The Apology

Debbie sat in the living room, watching a commercial on the television. It was a stupid commercial about some stupid laundry detergent. She knew it was intended for her - the house mother, homemaker and stay at home parent.

She despised Calgon and its ancient Chinese secret. She despised laundry as well. In fact, she despised everything about her life, her husband, and the child she was forced to raise, the one she could never give to her man.

Chris was in the bedroom, playing with his toys. She had to yell at him to keep quiet earlier. How it was a six year old child could make such a ruckus while playing alone was out of Debbie's scope of knowledge. Someone once told her an active imagination is a sign of intelligence, and if that was true Chris was sure to be a genius one day. He just needed to go away.

Debbie was bored as she took a drink from her beer, sitting in the brown recliner, her blond hair draping over her shoulders. She knew she had to start dinner, some sort of chicken meal, but being alone right now made making dinner about as appealing as playing chess with herself.

"Chris, make your bed," she yelled.

"Ok mom," Chris replied.

"I'm not your mom, damn it."

"Sorry Debbie."

She would break him of that habit if it was the last thing she did on this earth. She was not his mother and never would be. The idea of Chris growing up, going to college, still calling her mom when she was old and wrinkled took away from the taste of the beer. And then his kids would call her grandma.

She shuttered.

She heard sniffling coming from down the hall where Chris' room was. What the hell did he get himself into now?

She stormed into the room, and saw Chris standing by his bed, the small blue comforter only partially moved. Could he do something other than just stand there and cry? No, this child would not be a genius.

"What's wrong," she asked

"I can't move the bed 'cause my arm is broken."

Debbie had had enough already. She took one step and slapped Chris in the head. She slapped him again when shied away.

"You will make your bed, and you will stop being such a cry baby about your broken arm."

Slap.

"Stop crying right now."

Slap.

"You still have one good arm, so use that arm to move the bed."

Slap.

She would have punched the little idiot but knew the marks would be hard to hide. So she left the room and went to the kitchen. She took out the chicken and set it on the counter.

She heard him sniffling, the stupid, lazy kid. Something had to shut him up. She could make him clean the toilets, but his cast might get wet and that would cause problems. The coat hanger always made him scream, especially when he got the extra attention on the back of his legs. The ping pong paddle always...

She realized what she was thinking. It was as if something or someone showed her inside her mind how horrible beating Chris was. She couldn't explain it or put her finger on it. One minute she was raging about how to shut the kid up, the next minute his sniffles made her feel bad. She needed to talk to her priest and she didn't know why. No, she knew why.

She went back into the bed room, and knew that simple hug would work wonders. Chris was sitting by the bed, trying to move it with his good arm. He looked at her when she stood over him.

She reached out, but he shied away.

Slap.

"I was coming in here to apologize!"

Slap. She grabbed him and shook him, his six year old head snapping back and forth.

"How dare you act like you are afraid of me!"

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

At least the idiot made his bed.