He Took All but the Bones and Bottle

Rumors ate their way through a small town like cancer to a bone. They were dripping with curiosity and the enjoyment of troubles that were not one's own. It didn’t take long for her ears to pick up the whispers that followed at her back. As a child, Sybil had devoured those narratives, passing them from her mouth to another like a bird would feed its young. As a grown women, she found the taste of rumors sour.

Still, if they wished to mutter into the sides of their hands about the mess she had become, Sybil could do very little.

Dropping against the kitchen wall, she stood in the silence of the house. She let the quiet wash over her, breathing it in deeply. Even after all these months of being gone, the familiar space was left waiting for her – hardly familiar, with the missing furnishing and the partially packed boxes. Lifting one of the lids, she looked down at the gathered paperwork and bills, and decided better of herself then to sort through it now.

The front door rattled as someone knocked harshly against it. A second round of knocks followed before her brother’s voice came through muted. “Sybil? Sybil? Are you home? Sybil, I can see the light on, open up!”

Her back slide down the wall sluggishly. Drawing her knees to her chest, she buried her face into her knees and breathed deeply. Her throat grew drier with each stabilizing breath.

“Sybil? Please answer. You didn’t call me when you got out! I had to hear about it around town.”

He kept knocking. After some time, he finally accepted that she did not wish to see him, asking her to at least call him when she could. It was cruel – he’d been at her side, refusing to turn her away after what she’d done, and she was so easily turning her back to him now. But disappointing people was something she did well, so she didn’t know why he was so shocked she did it again.

Rising to her feet took a great deal of work, but she did so.

Lumbering down the hall, her gaze lingered on the darkened bedroom beside her own. It looked nothing as it had. The house had been hers, and after all that had happened, she’d kept it in the divorce. But when he’d left, he had taken nearly everything but the bones – the bones and the cancer she supposed. She wanted to step inside, to breathe in what might be left of his scent, but could not bring herself to cross the threshold.

Stepping into her bedroom, she frowned at the half decorated room. He’d taken so much, but as she crawled under the covers, she figured she should be grateful he left their marital bed.

.

Her return became well known around town. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she had been the main headlines for weeks after all, it made sense that yet another possible employer knew who she was already. Her parole officer cared little about her excuses, only the fact that it had been three weeks and she’d yet to get a job.

Her hands began to itch and a pain set behind her eyes. There was a parched air passing down her throat. She knew what would fix that dry spell, but that was a sin she could no longer abide.

“I’m proud of you.” She’d finally answered her brother’s texts.

He sat before her, a too familiar mirror of curled brown hair, down turned eyes and skin just slightly tanned. Despite the three year age gap he had over her, their mother had always said they could pass for twins. Sybil hated looking into a face so alike her own.

Emery placed his mug down, reaching to take her hand. “Really, I am. This can’t be easy.”

“Have you seen him?” She had wanted to handle this slower, but her son had inherited her eye shape, and looking at her brother sporting those same features hit her hard. “Tommy won’t answer my calls, won’t answer my texts. He won’t let me see him. He can’t do that. I need to see Paxton. I need my son back.”

“The court order-”

“I’m his mother, the court should understand that. I’ve served my time, gotten sober. Done all they asked, I should be able to see him.”

A sigh passed her brother’s lips. He looked at her with pity – she wanted to smack it from his face.

“I heard you haven’t gotten a job yet, and that you skipped your last AA meeting.”

She drew her hand out of his. Sybil took her mug, glaring down at the heavily sugared coffee. “I didn’t ask you to come over to lecture me like your our fucking mother.”

“Clearly.” Emery’s voice had the same edge that hers did. He leveled her with a heavy stare, and she could feel the patience he offered being tested. “There’s a right way to do this, and it means going to meetings and getting a job.”

“I’d love to do that,” Sybil replied, “but no one in this fucking town will hire me. I’ve applied everywhere but no one will hire. Parole office breathing down my neck, but I am trying.”

Emery continued to look at her with sympathy. “I might have something for that. There’s an opening at Anna’s Diner. The pay is shit, the hours aren’t great, but its a job. One with a schedule that allows you to go to AA – there’s even another waitress there who attends. Take it. Its a first step in seeing him again.”

Sybil was out of her chair, wrapping her arms tightly around her brother. She sighed into his shoulder. As that burning dryness grew within her throat, she swallowed it down hard. The mug of coffee was only making that parched sensation grow.

