow I can’t believe that’s my mom. Her hair isn’t plain and don up in a boring ponytail. It’s cut all hip and she’s got a my chemical romance t shirt on. Her mascara is pretty runny. Looks like she’s been crying. The doctor walks in…

Whoa….what the fuck?

She’s pregnant. No. Not the doctor, asshole. My mom. She’s pregnant. With me.

The doctor looks like some old dude. Never seen him. He looks at my mom with the bored difference of a doctor who has to have this talk 10 times a day. At least he doesn’t hide that he doesn’t really give a shit.

“Well, Ms. Jacobs, you are due soon. Two more month’s and the baby will be here.”

The doctor sets his glasses on the counter next to the tongue depressants. Depressors? Tongue things. You know what I mean, shut up. Like I said, he set the glasses down. Oh oh. Serious time.

“Ms. Jacobs, I have a serious question for you. And I need you to tell me the truth. Have you been drinking while you are pregnant?”

My mom. Always been such a good liar. I see where I got it from.

“Doctor, no. I would never.”

The doctor sighs and hangs his head. The disappointment of the freshly lied too.

“Ms. Jacobs, the baby is very small. We see this in mothers who continue to drink while pregnant. I’m worried about your child’s future. I’m worried about yours.”

My mom just looks at him, flat.

“Doctor, I haven’t been drinking.”

Whoa! Ok. I guess we’re going back 30 hours now.

*

My mom is killing it at beer pong. Even with her swollen belly, she’s bouncing balls into those cups like a pro. Her and her boyfriend of the month cheer as the opponent drains their beer. She plants a lusty kiss on him. He’s drunk and within mere moments I can tell he’s got an IQ that barely got him through middle school.

Looks a they are in a basement. About 10 people mill about playing beer pong, video games, smoking weed. Basic late high school, early college hang. My mom grabs dude’s hand and she takes him up the stairs and outside. They sit on a porch and light up some joints. My mom is talking about nothing in particular. Music. Movies. Braindead just sits and smiles so he can get laid later. Suddenly, she stops. Her face lights up.

“Oh! Oh wow. Hey! Feel this!”

She grabs his hand and puts it on her belly. His face goes grey. She is smiling so hard. Smiling with the force of someone who wants the other person to smile, too.

Finally, he studders

“Oh. Yea. That’s……wow.”

He got sober real quick. He takes his hand away as my mom takes a drag of her joint. She douses it in a rain filled ash tray. She looks over at him.

“Wanna go fuck?”

Ok we need to go somewhere else now let’s go let’s go…..ok……..whew…....I guess we’re going back about 15 years.

*

My mom looks like she’s 5. She watches my grandma pour whiskey into her coffee. She’s talking to herself in the kitchen, yelling at the news.

I go back again. 100 years.

*

Who’s this dude? Looks like my mom a little. Must be a relative.

He’s on the street. Drinking from a brown bottle. Looks mad as hell.

I keep going back now, faster and faster.

*

I see people killing each other.

*

Fucking each other.

*

Dying.

*

Being born.

*

I see continents shift and glaciers melt and freeze and melt again.

*

Eons, dude. Fucking eons.

*

Finally, it all snaps black and then my body is on the pavement. It’s alone. No asphalt, no pebbles of glass, no screaming kids. Just me. That red skull still shining somehow in this breathless black.

I kneel down. I look at me. I see my eyes, barely open. I’m struggling to breathe. I put my hand on my back.

“Dude.”

I say

“It took a lot to get you here.”

*