Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Pretty Little Parade
Mama
It’s more than ten minutes before my mom finally comes up to my room. She takes one look at me and starts to cry, as expected. She’s trying to see my eyes – the one part of me that she actually remembers, but I’m doing everything possible not to have to look into hers. I open my arms as an invitation for a hug, but I have NO idea if she’ll except it. Turns out, she does. She falls into my arms and hugs me like she used to back when I was the son she loved. I don’t know how long we stay in this position, it’s definatly the longest we’ve been in any form of contact in abou three years. “I don’t want you to die,” She finally chokes into my neck. I squeeze her tighter and say the only thing I know to be true. “Mama we’re all gonna die. Infact, right now they’re building a coffine your size.”
She hits me for being to “gruesome,” something she claims I always am.
My mom and I were always close growing up, but we had some major differeances. She was alwas overly religious. And she assumed since I was her offspriong I had to be, too. But I had too many questions and not enough answers. None the less I had a relationship with God and that was enough for her. But then I left for collage, and started drinking a lot, having a lot of sex and taing a lot of drugs. Eventually it got too painful for me to lie to her about my entire life, specially when I lived so close to home and she loved to take me out to lunch and saw me high or hung over way too many times. I began to be open about my life, and she tried to accept it, but it soon became ‘too painful’ to watch me ‘ruin my life’ with such ‘sinful choices.’ I respected her beliefs and knew that if I had a kid waisting their life away on the crud I was doing, well, I’d say the same.
I can not blame her for leaving. I can’t blame anyone for leaving.
“You aint no son of mine!” She yelled at me, standing in my messy dorm room years ago. “For what you’ve done there gonna find a place for you” She shakes her head, staring at a pile of Xanax from a friend of mine who sells all I could ever want in the form of pills. I don’t know whst she was suggesting… jail? Rehap? Hell? Church? Who knows. She opened the door and sighed. “Just mind your manners when you go.” And left. I hadn’t seen her since then. Until now.
She stops crying and tuns on her mother instinct, fluffing my pillows, asking if I need anything and so on. “How do you feel today?”
“Good.” I lie to her. “How much did Wes tell you?”
“Everything.” She replies, which doesn’t help me out at all. How does SHE know what ‘everything’ is?
“Like what?” I try again.
“Like how you won’t do any more treatment or chemo.”
“It wasn’t working.” I reply.
“Maybe it wasn’t working because you didn’t want it to work.”
What she says may be true, but I wouldn’t admit it.
“I did want it to work.” I say. “Cancer isn’t curable.”
“You want to live?” She asks, staring into my eyes.
I look away.
She lets out a bit of a sniffle.
“What happened with Aria?” She asks. She must have just gotten the back story from Wes.
“Oh, mom.” I groan. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Tell me, Ezra.” She demands.
I haven’t even told my mom about the shooting. She didn’t need to know.
“Ezra your brother told me that something bad happened to you at collage. Something really bad. Were you involved in that shooting?”
I growl to myself. Of course the media had to make it into something that my mother would watch on the 11’oclock news before bed on a Saturday night. Sure, they can block out my face and not mention my name but, it was, after all my collage. I told my mom I had been away visiting my dads grave that day. Which wasn’t completely a lie, because I was, just, a few hours before.
“I told you, mom, I was –“
“I know what you told me but you’ve lied a lot to me over the course of your life, Ezra.”
“Mama,” I smile. “We’re all full of lies. You know that.”
“’Mama, we’re meant for the flies’…” She sighs, finishing my thought. I used to tell her that all the time in high school. She remembers.
“You were there, weren’t you?” She tries once more. I can’t stand seeing her so scared and sad, so I simply nod.
“Did you get shot?”
“Oh, mom…” I shake my head. “Stop asking me questions, I hate to see you cry.”
“I need to know.”
I lift up the sleeve to my t-shirt and let the bullet scar on my shoulder answer her questions. She runs her fingers over it. “My poor baby…”
“I’m okay, ma. It was just my arm.”
“It’s not okay if this is why you left Aria. Oh, Ezra.” She stands up now, pacing around the room. “Your brother told me all about her. She loved you so much.”
I shudder at that word. “Love.”
“That’s not all that happened, mom,” I say, getting angry now. “Much more happened. I had to leave her.”
“Like what?” She raises her voice, fed up with the past five years. So am I.