As she drew away from him, her gaze lingered on the bedroom just down the hall. She had closed the door days prior, but now the dark wood taunted her just as much as the empty bedroom had. The itch behind her eyes grew.

“Thank you,” Sybil spoke much more calmly then she had. “Really, thank you.”

“You’ll see him again. I know you will.”

As the hall behind him seemed to stretch, dragging the closed door further away from her, Sybil wanted nothing more than to believe him. But that bedroom was empty and her tongue had turned acidic.

.

As all good things came, all good things left.

The rumors still followed at her heels, and tables were full of people muttering about her as she served them their meals. The women she’d called her friends no longer looked in her eyes, yet they watched her from their cars and whispered about her at PTA meetings. She’d been back in the town for three months now, and yet her name still rested on their tongues like fresh saliva.

Sybil brushed their words from her mind. The chatter of people who meant nothing to her meant, well nothing. Especially compared to the image dancing through her mind.

She ripped the plastic bag open, grabbing the bottle wrapped tightly within. Sybil looked at the glistening red liquid, and felt her throat salivate. She could already taste it.

He let another woman touch her son. It had been just under two years now since she’d last seen her Paxton – since she’d last held her son – and when she finally gets to see his face, it was with another woman carting him around like he was her own.

Uncorking the bottle, Sybil didn’t even bother washing the lingering coffee from her mug before giving a heavy pour. She brought it to her lips, and only the slightest of hesitation kept herself at bay. That control faltered. The wine was sweet upon her tongue. Her throat pulsed as she drank, urging the liquid deeper within her body.

She refilled the mug. The bottle remained in her hand.

Tommy kept her son from her even still. Despite her being sober, having a job, going to the meetings, despite her doing everything they’d asked, he still fought to keep her son away from her. And she let him. She played his game, respected his ridiculous boundaries, all in the name of getting her son back – all in the name of saving her family. And there he was, was a new woman on his arms and letting that bitch around her son. ‘New woman’ she thought bitterly, as if she hadn’t been rightfully worried about the long time friend who always seemed too close to her husband.

Tommy had removed himself off social media, and as such removed her chance to see Paxton through the screen. But when she’d hear the people on the bus whispering behind her about the woman who’d taken her place, well it hadn’t taken Sybil long to find the woman’s page.

She had Paxton on her feed – Paxton and Tommy acting like the perfect little family.

Her family.

Her son.

Downing another drink, Sybil savored the liquor upon her tongue. She kept looking at the photos.

The sound of a door opening stopped her track around the kitchen. The hallway seemed to lengthen the longer Paxton was kept away from her. She looked at the slightly ajar door, knowing the empty space behind it. She hadn’t stepped in there yet; hadn’t been able to bear looking at the bones of the bedroom that had been left.

Her hand shook heavily with the weight of the wine. Looking at the heavenly liquid, Sybil found the taste souring upon her tongue. It took what strength remained in her body to throw the mug into the sink. Before her throat could grow parched once more, Sybil emptied the bottle down the sink. She watched, finding the memory of blood far too close to the dark red wine that spiraled down the sink.

The bedroom door closed tightly, she made sure it was fully latched this time. Her hand refused to leave the knob, a lingering lie in her mind telling her that if she just turned it, Paxton would be there. He’d be happy, he’d be unhurt, he’d been playing in his room like none of this had never happened. The metal of the knob rattled as her hand shook.

The room was empty. She knew that. It had been empty for some time now, and if she fucked this up, it would continue to be empty.

The second bottle of wine she’d bought sat on the kitchen table. She stared down the hall, finding the bottle taunting her – finding her moment of weakness laughing at her. She marched back to the kitchen, snatching the bottle off the table.

Sybil almost threw the bottle in the trash. Instead, she opened the fridge and place it beside the left-over takeout and out of date milk.

.

Supervised visit – it was ridiculous that a mother need be supervised around her child, but she could take the crumbs they offered.

Resting with her back against the bedroom door, Sybil let herself breath deeply. Time was a torturous thing when one took the moment to map it. She’d been out of prison for nine months now. She’d been locked behind bars for over a year and a half. She hadn’t seen her son since that night. The night when she’d…

This was a win for her. She needed to not think of that night, and focus on this one instead.

Sybil hadn’t touched a drop of liquor since that first bottle she’d bought. It had carved deep into her to dump that bottle of wine down the sink. As the shinning liquor had dribbled down the drain, she’d felt the back of her throat began to burn. Her tongue had been parched since that night.

