The Long Way Home

by Phillip Overton

  ****

  Simon walked up the front porch steps to where his mother was waiting by the front door. His father had just dropped him back home. Although he’d had the Ford Falcon sedan for nearly three years it still looked brand new. Simon couldn’t remember ever seeing it dirty, it always gleamed like a showroom model when he drove it up the driveway to pick him up on Saturdays, and purred smoothly like a kitten when he reversed it back down the driveway each Sunday, like now. Simon stood and waved as his Dad reversed into the street before giving a short honk of the horn as he drove away, disappearing out of sight over the crest of the hill.

  He caught a quick glimpse of his mothers beat up, rusting Gemini sitting parked under the carport as he turned toward the front door, he couldn’t ever remember seeing his Mum wash it. It sat filthy under the carport, black soot coated the dulled chrome rear bumper above the exhaust pipe from the car’s diesel engine which ran rougher than an old truck. Perhaps if he offered to wash it this afternoon it would make his Mum happy, maybe then it would look as good as his Dad's car.

  “Hi Mum.” He kissed her cheek as he she bent down to hug him.

  “Hi Simon, did you have a good weekend with your father?” She asked politely.

  “Yeah, sort of.” He answered with guarded breath. He had learnt that if he came home too excitedly from a weekend with his father that it would only put his mother in a foul mood for the rest of the day. Come home too quiet and she would get upset that he found her boring and didn’t like living with his own mother. “We didn’t do much after we went to the beach yesterday.”

  “Oh well,” she said, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “At least you’ve got the afternoon to do whatever you want to. Why don’t you go and see what your friend Brian is doing after lunch?”

  “Maybe,” Simon thought for a moment. “Or maybe I could wash the car for you. I’ve never done it before, so maybe you could show me how.”

  “Ah, that’s nice sweetie.” She replied warmly, surprised by his nice gesture. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about that old bucket of bolts.”

  “But maybe then it would look all shiny like Dad’s car.”

  The warmth disappeared from her face. It was like someone had thrown a switch and the horrible side of his mother rose to the surface.

  “What for!” She snapped. “Isn’t our car good enough for you? So what if your father has a better car than us, what difference is that supposed to make? I’m the one that’s busy raising you Simon, I pay to feed you, I pay for your clothes and I clean up after you all the time, not him! So don’t even think for a minute when you’re driving to the beach in his stupid new car with some young thing that he’s just jumped into bed with that he gives another thought about raising you!”

  “I’m sorry Mum, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought….”

  “Well don’t think Simon! That’s my job to think for you so you don’t turn out like that loser father of yours who only wants to know you on weekends.” She scolded him. “Now go to your room and leave your bag on the lounge chair so I can take your dirty clothes out and do a load of washing this afternoon.”

  “But Mum….”

  “No buts, I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

  Simon sulked off to his room, closed the door and sat on his bed. It was no use, whatever he said anymore to his Mum was simply the wrong thing to say. He’d let her blow off steam for a minute or two, eat his lunch quietly and then ride his bike to Brian’s house and see what he was doing this afternoon. By tonight it would all be forgotten.

  Before he had a chance to lie back on his bed the door swung open, slamming into the wall. His mother was standing in the doorway furious, he could almost see the steam hissing from out of her ears. In her hand she clutched something he recognised straight away. It was his Bible.

  “What on earth is this doing in your bag?” She yelled at him, holding it out in front of her so he could see it clearly.

  “Mum I can explain I promise, it’s not meant to get you upset.”

  “I don’t care! You lied to me Simon, I asked you if your Dad was taking you to Church and you lied to me!”

  “Listen Mum, it’s not Dad’s fault….”

  “Now you’re sticking up for him? Great Simon, I told you, I don’t want any of that religion nonsense in my house, not from you, not from your Aunty Gail and not from that stupid father of yours.” She screamed at him. “And all this time you’ve been lying to me and going behind my back.”

  She pulled her arm back and let fly with the Bible. Before Simon had a chance to duck it sailed across the room without warning and struck him between the eyes. It hit hard! Opening up a small gash above his eyebrow before bouncing of his head and falling through the gap between the bed and the wall it was pressed up against.

  Simon raised his hands to his face just as his mother arrived in a flurry of wildly swinging arms. She let loose with a series of slaps to the side of his head. The anger continued welling up inside of her, just the thought of Doug doing something like this on purpose to get back at her was too much to contain. Finally all the ill thoughts of her overly judgemental sister and her disapproving, self-righteous parents that she had bottled up inside for years spilled over. She clenched her small fists and began belting into her son, pummeling his tiny face until his eyes and lips were swollen from the pain.

  “There’s no such thing as God!” She screamed at him as she hit him repeatedly in the stomach and arm. Simon yelped in pain beneath the weight of her, blood trickled into his eye causing bloody tears to trickle down his cheek.

  Finally she relented and stood to her feet. Her son lay face down, curled up in the foetal position and crying uncontrollably into his pillow so that she didn’t see his swollen, bloodied face. She leant over the bed and reached down the gap between the side of the bed and the wall, searching for the now ruffled Bible that lay on the floor.

  “If I ever find another one of these in this house,” she threatened menacingly as she poked at her whimpering son with it, “I’ll give you another belting, do you understand? I’ll be letting your father know how mad I am too. In the meanwhile this is going where it belongs, in the garbage.”

  She finally left the room, leaving Simon to cry himself to sleep.