“I shot someone.”
The room gets surprisingly quiet considering the obnoxious washing machine that you can hear from the laundry room, or the cars zooming by the busy road, or the air conditioning, the TV in the living room playing or the haunted toilet running for no reason. The room is dead silent.
Even more dead than Quinten.
“Tell me what happened.” She says again, in a surprisingly calm voice for what I told her. “Mom, there’s some major shit that I’ve done with a gun. You would cry your eyes all along if I told you.”
“But I need to kn-“
“No, mom.” I yell. “I was going to hell before I shot him and I’m going to hell now. Mama, we ALL go to hell. Whether it’s here on earth or actual hell, we all end up there. You’re hell is right here right now dealing with me, and my hell is coming to me so just let it go! I AM dying, the cancer WILL kill me and I WILL go to hell and you WILL be able to finally move on with your life.”
She’s shocked. White as a ghost.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I was such a bad son.”
I rub my forhead. My head hurts so badly. I thought the hospice drugs were supposed to help with that?
“Damn it mom I’m so sorry. You should’ve had a baby girl, you know that? You shoulda raised a baby girl. Or at least I should’ve been a better son. I could’ve been a better son…”
She takes my hand, and sits back down on the bed. “You still have a chance, Ezra. You have a chance to be a good son right now and go back to the hospital and fight and live. Give your life back to God and get forgiven. And come home.” She looks so hopeful.
“I’ll never let you go, Ezra.”
“I…” I sigh. “I can’t, mom. I just can’t….”
She doesn’t look disappointed, but rather hurt. She gets up and leaves. I watch her walk out of the room and wonder if she’ll ever come back. Did I just see her for the last time?
No.
She returns a few moments later with two glasses of red wine. “I haven’t had one of these in like, ten years.” She hands me one. “But I need it.” She ruffles my hair. “You look like you need one too.”
Confused, I stare at the red wine. I haven’t had one in a very long time, either. And damn do I need it.
“Raise you glass high,” She says, toasting me. “For tomorrow you die.”
We toast and bring the cup to our lips, drinking it all in one sip.
“Now who’s being morbid?” I smile.
To my complete surprise, she smiles back.
It’s more than ten minutes before my mom finally comes up to my room. She takes one look at me and starts to cry, as expected. She’s trying to see my eyes – the one part of me that she actually remembers, but I’m doing everything possible not to have to look into hers. I open my arms as an invitation for a hug, but I have NO idea if she’ll except it. Turns out, she does. She falls into my arms and hugs me like she used to back when I was the son she loved. I don’t know how long we stay in this position, it’s definatly the longest we’ve been in any form of contact in abou three years. “I don’t want you to die,” She finally chokes into my neck. I squeeze her tighter and say the only thing I know to be true. “Mama we’re all gonna die. Infact, right now they’re building a coffine your size.”
She hits me for being to “gruesome,” something she claims I always am.
My mom and I were always close growing up, but we had some major differeances. She was alwas overly religious. And she assumed since I was her offspriong I had to be, too. But I had too many questions and not enough answers. None the less I had a relationship with God and that was enough for her. But then I left for collage, and started drinking a lot, having a lot of sex and taing a lot of drugs. Eventually it got too painful for me to lie to her about my entire life, specially when I lived so close to home and she loved to take me out to lunch and saw me high or hung over way too many times. I began to be open about my life, and she tried to accept it, but it soon became ‘too painful’ to watch me ‘ruin my life’ with such ‘sinful choices.’ I respected her beliefs and knew that if I had a kid waisting their life away on the crud I was doing, well, I’d say the same.
I can not blame her for leaving. I can’t blame anyone for leaving.
“You aint no son of mine!” She yelled at me, standing in my messy dorm room years ago. “For what you’ve done there gonna find a place for you” She shakes her head, staring at a pile of Xanax from a friend of mine who sells all I could ever want in the form of pills. I don’t know whst she was suggesting… jail? Rehap? Hell? Church? Who knows. She opened the door and sighed. “Just mind your manners when you go.” And left. I hadn’t seen her since then. Until now.
She stops crying and tuns on her mother instinct, fluffing my pillows, asking if I need anything and so on. “How do you feel today?”
“Good.” I lie to her. “How much did Wes tell you?”
