#bullies fuck my mom

P.S. (Rabbit and Scout)

Your dad died in the coldest and most remote part of planet earth. He had been there for the past 6 months, doing what he loved, but doing it away from the people he loved. He was researching penguins, the famously monogamous species of bird. They can’t fly, but they can love. Your dad died in his room in the facility put together by the mostly Icelandic research team. He died next to pictures of you and your mom taped all up and down his wall.

He had only one framed photo. It was of him and your mom kissing on their wedding day. You can still hear the silverware clanging against 350 glasses and soup bowls now.

When your neighbor heard the news, from who-knows-who, he leaned in to hug your mom beside your driveway, his arms tight around the small of her back. She hugged him limply with her arms lightly touching his upper back, as little contact as she could get away with giving, and then she pushed him off, hard enough to break his tight grip. As she walked off, he watched her intently, and then told her that if there was anything she needed, he’d be there. His gaze lifted to meet hers when she turned around to give a brisk “thanks,” and when she turned back around to get into the car and leave, his gaze dropped back downward until the goods disappeared behind her car door.

That day, like so many other days, she went to her sister’s to cry with her on her living room couch.

It had been almost a month now since you and your mom heard the news. And it was only now that you had gotten the letter. It appears it was caught in between the wall and the bed of his room in the facility, and it was only found, by luck, when your dad’s replacement got there and began moving the bed to make the room feel more like his own room back home.

You stared down at the letter, taking a moment to open it. When you did, there was a note inside, scribbled on a single piece of line paper in black pen. It didn’t have his name, but you knew it was him. You knew it was him because the writing looked exactly like yours. People used to point that out to you all the time. They’d bring it up whenever they had a nature vs. nurture argument to settle. Nobody ever won the argument with certainty. But when people outside of your family had the same verbal skirmish and they used your mom and your auntie’s bodies as a point of comparison, and a specific part of their bodies in particular, nature took the match. Nurture threw in the towel.

This was your dad’s writing all right, but you had never seen his writing in black before. Your mom only kept purple pens around the house and he wrote with whatever she bought. It was also written on an individual piece of line paper. At your house, all you ever had were notebooks. Everything that needed writing - from messages from phone calls, down to notes left on the fridge, write-ups by your dad, or poetry written by your mom - had those torn rings on the left side, right where it had been ripped out of its notebook and made useful the way paper is destined by its very structure to be.

The world had stopped around you, and you wanted to hold off indefinitely from probing the contents of your dad’s final message to you, but you gritted your teeth and read on.

The message read:

“Hello my darling wife and my precious boy. Maybe if I come off too cheerful in this letter, it’ll be insulting. After all, if you’re getting this, it’s because I’m gone. If I’m not gone, then you probably will never see this. It’ll be burned up in our firepit out back. You’ll ask me what it was and I’ll tell you it’s nothing and I’ll look on at you in the orange glow of the fire and be happy. I miss you guys so much. I shouldn’t be here.

“The reason why I’m taking my time to write this note to you is because I’ve come down with a fever. I’ve never felt this way before and though everyone tells me I’ll be okay, I don’t believe them. You can feel dishonesty in the air sometimes. Especially if you know somebody well enough. And forgive me honey, but your people aren’t good liars. There’s something about that Scandinavian flat-affect. You never lied to me so I couldn’t have picked up on it from you, but your countrymen, being scientists, have had plenty to lie about in the past few months.

“The pictures of their wives back home remind me of you but less pretty. There’s so much about you that’s distinct, like a body out of time and place. Your smile and and your hands and other parts of you that you know I love so much. I know our son is probably reading this and rolling his eyes. You know what was there between me and you was everything. We’ve been through it a million times. To bring it up again in print might cheapen it. Our memories will live on forever. They’ll be the last thing I see before I go. I hope I gave you enough to daydream about when you’re bored. I’m asking that rhetorically. I know that just one memory with you is enough to relive a thousand times over, and I know that for you, you feel the same. I love you, rabbit.

