Week 9 entry...
"Hey, Maria -- I'm setting your mail on the counter for you!"
Her brother's voice ring through from the kitchen. He lived at the same apartment building, and would always drop off her mail when he got his own; he knew it was hard for her, now, to get down the stairs to the lobby. Any activity beyond just minimal movement around the apartment tended to leave her gasping for breath and with joints that ached for many days afterwards (more than they usually did, that is); unfortunately, the illness remained steadfastly undiagnosed.
"Thanks, Carl. Give my love to Helen and the girls," she called back as she shuffled towards the kitchen.
"Of course -- she said she'd drop by tonight for a visit. Oh, and there's a letter from Matthew in there, by the way!" she heard over the slap of the screen door snapping shut. His receding footsteps, clanging up the metal stairs at the end of the landing to the next level, brought back memories from the last time Matthew had been home.
He'd always been something of a troublemaker, Matthew had, even as a young child; his enjoyment of knowing how things worked often led to him breaking a lot of things he couldn't repair. He also liked being the center of attention, and could often be easily egged into doing something he probably knew he shouldn't to gain the popularity and admiration it entailed.
But it had gone beyond boyhood pranks and childhood mistakes when Matthew entered high school. Maria hadn't really paid it too much attention it at first -- more detentions than usual, some letters and phone calls home from school officials, but nothing all that serious. By the time he was a senior, though, it had become a very different situation. The last year he was home had brought two minor arrests, three sentences for community service, and one week of jail time, plus countless suspicions and 'we won't prosecute this time' phrases. Strangers had often shown up to the apartment, hard young men with flat stares and bulging muscles, demanding to speak to Matthew at all hours. She had felt on more than one occasion that they were considering entering the apartment without her permission; whether to search for him or for something else, she never knew.
It had come to a head halfway through his senior year. There was yet another string of incidents, the final one resulting in a man being seriously injured. Though Matthew had not been directly responsible, Maria had had enough. She enlisted Carl's help to get Matthew enrolled in the army, with an immediate start to his boot camp training. Carl had seen his nephew's decline as much as she had, and agreed he needed the discipline and new start that the military could (hopefully) provide him. Carl agreed to be present when Matthew was told, and to drive him that day to the training grounds.
The morning encounter had been even more awful than she'd feared, but Maria stood her ground. Matthew had screamed and raged around the apartment, held inside like a captured animal by his uncle's silent 6' 5" presence at the doorway. Obscenities flew alongside a few dishes and picture frames. He collapsed into tears and begged, promising that he could change, that he *would* change; the rage returned when Maria stood resolute against all pleas, having heard versions of them before with no results.
"You never loved me, Mom, never! After Dad died, you just wrote me off," he yelled, his long hair flying as he gestured wildly at one of the broken picture frames. It held a picture of the three of them, from when Matthew was just a baby.
"I know you don't believe me, I know it seems like I must be filled with evil to do this -- but I am... we are doing this because we love you," Maria said. Carl had agreed, speaking of his own troubled youth in a bid to strike some chord of commonality, but she doubted Matthew even heard him. He stood firm in his certainty that his mother was disowning him, and that despite her claims to the contrary, she was shipping him off out of hatred, not love.
Finally, the rage spent, the screams exhausted, there was nothing left but the leaving. Maria had called to Matthew as he opened the door, telling him she knew he didn't understand now, but that she hoped someday he could.
Matthew turned back from the door. The emotion had left his eyes, leaving them cold and black, and his voice was that of a stranger. "I will never understand, Mom. Never," he said. And then he was gone, his feet banging down the metal steps to the parking lot below; Carl's pickup truck door slammed a minute later, and the truck's noisy diesel faded to silence soon after.
Though she'd heard from him on and off through the next few years, he never once came home to spend his leave, or even visit for an afternoon. The few cards she received were often little more than just a quick description of where he was and his signature inside, but still, they were something -- proof of a relationship perhaps not entirely lost. She cherished each one as little bits of hope for the future. For their future, as mother and son.
As she entered the kitchen now, Maria saw the letter from Matthew on top of the pile Carl had left. She wondered if it was news of his next deployment, as she'd heard from a neighbor (whose own son was stationed with Matthew) that he was likely to be shipped out to a new location soon. She carefully slit open the envelope and was surprised to see it held a photo -- Matthew had not once sent a picture in all the time that had passed.
She easily picked him out, even though he looked nothing like he had when she last saw him. Gone were the long locks of hair and the stooped posture, and gone was the skinny boy with eyes filled with rage. Instead, a man stood at the center of the picture, strong and tall, laughing as he stood with what were clearly his buddies beside a newly-dug well. Village members were crowded around, patting at both Matthew's and the others' arms as they smiled and cheered. One young boy had obviously just doused himself with a bucket of water, droplets coursing over a smile so full of joy she could almost feel it pour forth into her hands.
Smiling, Maria turned the photo over. The words written there nearly stopped her heart as she read them. She was certain her eyes had played tricks on her. She read the neat handwriting again, and then hugged the photo to her tightly, hoping her son would feel it across the hundreds of miles between them.
Mom,
I understand now. I am coming home next week.
Love,
Matthew
This is my entry for the ninth week of Season 8 of therealljidol. The prompt this week was 'counterintuitive.' As always, thanks for reading.