The balloon bounced on the ceiling of dim lit bedroom, the lights of the nearby nightlights twinkle off of the balloon’s sightly reflective multi-colored foil. The number 13 is slightly crumpled and faded due to the loss of the helium in the balloon. The rain that tapped violently on the bedroom window seemed never ending, as it has been coming down for days now, with seemly no rest. Alone under the silk bedroom sheets is a tiny boy, fragile like a newborn chick. He sits here crying to himself, this is the third year that his birthday has been spent alone. No party, no friends, and no gifts, only the single balloon his mother gave him, but she forgot and gave it to him a day late.

The door of the boy’s room slowly opens and with it came a horribly terrifying creaking sound. The boy slightly peaked his tiny head from over the sheets, hoping that it was just his imagination, but it wasn’t. He is petrified and unable to move, he hears the sound of the wooden floor creaking, creeping closer every breath he takes. Suddenly, there was something on his legs. The boy squealed like a pig in absolute terror. The boy’s slightly intoxicated mother barges in the door and slurs her words in an aggressive tone,

“Brandon, what the HELL is going on in here?”

She then watched and the boy finally open his eyes after his squealing fit, and he notices the thing on his legs was just his tabby cat named Ike. The boy now flushed in a tomato tint in embarrassment, sighs with sweet relief, but his mother still stands in the doorway red as well, only her cherry-like exterior was not caused by embarrassment, but boiling anger.     She use to never get this angry so quickly before, but ever since January 26, things have never been the same with her. With quiet cadence and a crack in his voice, Brandon mutters to his mother the phrase he is caught saying so often, even though it never works,

“I-I’m sorry mom.”

Now he sits on the hill outside his house on 55th street. The rain has stopped finally, but he can still hear the dripping of the water off the trees onto the water-logged dirt around him. His rear is wet from the soaked ground under him, but at this moment he does not care, he feels nothing, blank. His mind keeps returning to his birthday from four years prior. His father and mother had taken him to the Chuck E. Cheese downtown, they shared so many laughs and enjoyable memories, only for these memories to be adulterated. They had just returned to the old beaten up red Ford pickup truck, and his father realized his wallet was not with him, so he ran back to the restaurant to retrieve it. Minutes passed and Brandon, growing impatient, wondered what was taking his father such a long time. Finally, his impatient ness, like a ticking time bomb, reached zero, and he asked his mother,

“Mom, what’s taking dad so long? Can I go find him?”

Not looking up from the file that was scrapping her freshly manicured nails, she muttered something under breath that he couldn’t hear, but this response was adequate enough, and he speedily ran out of the truck. He opens the restaurant doors only to discover a freighted teenage girl who just minutes before sang happy birthday and served him pizza, and his father being held at gunpoint, and the gun wielder screaming to his father,

“Tell her to open the damn register, and no one gets hurt!”

His father began to tussle with the gunman tackling him to the ground, but not before several loud bangs exploded in the air. The memories after this are a blur, the only thing he remembers after this is shivering in perfect terror, standing next to his mother, and peering through the police officers in front of him only to see two body bags being lifted away.

Although thinking of his father’s untimely creates gloom in his heart, but it also gives him a sense of comfort in difficult times. It was the last time he saw his father , and as long as he has this memory of his father, he will always be there with him.

He stood up, and dragged his feet home, and was dreading to see his mother. He slowly opened the door with hesitation so he didn’t anger his mom, but when he poked his head around the metal door frame he noticed she was sleeping on the couch. With a monotone voice he muttered under his breath,

“Passed out by 1:00pm on your only child’s birthday. Typical.”

As Jackson began to leave the room his mother, not actually sleeping, quickly retorted back to her son,

“I’m not asleep. Now get back here and tell me what the hell you just said.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, it’s not like you’d care anyways. You’ll just yell at me about how ungrateful I am, go to the refrigerator, get a beer, and be passed out in a couple hours.”

