Treading water full of worry
This frantic tick tick talk of hurry...
“How many times do I have to tell you? Turn that shit down, son. For God’s sake, it way too fucking loud for this time of the morning.”
I looked at my step-father. As usual, the veins in his forehead are bulging, his face a deep scarlet and he is shaking. He doesn’t seem to appreciate me or my taste in music, which is just fine with me.
Fred came into our lives several years ago, marrying my mother after my father died. He had married mum based on her looks and bank balance. She married him, apparently, for sex. I have heard them numerous times as my bedroom backs onto theirs, the bed head banging against the wall behind me.
Mum is beautiful; Fred is a deadshit. I don’t understand her attraction to him but I certainly understand his attraction to her. If she wasn’t my mother...
“...and what is that smell?”
Dragged back to the present, I looked at Fred innocently. “Sorry? What was that?”
“What is that odor...that fucking stench? What is it?”
I was watching Fred closely, waiting for the right time. I knew he had a bad ticker. He knew that I knew he had a bad ticker. I also think he knew I purposely tried to set him off so he would just leave me alone. I accidentally increased the volume on the stereo.
His eyes started to glaze over and I could sense that this may very well be the day. He reached out his hand for the door frame, lurching from side to side. He missed the door and collapsed onto the floor; his head hitting the brass bed end on the way down. I considered calling out to Mum but thought better of it. Just make sure the bastard is dead first.
I think Freud was right.