A Man Named Dave

rescued.
    “If this means anything,” I choked up, “I’m sorry … about everything. That’s no way to live. Maybe, maybe as a kid I drove her crazy. But,” I added with remorse, “she wasn’t always like this.” I smiled at distant memories, before Russell was born. Mommy had been the adoring parent who cherished her children, taking them on springtime picnics in the park, week-long camping adventures under the stars, glorious trips to the Russian River. Mommy had embellished her home with lights, candles, and ornaments during the Christmas season. “There were good times,” I confessed. “And for me, sometimes that’s enough to pull me through.”
    “I could never understand what you could have done that was so bad,” Russell said. “All I could remember, since I was a kid, was … you were always in trouble. As if that was why she had to beat you,” Russell softly stated. “And that one summer … I remember when she … she threw the knife at you, right in front of me …”
    I flashed back to a memory of Russell as a small child, clamped onto Mother’s leg, gently rocking as she swayed drunkenly. Mother had snatched up a knife, screaming that she would kill me if I did not finish washing the dinner dishes within the specified time. At the time, I knew she didn’t mean it. Afterward, as I regained consciousness in the bathroom, while blood poured from my chest, Mother announced to my dismay that she could never take me to hospital for fear of exposing the secret. Yet I knew what she meant. “It was an accident,” I boomed, startling the group of men around the bar.
    Russell shook his head. “No way. It didn’t look like an accident to me.”
    How could I tell him that I truly believed Mother never intended to stab me? I assumed, from Mother’s point of view, it was just another twisted game she had played to strengthen her position over me. Mother was a control freak who tried to dominate me through threatening and forbidding tactics. Mother would threaten me any way she could, but because of the bizarre nature of her ongoing progressive “games”, she had to constantly up the ante, at times to the point that she drove me to the brink of death. I went from being no longer a member of “the family” to The Boy to a child called It. As an adult, I believed Mother used those labels not just to demean me, but to somehow justify her treatment, to protect her psyche from some type of traumatic meltdown, from the fact that she was a mother who was brutalizing her own son.
    Russell nervously rubbed his hands. “I asked her,” he said, “about when you were in her bedroom … she was beating you bad. I peeked through the door and … when she marched out, I remember her wiping her hands … like she just finished washing the dishes. I asked Mom why she beat you up, and without blinking she says, ‘Mommy loves It and wants It to be good.’”
    I nearly lost my breath as I visualized the scene.
    “With Dad gone,” Russell continued, “she’s worse. If Mom’s not on my case, then she’s on the phone with Ron and Linda, or Grandma … it never stops.”
    Changing the subject, I interrupted. “Can you get word to Stan and tell him I said hello? As kids, before you were born, before things were bad, we used to be tight. Ron and Stan saved my butt a few times.”
    Russell merely nodded. “Okay, it’s just … Stan thinks he knows it all and that he’s the man of the house; you can’t tell him anything.”
    “Well,” I said, “tell him I said hi. And can you get word to Ron?”
    Russell hesitated. “I can give you his number.”
    “I’d rather you give him a call first. I know it sounds stupid, but I’m kinda embarrassed. I don’t know, I mean, I haven’t seen or talked to him in years … with him being married and all… being he’s in the army. I don’t want to do anything that might mess with his head.” My heavy breathing made me stop for a moment to collect myself. “Man, what a family. What a waste. At least we made it out alive.”
    “So,” Russell said, smiling, “the big question: You gonna see Mom?”
    Swallowing hard, I muttered, “I dunno. In some odd sense, I want to. I know it sounds kinda weird, but … I dunno.” I paused. “I can’t explain it.”
    “Man,” Russell howled, “you see Mom and Grandma’s gonna have a cow!”
    “Trust me,” I laughed. “She’s having a litter of kittens as we speak. Gram gave me so much static over seeing you. It’s like … if something’s not her idea, you shouldn’t do it. I mean, I feel for Grandma and I