The Coil

by Gilbert, L. A.

  He felt something inside shrivel up. God, he’d actually thought there was a chance of making things right. But not now, not with her still feeling he was doing something utterly immoral and disgust—

  “Simon,” she said sharply, interrupting his chain of thought. He swallowed hard and couldn’t bring himself to move when she pulled her chair around the table. “Don’t do that. You did that as a boy—you went off somewhere in your head when you were unhappy. You can’t do that right now. I need you to listen to me.”

  “Go on,” he whispered, feeling resigned.

  She took a steady breath and let it out slowly. “Back when you were just a boy? When you told me? All I could think about were all the things that would be taken away from you. No marriage, no children. All I could see was how hard you would have to fight. All I could see was the way people were going to look at you, speak to you—”

  “Like how you looked at me?”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes.” She grasped his hand and wouldn’t let go when he tried to pull away. “I know how hypocritical that sounds now.”

  “Don’t pretend that you were just worried about me. You were genuinely disgusted by the idea of homosexuality.” He wanted the truth if they were really going this far.

  “I—I didn’t like it. I couldn’t picture you with a man. Two men together just….” She shook her head. “It was just odd. It was embarrassing.”

  “God,” Simon hissed, yanking his hand away.

  “No, Simon, Simon!” She gripped his arm and tugged until he reluctantly sat back down. “I was being shortsighted. If—if I’d have known what my reaction would entail, please believe me when I say I would have done things differently.”

  “You can’t just change your mind.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  He could feel a bitter twist to his mouth forming. “And you never even tried to become a part of my life again until Jamie. I stopped existing for you.”

  “Now that is not true,” she said firmly, and for a moment she sounded like his mother again, scolding him for talking back at her. “You cut me off just as much as I did you.”

  He yanked himself out of her grip and stood, needing the distance. “Oh, please.”

  “You hear people go on about tolerance, understanding, and patience. Where was your understanding and patience, Simon?”

  He was afraid his mouth was gaping. “You have to be joking. You’re my mother. You’re supposed—”

  “Yes, I know that! I know I failed, Simon. I was a bad mother, and I pushed you into college and away from me. But what about afterward? I tried, Simon, I tried to talk to you, but you’d become so cold to me.”

  “Can you blame me?” he scoffed.

  “Not one damn bit! But you say ‘how could I’? Well, I’m your mother. Why was it so easy for you to cut me out? Because I’ll tell you this, the way I treated you?” She slashed her hand through the air. “The biggest regret of my life. But I’m willing to back down, to grovel if need be, because I would give anything to be back in your life. But you? You wouldn’t hear it back then, before I so stupidly….” She screwed her eyes closed tight for a moment. “Before I so stupidly tried to take that boy away from you. You had cut me off. And maybe I deserved that, but the difference between us is that I couldn’t keep up with it. I can’t live without my son in my life!”

  She was shaking now, both with fury and fear. “Where was your understanding, Simon? No matter how underserved. I tried to apologize, but back then? You didn’t even give me a chance to understand you being gay.”

  “Y-you hurt me too deep.”

  “And I am so, so sorry. My God, I am. But am I wrong in thinking that as much as you deserved my patience and understanding, that I deserved the same in return? Please, can you grasp that?”

  Simon raked his hands through his hair. He couldn’t deny that she had a point.

  “I just needed time, time to understand and wrap my head around the whole thing,” she said.

  “To ‘understand’? You just said you still don’t like that I’m gay!”

  “Simon,” she spoke tiredly. “I’m an old woman set in her ways—”

  “Don’t give me that. I hate that. As if anyone over the age of fifty gets a free pass when it comes to being a bigot.”

  “I am trying to be completely honest with you. Seeing two men—or two women together, for that matter—it makes me uncomfortable. It looks strange to me.”

  “So why are we even talking, if nothing’s changed?”

  She stood and strode over to where he leaned against the counter. “Because now I can see that my feelings on the matter will make no difference. I know that’s it simply something you are, and that just because I don’t like it, does not make it wrong.”

  He felt like an open target; he felt exposed. “But you still don’t like me, Mom.” He swallowed at how feeble and vulnerable he sounded, and closed his eyes when he felt her small hand touch his cheek.

  “You’re dead wrong about that. I love you. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  He did as he was told.

  “I love you up to the sky and back. And however I might feel about your homosexuality? That’s my problem to get over. There is nothing wrong with you, and I have been a terrible mother to you.”

  “Mom,” he whispered, fighting the urge to lean into the hand against his cheek.

  “We had such a great little family, you, Carol-Ann, and me. And I ruined it, didn’t I?”

  He tried to turn his head away, but she pulled him back to face her. “Answer me. Tell me everything you’ve ever wanted to say to me.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “You split us all up. I felt like an orphan.”

  She closed her eyes, but she didn’t move away, she didn’t take her hand away from his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “I am so, so sorry, Simon.”

