party in the back anthology

Payton's mother

Lit up by the yellow glow of street lamps, a man in his early twenties stands alone with his shoulders pressed against the brick wall of the venue building. He raises his dark eyes to an aged poster plastered on the parallel brick of the alleyway. The words on the poster are unintelligible, with rips and grime covering up what would have been a clear image so many years ago.

He lifts the bottle of beer he'd been nursing for the past five minutes and tips the beverage to his lips, reminiscing his recently concluded performance as the liquid rushes down his throat.

The venue was packed to the brim for his band. He saw dozens in the crowd sporting their mediocre merch that was being sold by the front doors, and he heard lyrics actually being shouted back by voices across the floor. It had been the loudest and most active crowd by far, and the numbers had been growing by each show.

Maybe their manager was right about them doing a national tour soon.

He blinks at the torn poster again as he lets the bottle hover by his chest. A gust of light wind whisks his fluffy hair against his damp forehead while a presence appears at the entrance of the alley.

He looks at the woman, hesitantly approaching from the sidewalk. She stares at him with fearful amber eyes, face framed by the unnatural blonde waves dangling by her cheeks, the rest of her bleached hair tied up loosely on the top of her head.

"Payton," she whispers.

His head hurts. "Mom?" he asks weakly.

Mom doesn't say anything. She stands there; he stands there. His head hurts more.

"You were amazing." Anxiety cripples her voice. "And Freddie, god I haven't seen him in a long time."

He looks away to the aged poster. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. And—" she chokes up, but Payton has no compassion for her anymore, even with her interrupting tears.

"Don't just come here and cry, Mom." His words come from his constricting lungs. "Why did you come here?" he demands.

She sniffles, wiping at the corner of her eyes which smears her already dripping mascara. "I— wanted to see if things were different. I'm so sorry, Payton."

She goes crying again, and he takes another swig of his beer. She obviously didn't listen to the lyrics he sang onstage twenty minutes ago. Things aren't different. The same woman crying now is the same narcissist who never cried when he was hit, when he was cursed at, when he was thrown out time and time again. This is the woman who only cried when he declared he was leaving for good. The tears now mean nothing to Payton.

He listens to her weeping as he gazes ahead. He lingers for a while, taking his time to confirm his thoughts that he isn't giving in to her sobs. Finally, he decides he doesn't want to hear her anymore.

"I have to go," he tells her as he pushes his shoulders off the brick wall. He climbs up the steps to the backdoor of the venue and glances at her once more. She's wiping her honey make-up some more as she tries to meet his gaze.

He pushes the door open. "Thanks for coming to the show." And walks back inside.