Way Down I'll Go

A Mother's Touch

"M-Mom?"

Jo was laying on the floor, trying to stay conscious after the beating he'd just received from his dad, the belt marks clearly visible all over his 10-year-old body. Blood from a cut on his cheek had created a small puddle of crimson underneath his face. His breath was ragged and his mind fuzzy, so when he saw his mom walk through the door and crouch down next to him, he knew he must be hallucinating.

But then she spoke.

"I didn't think you'd remember me."

Remember?? He had her face memorized by heart. Though he had only seen her a handful of times and had never actually spoken to her, he dreamed about her rescuing him. Her long, dark hair would cascade over him as she hugged him tight and whispered how much she loved him. Then she would wipe the blood from his face, scoop him up and carry him away to her home where there was always enough to eat and no one ever hit him.

"Get your ass off the floor, boy. I don't have all day."

Okay, so that wasn't exactly what he'd imagined her saying.

"And don't call me mom." Her voice was smooth with a hint of an accent and more than a hint of wrath.

Jo struggled to rise, but found it difficult, collapsing several times before making it to his hands and knees. His mom let out a sigh before grabbing him by his hair and pulling him upright. He yelped in surprise and she slapped him across his face, reopening the cut on his cheek.

"Callate, cabrón! I don't need any of your lip."

Leaving him kneeling, she walked across the room, her stiletto heels clicking on the splintered floor. When she came back she was holding a squirming, whimpering bundle. She reached out a hand and pulled him to his feet by his hair. Jo only winced this time. He wouldn't screw up again. The floor swayed and he struggled to stay upright, shoving down the nausea and dizziness.

"Look at me."

He looked. Her eyes didn't hold the same warmth he'd dreamt about. Instead, they looked more like his dad's eyes. Filled with disgust.

She shoved the bundle into his arms, causing the contents to break into shrieking cries.

"Look, you've already managed to fuck up." She gripped his face in her hand and forced it upward to look at her.

"If he dies, it's your fault."

With that, she turned and walked out without another word.

"Mom?"

Jo stared at her through the doorway, forcing his thoughts away from when she'd put Drew's life in his feeble hands. Every two years after, she'd deposited another boy on his dad's doorstep, each with less fanfare than the last. 5 years ago, she had dropped off Adam and they hadn't seen her since. 

Until now.

"Don't fucking call me that."

There was the woman he remembered.

"I'm going back to Argentina. Just wanted to leave one last "fuck you" before I left." She kicked forward a box at her feet and turned to leave.

"Mom, wait." Jo grabbed her hand as she turned.

Whirling around, she slapped him hard.

"Are you fucking stupid, boy? You must be. You think you have the right to call me mom? You think I ever wanted you?"

Her voice rose with every word.

"You ruined my life, you little bastard. I was happy. Carl and I were happy. He was going to get me papers. And then you came along and fucked it all up, like you fuck everything up."

She turned to leave again, but then pivoted and came back, yelling in his face.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance. Look at you. You're nothing but a piece of shit, good for nothing whore."

Jo's breath caught at her last word. She smirked, her eyes raking over him.

"Yeah. I know about that. It was my idea, you stupid boludo. Vinnie was a friend of mine. You earned us quite a bit of money with that ass. Too bad you had to fuck it all up getting caught. When they sent you back to Carl, I figured I'd have a girl, get the big bucks with her. But all I had was fucking boys."

She looked past him to the table full of kids.

"I'm done with that shit. I'm going home."

Her eyes came back to meet his, filling with deranged rage.

"I hope they fucked up your life as much as you fucked up mine."

With that, she spit in his face, and walked out of his world.

Jo stood for a minute in the doorway, unmoving. Deadly silence had replaced the air and no one dared breathe. 

Finally, he drew a shaky breath and used the hem of his shirt to wipe the spit from his face. The cardboard box on the threshold stared at him arrogantly. He stooped to pick it up and set it on the table, ignoring the wide eyed stares around him.

He wasn't surprised to find a baby in the box.

_____

"What are we going to call him?"

It had been half an hour since their mom had stormed out, and Mikey was the first one to speak in that time. The other boys glared at him but Jo forced a weary smile as he rocked the sleeping baby.

"I don't know, Mikey. What do you think we should call him?"

Mikey shrugged. "Aragorn?"

The boys groaned their collective annoyance. Jo tried to smile, but his head was spinning from the morning's developments. He stood abruptly from the kitchen chair. Placing the baby back in the box, he opened the back cupboard and grabbed the peanut butter jar that held their money, withdrawing a few bills. He pulled on his boots and his worn jacket, noticing that the boys had quieted and were staring at him. He faltered, wondering whether he should take the baby with him or leave him here. No, that would be selfish, he decided as he gathered up the tiny bundle and wrapped him in Adam's coat.

"We need formula and diapers. I won't be long."

Shutting the door firmly behind him, he walked down the stairs, his thoughts swirling. 

She had known. She had planned it. 

Those two years he wanted nothing more than to forget resurfaced and he began to suffocate. 

She had profited from it. 

He stumbled on the crumbling sidewalk and nearly fell, correcting in time and hugging the baby into his chest. The baby began to cry and suddenly, Jo wanted to as well. He slipped into an alley and slid down the side of a wall.

Sitting in the mud and grime of the cold pavement, Jo clung to the crying baby, but the tears wouldn't come.