  He bit his lip. “Can I say something else?”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll hurt Jamie.” He hurried to explain when she lowered her hand, a deep frown marring her brow. “What you saw today was nothing. I’m worried that once you see him on a really bad day when he’s been unsettled by something—when he’s screaming and rolling on the floor and trying to slap himself—I’m worried you’ll be disgusted with him for being different, like you were with me.”

  “Oh no,” she whispered, her breath hitching. She shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe I did this to you.”

  “You abandoned me.” Alarmed by the hot streak against his cheek, he quickly wiped at it with the heel of his hand.

  “You only thought I had. I promise you I was always thinking about you. Always.”

  “What if you’re just saying all this to get to Jamie?” He didn’t care if he sounded exposed or childish; they were way past keeping up appearances now.

  “Simon, if I have to keep away from Jamie to prove to you that I am sorry and that I want you back more than I can possibly say, then I will. I will never try to be a part of his life again, if it means I can be a part of yours.”

  “Don’t play with me. If this is some trick, then—”

  She pulled him into her arms, holding him tight and rocking him in a way that, although he hadn’t felt it in years, was immediately familiar to him. “Oh, Simon,” she cried. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  Unable to do anything but, he completed the hug. He felt no shame as warm tears trickled down his cheeks when she brushed his hair away from his face, as if to get a good look at him after being denied the sight of him for so long.

  “I, well….” He cleared his throat. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” she asked quietly.

  “Okay. We can talk about Jamie now.”

  THEY wasted no time at all. This guy who hadn’t even gone so far as to offer a name had merely sat himself on the sofa, beer in hand, and sneered at him while unzipping his pants. Now Mattie was on his knees, his eyes closed, and his mouth full as a complete stranger used hi
m.

  He honest to God felt like crying. The grip in his hair was too tight, the slap against his chin with every thrust, along with the loud grunt above him, drowned out any sound from the TV. He didn’t want to do this anymore. In fact, at that exact moment, he didn’t want to live anymore.

  “Fuck,” the deep voice above him growled before moving to perch on the edge of the sofa to gain more leverage as his thrusts passed unkind and became brutal.

  The tight grip on his hair was bringing tears to his eyes, and he could feel himself beginning to gag. He gripped at the guy’s thighs hard to try and silently convey this and received nothing but a hard yank at his hair in response.

  “Don’t you dare fucking stop—ah! Shit, yeah!”

  Please just come. Just finish and get off of me. He couldn’t take much more. A particularly hard piston into his mouth made him cry out—as much as he could—around the solid flesh down his throat. And just like that, he was past the point of trying to get on with it. There was no keeping up a natural façade now. He was struggling and pounding against the guy’s thighs with his fists.

  “You. Fucking. Bitch!” The john ground out between thrusts, and then finally, he was coming. He grunted and lost his rhythm as his hips stuttered and flexed unevenly against Mattie’s jaw.

  He tried to pull away from where his face was pressed against the guy’s hip and could feel the grip in his hair relaxing, when he gasped in shock as a liquid—beer, judging by the smell—trickled down over his head. There couldn’t have been much left in the bottle, but it was in his eyes, blinding him when he already felt suffocated. The john laughed.

  “Fucking slut. That’s what you are, hey?” he panted, tucking himself back in. “Little whore. You like being a come-dumpster, you little bitch? Like sucking dick for cash? You subhuman piece of shit.”

  Before he could even respond with a well-deserved “fuck you,” the air whooshed straight out of his lungs when a booted foot wedged itself into his stomach with shocking force. He’d never felt anything like it, the deep, cramp-like pain that stole his breath and vibrated through his entire body.

  “You’re not getting a fucking dime out of me. Not for that piss-poor blowjob. You’re disgusting, hear me? Fucking disgusting.”

  Mattie’s head was being yanked up again by the hair, but he couldn’t even cry out or begin to stand. He gasped for breath and closed his eyes in shock when the guy’s face loomed close to his. The john spat in his face.

  “Get the fuck out of here.”

  He tried to stand to ease the searing sting in his scalp as he was more or less dragged to the front door. When the door slammed behind him, it took him a moment to realize that the grip in his hair was gone and he was out in the hallway of the apartment block. Still gasping for breath and wiping at his face, he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as he tried to rush.

  Making it to the first flight of stairs, his clumsy feet tripped over themselves. He reached desperately for the railing as he flailed and stumbled down the first few steps. It wasn’t until he’d reached the bottom of the second set of steps that his knees gave out and he crumpled, sliding down against the wall, his arm wrapped around his stomach as he gasped for breath between hiccups of fear.

  After taking a minute to collect himself, he carried on down the last flight of stairs and walked unsteadily toward the front entrance. He wiped at his face to make sure it was dry, and reached into his pocket for his phone.

  He didn’t care about having to explain to Simon where he was and what he was doing there. He just needed to speak to him, have him come get him and take him away. His hands noticeably shook as he scrolled down his contacts for Simon’s number. Hitting the green button and putting the phone to his ear, he pushed the entrance door open and walked slowly down the sidewalk.

  “Please pick up, Simon, please….”