“Everything.” She replies, which doesn’t help me out at all. How does SHE know what ‘everything’ is?
“Like what?” I try again.
“Like how you won’t do any more treatment or chemo.”
“It wasn’t working.” I reply.
“Maybe it wasn’t working because you didn’t want it to work.”
What she says may be true, but I wouldn’t admit it.
“I did want it to work.” I say. “Cancer isn’t curable.”
“You want to live?” She asks, staring into my eyes.
I look away.
She lets out a bit of a sniffle.
“What happened with Aria?” She asks. She must have just gotten the back story from Wes.
“Oh, mom.” I groan. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Tell me, Ezra.” She demands.
I haven’t even told my mom about the shooting. She didn’t need to know.
“Ezra your brother told me that something bad happened to you at collage. Something really bad. Were you involved in that shooting?”
I growl to myself. Of course the media had to make it into something that my mother would watch on the 11’oclock news before bed on a Saturday night. Sure, they can block out my face and not mention my name but, it was, after all my collage. I told my mom I had been away visiting my dads grave that day. Which wasn’t completely a lie, because I was, just, a few hours before.
“I told you, mom, I was –“
“I know what you told me but you’ve lied a lot to me over the course of your life, Ezra.”
“Mama,” I smile. “We’re all full of lies. You know that.”
“’Mama, we’re meant for the flies’…” She sighs, finishing my thought. I used to tell her that all the time in high school. She remembers.
“You were there, weren’t you?” She tries once more. I can’t stand seeing her so scared and sad, so I simply nod.
“Did you get shot?”
“Oh, mom…” I shake my head. “Stop asking me questions, I hate to see you cry.”
“I need to know.”
I lift up the sleeve to my t-shirt and let the bullet scar on my shoulder answer her questions. She runs her fingers over it. “My poor baby…”
“I’m okay, ma. It was just my arm.”
“It’s not okay if this is why you left Aria. Oh, Ezra.” She stands up now, pacing around the room. “Your brother told me all about her. She loved you so much.”
I shudder at that word. “Love.”
“That’s not all that happened, mom,” I say, getting angry now. “Much more happened. I had to leave her.”
“Like what?” She raises her voice, fed up with the past five years. So am I.
“I shot someone.”
The room gets surprisingly quiet considering the obnoxious washing machine that you can hear from the laundry room, or the cars zooming by the busy road, or the air conditioning, the TV in the living room playing or the haunted toilet running for no reason. The room is dead silent.
Even more dead than Quinten.
“Tell me what happened.” She says again, in a surprisingly calm voice for what I told her. “Mom, there’s some major shit that I’ve done with a gun. You would cry your eyes all along if I told you.”
“But I need to kn-“
“No, mom.” I yell. “I was going to hell before I shot him and I’m going to hell now. Mama, we ALL go to hell. Whether it’s here on earth or actual hell, we all end up there. You’re hell is right here right now dealing with me, and my hell is coming to me so just let it go! I AM dying, the cancer WILL kill me and I WILL go to hell and you WILL be able to finally move on with your life.”
She’s shocked. White as a ghost.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I was such a bad son.”
I rub my forhead. My head hurts so badly. I thought the hospice drugs were supposed to help with that?
“Damn it mom I’m so sorry. You should’ve had a baby girl, you know that? You shoulda raised a baby girl. Or at least I should’ve been a better son. I could’ve been a better son…”
She takes my hand, and sits back down on the bed. “You still have a chance, Ezra. You have a chance to be a good son right now and go back to the hospital and fight and live. Give your life back to God and get forgiven. And come home.” She looks so hopeful.
“I’ll never let you go, Ezra.”
“I…” I sigh. “I can’t, mom. I just can’t….”
She doesn’t look disappointed, but rather hurt. She gets up and leaves. I watch her walk out of the room and wonder if she’ll ever come back. Did I just see her for the last time?
No.
She returns a few moments later with two glasses of red wine. “I haven’t had one of these in like, ten years.” She hands me one. “But I need it.” She ruffles my hair. “You look like you need one too.”
Confused, I stare at the red wine. I haven’t had one in a very long time, either. And damn do I need it.
“Raise you glass high,” She says, toasting me. “For tomorrow you die.”
We toast and bring the cup to our lips, drinking it all in one sip.
“Now who’s being morbid?” I smile.
To my complete surprise, she smiles back.
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