“And now that we can’t form any new memories, you’re going to have to find somebody else to form them with. You’ll shake your head as you read this, but in time you’ll agree with me that you deserve it. Just make sure he’s kind, and smart, and understanding, and - like me - oh-so handsome and irresistible, and that he loves you like I did and still do. I’d press this issue, but I know that in time, you’ll see it my way.

“And to my son, my pride and joy. It’s your job to make sure your mom picks good. We both know she has good taste, after all, you’re the combination of our genetics, but just in case, keep your eyes peeled as much as they were when we’d bird-watch by the lake. You’ll always be my little scout and I know your instincts are good. If you can spot a Spotted Sandpiper from as far as you used to, you can spot a dud when he knocks on the front door with flowers. But like I said, your mom is too smart for you to have to worry about that. She’ll pick somebody like me, except he won’t be stupid enough to leave her for months for his work.

“I’m so proud of you, I can’t even put it into words. I hope in some way, I’ll get to see your future, or some day you can tell me about it. I know you’re a little shy and you sometimes beat yourself up about it. But don’t. Confidence comes from practice and making mistakes. You have your whole life ahead of you and there’s nobody who can stop you. The cards are in your hand, it’s just a matter of playing them.

“I could go on and on forever, but then I would only bore the two of you. It was through you guys that I lived and I loved and through you that I’ll live forever. My rabbit, I love you and, like your beauty and character, that love we shared lives in a place where time and distance have no meaning. My son, I can’t wait til you have kids so you can know what I feel every time I think of you.

“It’s been a beautiful life. Thanks for making it that way. Goodbye.”

You sat on the armchair of your couch in the silence of your living room. It had gotten dark outside and you were now sitting in the twilight. Small parts of the note had been washed away with tears. You got up and wiped your face with a tissue, then you grabbed a pen from the computer desk next to the 3 notebooks sitting one on top of each other. You filled in the smudged words and sentences from memory. Little islands of purple surrounded by black ink. It looked almost as if your dad had written over his own tears marks before sending the letter.

Suddenly, your silent moment was cut short by a banging on the front door. The note and your pen fell to the ground.

You wiped your face once more with your sleeve and you opened the door. It was your neighbor. He had a half-grin on his face, wholly inappropriate for the context of his visit. He asked “Is your mom home?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay. I thought she’d be home because her car was still here,” he said skeptically, as if you were lying to him.

“That’s what I thought when I came home to. But she texted me and said she was with my aunt, so she probably picked her up.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, when she comes back can you tell her that I’m going to take her to a movie? I just want to cheer her up. A good movie and she’ll be good as new. Tell her ‘no’ is not an option unless the question is ‘do you want butter on your pop corn?’ Tell her we’ll go in her car and remind her to bring money for her ticket. Tell her not to get too fancy. She looks good in everything. Even those comfortable sweatpants she wears on weekend. You know what? Never mind. I’ll come back when she’s home and tell her. I wouldn’t want you screwing it up or anything. Thanks, pal. See ya.”

He turned around and walked off.

You closed the door, and it was as if he was never there. The note, along with its envelope, were on the ground. You knelt down to pick it up, placed it on the computer desk on top of the stack of notebooks, and then you got down on the floor to grab the pen from under the couch.

The forgotten space under the couch looked like a model junk yard. It was your dad who always remembered to move the couch when cleaning. He would never move the couch again. There were plenty of things he’d never do again.

You got back up with the pen in your hand and you picked up the note and envelope, ready to put it all back in place and leave it on the kitchen table for your mom to see. You looked down at the notebooks sitting there. You tapped your foot on the ground as you bit the end of the envelope lightly in your teeth.

A smile formed across your cheeks.

———————————————————

Your mom shut the door behind her. She sighed deeply as she kicked off her shoes, her face puffy from crying. Her sister had held her against her chest as they both cried for hours.