  HIS phone vibrated on the counter, but after checking it wasn’t Sarah and seeing that it was Mattie, he decided to let it go to voice mail. It wasn’t every day that his mother was sitting in his kitchen, offering to mend fences and build bridges. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he poured two more lattes—the first untouched and now stone cold. Mattie was probably checking that he was okay. It felt good to have someone checking up on him. He’d make sure to call him back as soon as his mother left.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “No, I’ll call him back later.” He almost winced when he realized what he’d said. He glanced cautiously over at his mother, bracing for whatever her reaction may be.

  “So… is—is that the young man you were in a relationship with a few years ago?”

  There was some mild discomfort but no look of outright disgust. “Tim? No, we parted ways a while back.” He set a mug in front of his mother and sat opposite her, blowing over the rim of his own.

  “Oh?” she asked hesitantly.

  Simon couldn’t help but snort. “You’re seriously asking me about my love life?”

  His mother actually smiled, and it was a good, familiar smile he recognized from years ago before everything went so wrong. “No, I suppose it’s a bit soon for that.”

  He studied her a moment and then shrugged with a small sigh. “Tim didn’t want to be a father, and to be fair, it was sort of thrust upon him.”

  His mother nodded slowly. “So, you wanted different things?”

  He nodded in response. “Pretty much. I was set on being a family man. I swear.” He smiled. “Not even a month old and Jamie owned me, heart and soul. There just wasn’t room or time for the kind of life Tim and I shared beforehand.”

  “So you chose Jamie over your, um….”

  He nodded, almost enjoying her discomfort. “Boyfriend. And no, choice had nothing to do with it. If he didn’t want to be a part of Jamie’s life, then there’s no being a part of mine. They go hand in hand. He’s my son.”

  He was surprised to see his mother actually tear up, and when he asked what was wrong, she waved him away and covered her mouth. She reached for her mug again and let out a short breath, smiling still. “I love hearing you talk like that. You sound so proud of him.”

  “I am proud of him, Mother.”

  “Please go back to calling me Mom. I miss that.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Am I allowed to ask if there’s someone new in your life, or is that…?” She trailed off with a nervous hand gesture.

  “Well, that depends on whether you really want to know, and how you’re going to react. I’m telling you now; I’m not going to stand for—”

  “Simon,” she interrupted with a rueful smile. “You can answer yes or no. In all honestly, I’m not ready for details.” Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s not to say that you can’t talk about—about any, um, significant other you might have, if you want to. I told you I’m determined to be the mother you deserve. I’m going to get over any—”

  “Oh good God, stop waffling.” He laughed, and felt a flush of genuine warmth when she waved him away with a laugh and reached for her mug again. It almost felt like everything could be right with them once more, and he knew that if his sister were able to see them now, she’d be smiling from ear to ear. Still, a small part of him held back. It felt good to be talking to his mother—to have that feeling of a mother looking at you with some sort of ownership in their eyes. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d missed her, and wasn’t quite ready to have Mattie enter the delicate mixture. Whether he was protecting his relationship with Mattie, or himself, he didn’t want to examine too closely. Time for a change of subject.

  “So… Jamie.” He’d brought the large scrapbook of photos and drawings by Jamie he kept in his office, and they’d spent a good half hour warming up to the subject of them meeting while they played catch-up with Jamie’s every mannerism and achievement. “You want to be a part of his life,” he stated flatly. He watched her put down her mug and swallow hard.

  “If you’re willing, but I want you to understand th
at I recognize that you are his father, and I will abide by any rules you want to put in place concerning him.”

  Something in his chest slowly loosened its grip, and he was able to breathe a little easier. As much of a breakthrough that evening had been so far, he couldn’t trust her completely, not yet and not by a long shot. But he knew now that he at least wanted to.

  “I think, perhaps to begin with at least… a telephone call?” He felt guilty when her face fell in clear disappointment, but she was quick to agree, nodding away.

  “Absolutely. Get him used to my voice first, right?”

  “Uh, yeah, actually.” He frowned.

  “I understand, Simon. I know I frightened him terribly when I tried to hug him. To be honest, I can’t believe I showed such a lapse in judgment. For all the research in infant autism I read, you’d think—”

  “Wait a second. You—you read about that sort of thing?”

  She suddenly looked nervous. “Well, there was a time when I was adamant on—on taking him from you, wasn’t there?”

  The look on her face could be described as nothing other than shame. She wasn’t to know, however, that he appreciated hearing the truth. It went a long way to building a little trust between them.

  “And then, of course, I just hoped to be a part of his life, so… yes, I read quite a bit about the subject. Though I can’t imagine it compares much to actually raising a child with autism. So… we go at your speed here. Whatever you think is right.”

  A snide part of him wanted to point out that she’d probably say anything to get him to trust her again, but he could only read sincerity in her expression, and there had been a time when he’d trusted her implicitly. He dared hope to feel that way again.

  He nodded. “Maybe a phone call a few times a week. He likes using the phone. It makes him feel grown up.”

  She was beaming. “I can’t wait, I really can’t. Thank you.”