A Mother’s Suggestion

I thought I was prepared, but until your seventeen-year-old kid, all six feet two of him, walks in, covered in someone’s blood, you don’t know. At first, you’re just grateful it’s not his, having examined him head to toe for any scratches or wounds, any parting gifts other than the quickly drying blood. I looked for that joyful light in Mike’s eyes, the one that kept me fighting all these years. Dull, like someone had covered it up. Shoulders hunched and skin stained brown, he seemed more like a rusted-out car on the side of the road, abandoned. But I’d never do that.

I asked if he could tell me whose blood it was, or what happened to the body. His voice, coming out of some deep cave inside, seemed to lose words along the way, and all he could repeat was The Smoking Monster was gone. The Smoking Monster was gone. I could guess who he meant. Always told Mike’s dad that his bad habits would be the death of him. Beating me and Mike being the other one. Truthfully, I thought cancer would get him first. As for what happened to the body, maybe it would be better if neither of us knew.

My man-sized little boy just kept standing there. Like he’d run out of directions. We had to get to work. I clapped twice and ordered him out of his clothes. All the way. No time for embarrassment. I started the shower, stuck a bar of soap in his hand, and told him to scrub until all that was left was his own pink skin. The clothes went into the fireplace. Mike’s dad made fun of me for wanting one. Too nostalgic. I knew it would come in handy, though admittedly, I was thinking more about hanging Christmas Stockings or if the power went out. While the bloody remnants of our old nightmare burned, I got some fresh pajamas.

At first, he wouldn’t get out of the shower. Just kept scrubbing. I had to clap again to get him moving. Hard to keep in mind that he wasn’t all there. All cleaned up, I sat him at the kitchen table and went to work on the bathroom. I pulled out the hair stopper and cleaned every crevice with a cotton swab and bleach before pouring most of the bottle over the shower pan and down the drain. I’m no master criminal, but I do watch a lot of CSI.

Back in the living room, I lit a candle and placed it in front of Mike. I ordered him to stare into the flames as I counted back from ten and then clapped three times. He looked as startled as a little bird, but the light in his eyes was already starting to shine as the dark, bloody night faded from his memory. Mike thought the hypnosis book I’d bought to help him quit smoking had been a waste of money. Well, I think I showed him.