Brandon slammed his door with such force that the old family photo of Jackson and his mother that hung outside his door on the wall shook and fell off the weak, and rusted nail that it just barely balanced on. Brandon’s mother walked over, shuffling her feet along the old shag carpet that was never replaced when they moved in nine years ago. She fell to her knees and slowly picked up the old family portrait and stared at it, she stared at it so intensely that it was almost as if a homeless person picked up a crisp 100 dollar bill off the street. The only difference is that her feeling, was a feeling of that person losing that crisp bill that would’ve set their life on a path, and possibly for the better. The picture was broken, and so was her heart. She then was startled by the cat rubbing its head against her scar-ridden thigh. Petting the cat she wondered in her mind what life would be like if her husband had not tried to be a hero. Again, she shuffled into her room as if she had prison shackles around her ankles, went to the closet and opened a box. The box was very dated, having water staining, rips in the side where the cat had used it as a scratching post, and it also had a note from Brandon attached to the side that read:

Pictures for mom when she misses dad. Happy Mother’s Day

                        Love, Jackson

She broke the seal of the box that Jackson had made with duct tape for the first time, she hesitated opening it momentarily, but she didn’t know why. Was she scared to see her husband that she loved for so many years? Or was it the fact that she went from loving him, to saying, she loved him, and now she can’t see his face and admit that to herself? Or was it because she had those thoughts, but never believed them because maybe there was some way all of this was just a bad dream that she would wake up from at any moment. By not opening that box maybe she kept herself from feeling the pain of his death, but in the process, locked away her love and affection for her son? She had been convincing herself for years that the love that she had given her son was genuine, but she also thought of how the only affection she has shown him lately was giving him that balloon for his birthday, even though she forgot that his birthday was the day before. Brandon didn’t tell his mom that she got it wrong, instead he took it and thanked his mom for being thoughtful.

She finally lifted the lid of the box, reached into the pile of pictures and began to sort through them. Seeing her husband made her cry, but not just a normal cry out of sadness, she cried as if a toddler had just dropped of its lollipop in the dirt, a feeling of loss, but also a feeling of want and desire of something she’ll never get back. Sobbing on the ground into the ground and every once and awhile having to spit some of the cat hair from the ground out of her mouth.

“I need to vacuum this carpet.” She mumbled through her loud sob.

After regaining some of her composure, she kept sorting until she came across one photo in particular that caught her attention, it was a family photo, dad included. Her eyes now swelling with tears. Immediately getting up from the ground, she ran to the hallway and replaced the photo as quickly as possible, fumbling the frame around in her clammy hands, almost dropping it a couple times. She finally hung it up on the wall, stared at it for a moment, and smiled. She felt like her husband was back. She then went to work around the house.

***

“Brandon, come here, quickly!” she squawked  from the hallway in a somewhat egar tone.

Opening his door slowly, Brandon slowly opened his door and began to walk towards his mother.

“STOP!” she screamed quickly, startling Brandon, “do you notice anything different?”

Brandon paused and looked around in complete confusion of the situation

“Uh, it’s 4pm and you’re not drunk?” he retorted completely unsarcastically.

His mom surprised at this response replied, “Well yes, I actually didn’t have time I was busy--, wait no that’s not the point. What’s different about the house?”

Finally taking the time to soak in the space around him he noticed that the house was sparkling clean. The carpet was vacuumed, the tables are clean, dishes are done. Brandon stood completely astonished, he kept walking around the house and noticed how many things were cleaned that hadn’t been cleaned in years, until one thing snagged his attention. Something looked different about the photos in the hallway, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He stared for awhile until his eyes began to fill with tears,

“You opened it.” his voice cracked just loud enough for his mother to hear

“Of course I did, I love you son. I’m so sorry about how I’ve been treating you. It’s not fair to you, and I’ve been taking out all of my anger and inner frustrations with you. You’ve always been cordial with me, and once you started to get fed up with me today I realized I was losing my boy. I know you were so close with dad, and there is no relationship that you could ever have that could match the bond that you and he had. I was never that close with you and I regret it. I’m your mother and I’ve failed to be one for you.” she fell to the floor and sobbed on the ground for a couple minutes while Brandon comforted her and whispered to her,

“It’s okay mom, I love you too. You are a good woman and you love me. I know that deep down in my heart, even when you don’t show it all the time.”

After getting a hold of herself she told Brandon something he has been wanting to hear for a long time,

“Honey, I’m going out tonight for an AA meeting. I figured that if I want to be the mom you deserve I need to get my own personal problems in order first.

Brandon smiled at his mom and expressed to her how proud he is of her. She is right, he’s been waiting for this moment for nearly three years. He wishes he would’ve heard this earlier, but nonetheless, he’s happy he got it anyways. They embraced for possibly the first time in years, and it’s never felt so good. In this moment he closed his eyes, and saw his dad. Smiling at him, his father mouths something to Brandon, but it’s obvious to Brandon what he is saying to him, and with a soft whisper to where his mother can’t even hear Brandon mumbled to himself,

“I love you too, dad”