Page 14 of Crybaby

And that’s why I put that motherfucker to his knees.

Us boys, we learned to survive in the shadows, and it’s here where The Reverend’s “favorites” emerged, inflicting their own revenge on the monster who stole their innocence.

From that day forward, the boys looked at me as their savior and officially crowned me their Reverend. The name stuck, and they called me Rev.

I knew how to survive. And I knew I couldn’t rely on anyone but myself. I soon learned stealing from the rich is a great way to live, and it’s what I’ve been doing ever since.

Most of them had no clue of the wealth they sat on. They bought their designer pieces because it was something to brag about over mimosas on Sunday brunch. And I exploited their ignorance for my gain.

I stole anything of wealth which helped me survive on my own. I sold it. Traded it. Used it for bribes. I could have bribed the guards at the state hospital they had my mom at. But I was able to easily sneak into there to see her in the dead of night.

She was a medicated zombie—drooling, tied to a bed, and staring vacantly into the darkness. I always wondered what she saw.

No one was looking for me. I was just another delinquent kid who fell through the cracks of the system, and that is why when I knew the boys were safe, I blew off Saint Paul’s and went back home—myhome—and made sure it was ready for when my mom came back.

I visited her every fucking night. I talked to her. I begged her to snap the fuck out of it and come home. At first, she didn’t look at me; she looked through me. I thought she was lost to me. I brought photos of us, hoping to spark some sort of memory or recognition in her.

It didn’t.

I then brought her favorite things—jewelry, perfumes, anything that made her June.

Nothing worked.

But I should have known the only thing which could drag her back from the depths of hell was the devil himself—the fucker who held her captive in the abyss from the very beginning.

My father.

My mother used to watch all the old movies—over and over—Marilyn Monroe,James Dean, and Marlon Brando. These were some of her favorites. And I have fond memories of watching these movies with her as it was the only time she appeared happy.

I thought that was because she was a movie enthusiast, but the truth was, my father loved these movies. He even took her to see one at the cinemas—just one, of course, because the bastard was too busy doing anything but the right thing.

So I knew the only way to get my mom back was to remind her what she was missing by being locked away. It wasn’t being a mom to her eleven-year-old kid or even facing her demons for herself.

The only thing which gave her strength to go on was my father—the asshole who abandoned us. She persevered forhim, in hopes that one day, he would come back to her. But if it meant she returned to me, I didn’t care.

I downloaded the movies she loved onto a laptop I stole and watched them with her night after night. And piece by piece, she came back to me. Through the memories of my father, June returned.

And no matter how much I hate that fucker, I have a bittersweet relationship with those movies.

But I won’t end up like June. I will fight with my last dying breath to better my life and hers.

“I’m tired.”

Lifting her frail frame into my arms, I walk her into the bedroom and gently place her on the bed. She is wet from the shower, but she doesn’t seem to mind as I pull the blankets over her.

She’s asleep in minutes.

There is a knock on the front door, so I leave my mom sleeping peacefully and answer the door quietly.

It’s Nonna.

Her name is Julia, but she insists everyone calls her Nonna.

I think it’s because she wishes she was one, but she doesn’t have any family of her own. It’s just her and her ten cats.

I run my fingers through my wet hair, not explaining why I’m soaked. “Hey, Nonna. What’s up?”

Her short gray hair is dyed violet. “I just wanted to check on your mom,” she says, peering over my shoulder into the house. “I came by earlier, but she didn’t answer.”

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