She put her keys into the glass bowl, looked at herself in the mirror, placed her purse on the computer desk, almost tipping over the cup full of pens and she walked into the kitchen.

Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to the foreign element on the table. A white envelope. She saw that it had been opened, and she knew that you had read it and placed it right there where she’d see it, for when it was her turn to see what it was.

It took opening it up to make her start crying again.

When she finally composed herself, she pulled a piece of paper, both sides covered in black ink with interludes in purple, from the envelope.

She read it, and as she did, her crying became more strong, deeper, profound with each sentence read. It was a sweet sound, even with all the sadness. It was the sound of someone receiving closure they never thought they’d see. She shook her head at a few things said in the letter, like he predicted she would, and when it was done, she put it back down and held her hands to her forehead.

She looked over at the envelope and saw another piece of paper sticking out. She pulled it out and looked at it. Written in purple pen it said “this one is just for mom, scout. No peeking.”

Wide-eyed, she opened it up, bright and purple, and she began reading.

It said:

“Hello, rabbit. I was only being facetious in the last note when I talked about being insulting. But with this one, I’m actually worried a little bit. Not too much, because I know you well enough to know that you won’t take it too hard. But I still worry because I fear you won’t be able to do for me what I so desperately want from you. I’m afraid that I won’t even know whether you did it or not where I’m going. Maybe one day, if you don’t live forever, you’ll be able to tell me if you did.

“I kept the last note light on more intimate things for obvious reasons. I didn’t talk about your kiss or your legs or your eyes or that face you make when we’re making love. I didn’t even mention your skin or your toes. I couldn’t even mention your lovely, lovely ass. Oh god how I love your butt, rabbit. We don’t have locks on our doors here, in case of emergencies, so it’s been more than a few times when one of my colleagues burst into my room as I was “having fun” thinking about doing all the things that I’ve done to it, you know what they are. The thing is, every time they caught me, they didn’t have to wonder or take wild swings at what I was so “excited” about.

“I’m not sure how to say this. This isn’t the hardest thing I’ve written on these two pages, that would be telling you to move on (Hard but still necessary if you’re trying to look for excuses not too. Nice try, little lady) but it’s the hardest to know how to express properly. In fact, this isn’t hard at all from my end, it’s knowing how you’re going to take it, or if you’re going to do what I so desperately need you to do, that’s hard on me. I’m sweating as a write this. I’m trembling with anxiety. Please, just listen with an open mind. You always were so open to my ways. This is the deepest part of me I’ve always been too afraid to show you.

“The reason why my colleagues know what it is that got me so hot and bothered those days they caught me, was because they themselves had seen it with their own eyes. Plastered all over my walls. It was your ass. Not just over my walls, but in their personal collections as well, I had given them photos of you to look at it, first under the pretext that I was trying to show off how good I have it, but then just because I wanted them to see you.

“Before you get too mad at me, just know that I haven’t given them any of your naked pictures. I wanted to so bad. Show them their countrywoman’s ass. But I couldn’t do it without you knowing. Oh, my rabbit, I know you can’t be mad at me, but I need you to listen. This is as important as what I said about you moving on and finding a new man to make you happy. Before you do that, I want need you to do this.

“I wanted to share you for as long as we’d been together. I wanted it more than anything, rabbit, but I’ve always been too afraid to ask. I’m such a coward. The strange thing is, that I feel like you would have done it. I know you love me that much. I missed so many chances though, all because I couldn’t bring myself to bring it up even once. And the feelings built and built, as I met your former family friends and men that faded in and out of your life, some you liked well enough as people, others you didn’t. And then something happened that brought it all to the edge of a cliff. An exhilarating but frightening view.