The bottle of wine in the fridge had been a whispering friend. Each time she’d opened the door, she’d see that bottle awaiting her. It was like a well placed friend. It was like a curse. She needed it either way.

A celebratory drink would not hurt.

She’d been making progress, they were letting her see Paxton at the end of the week. Swirling the glass of wine in her grasp, she looked at the welcoming liquid that she had earned. Sybil savored the sweet feeling upon her tongue. She was well worn into this bottle.

Her head fell back against the door. There was still sticker residue. Paxton had loved dinosaurs, and the young boy had been delighted beyond belief when they’d plastered the door with the decals of his favorites. Tommy had taken them when he left, despite the fact that they would be trash when removed. She knows he did it to hurt her, but she couldn’t find it within her to care.

She would need to put new stickers on the door. Paxton would need a new bed. He’d need new toys, new clothes for when he stayed here. He would need a whole new bedroom to replace the dusty bones left behind. She needed to take measurements, get a list together. The thought of opening that door and looking into that bedroom brought the craving to her tongue.

Bringing the glass to her lips, Sybil found the drink to be gone. Grabbing the bottle from beside her, she poured herself another glass. This was a night to celebrate, she thought as she leaned against the door, what was one more glass before bed.

.

Paxton had been difficult that night. Tommy had needed to fly home to tend to his aging mother’s health, leaving her alone with their freshly turned six year old. He’d gotten quite a number of toys for his birthday – toys that were littering the house and making too much noise.

A migraine raced through her head as she looked at the phone before her. Tommy was meant to be dealing with his sick mother, so why was he on the social media page of a girl they’d gone to school with. He was smiling too brightly, standing far too close to this woman. Her blouse was rather low cut, her leggings far too tight, her prior post said she was single – and she was hugging her husband with a smile upon her face.

Tommy had hung up on her when she’d called. Had called her crazy, that she was always looking for a reason to cause a fight. She didn’t need to find a reason, he was always giving her one.

Pouring herself another glass of wine, Sybil swirled before downing it. She stopped tasting it awhile ago, she was only looking for the numbing quality that wine provided at this point. This was another thing Tommy caused a fight over – she was a grown woman, she could handle a few drinks after a long day. He thought nothing of his bottle of beers, why were her bottles of wine any different?

The oven timer dinged. Setting her glass down, Sybil crossed the kitchen. Her foot landed on a discarded toy, and with the liquor deluding her bloodstream, she quickly lost balance. Pain coursed through her leg as it twisted in her fall.

“Fuck!” Sybil continued to swear. She had told Paxton to put his toys away so many times that weekend. He wasn’t listening.

She didn’t remember much going forward that night. She remembered falling, and picking up the discarded toy. She remembered storming down the hall, fury boiling within her wine soaked blood with each step. She remembered throwing the door to Paxton’s room open and demanding he clean up his mess.

She didn’t remember hitting him; not the first hit, and not how ever many times it had taken for her to break his nose. She didn’t remember breaking his arm. She didn’t remember downing another bottle of wine afterwards, hoping to quench the dryness in her throat.

She didn’t remembered the knock on her door – the hospital, the questions, the social worker, the police, the neighbor who’d heard all the screaming and watched from their front porch as she was dragged away in cuffs.

She no longer remember Paxton’s room, when all of his stuff had been and a happy little boy had lived.

.

Paxton had been kept from her. The social worker said he hadn’t been ready, but she knew the reason. This was Tommy’s doing. He’d taken her son from her after just one mistake, and now he was doing everything he could to keep him from her.

It was cruel. She was his mother. She’d done all they’d asked, and someone seeing her buying a bottle of wine – three bottles of wine – had been all it took to give him the leverage. Word around town was he was planning on going back to court to remove her parental rights.

He had no right.

There was nothing but lingering dust and scattered trash in Paxton’s bedroom. The room smelled stale. Despite the sweet taste upon her tongue, Sybil tasted iron as she breathed in the air. Any hint of her son had been yanked from this room. The bright green painted walls and a discarded crayon drawing were the only sign that a young boy once lived here.

She took the drink quickly down her throat. There was little left in the glass. The pain behind her eyes continued to pulse and that familiar dryness was already setting in. Sybil turned, walking from the bedroom.

She slammed the door shut as she went. The house shook from the force but resettled rather quickly.

Grabbing the bottle, she poured herself another drink. As she brought the glass to her lips, Sybil looked down the hall. The door had creaked open, giving a full display of the dust covered floor. She stood with her spine chilled, throat burning, and her gaze lingering on that empty bedroom.