“I know you love me enough to bare with me. Our neighbor moved in, we had him over for dinner, and he leaned in close for a hug from you. And ever since then, I could never see your face explode with pleasure inches from mine without wanting so badly for him to see that face inches from his. More importantly, I wanted him to feel what it was like having your big, fat, white ass in his lap as his cock is engulfed by your pussy. I’m so sorry rabbit for being so vulgar, but I have to say it. It’s eating me up inside.

“He’s never even got to see the tattoo your sister gave you. The guys back ther  here have all seen it because of the bikini pics. But he’s never even seen you in jean shorts since you stopped wearing them. God, I miss being with you in jean shorts. All the turned heads. That’s my third request, wear those more often. But I haven’t even gotten to make second request. Oh, please, rabbit, just read this with an open mind and understand.

“Our neighbor is going to get your ass, no strings attached. I’m only being this firm as an emergency measure. I know, deep down as well as I know every inch of your body and mind, that it’s unnecessary. He would have had your ass already if I was brave enough to say something earlier. I’m brave enough now in writing. I’m begging you to let him fuck you, but I’m only begging as a formality. I know you’re always eager to follow me down my rabbit holes. This will be my last one, I promise.

“I know you’ll do this for me, do this for him, because you love me so. It’s only a matter of when. Your love for me kept me strong out here. Your love warmed me through the harsh weather. And though i couldn’t feel the warmth of your body, he will. No strings attach. No work or investment or anything. Just give it to him. And give it to him whenever he asks. Even after you find the lucky man who is going to marry you and whisk you away to a new string of memories and moments like the ones we were so lucky to share with each other, still give your ass to our neighbor when he asks for it. Do it even when he doesn’t. Don’t tell him that I told you to. Find out what he likes and do it for him or get better at it. Let him take pictures and videos if he wants so he can show you off to those guys he has for his poker night every weekend.

“I hope there is a heaven, and if there is, I hope it has windows so I can watch you down there. And if not, I hope I can watch you as a spirit just like your sister always talks about.

“Also, a third fourth request. I know I’ve asked for so much already, but you’re a champ and I know you can do all of it. Record some nice videos and maybe some photos and send them to your Icelandic countrymen out at here at the base. I promised that I’d give that to them as soon as I got the guts to ask you. Better late than never. For patriotism. Let them see their Icelandic sister’s ass. I want them to see all types of pictures of it.

“So, to end the saucy half of my farewell to you off I just want to say that every night with you was heaven. I shouldn’t have been so lucky. Just one night with you should have been a reward after death for living a good life, but I got to have that every night for my most of my adult life. Thanks for everything, beautiful. Now it’s somebody else’s turn.

“And if you can’t bring yourself to move on and marry another man, I think you’re making a mistake, but I guess it’s possible to live a happy and full life without it so I can let it slide. But my life will never be full if I don’t get to share your ass with him. So that’s non-negotiable. Like I said, my firmness is a last resort. I know it probably isn’t necessary because you’re amazing. I love you, babe and that’ll never not be true even after I’m gone.

“But maybe your countrymen are right. Maybe I’m not that sick and this whole message was just the panic of a feverish mind. Maybe I’ll be back there to ask you this in person and watch your ass bounce as he fucks you. I probably will. I can’t wait. I’ve never been more excited to feel stupid. But if I’m as smart, and as good a judge of character, as you say I am, goodbye. It’s been better than it had any right to be. Maybe I’ll see you again some day, rabbit.”

————————————————————

You heard your mom when she came in the house. She sighed heavily as she kicked off her shoes. You heard her keys jingle as she placed them in the bowl. You lay on your bed silently.

You heard her muffled footsteps into the kitchen and suddenly a pause. Sobbing followed for a while. And then you heard the paper ruffling. More sobbing is what came next. And then suddenly, there was a silence. And some more paper ruffled, but the crying wasn’t there to keep it company. And you sat in the silence, listening, waiting for a sign, looking down at your nervous hands shuffling, covered in purple ink from the pen that broke as you pressed it too hard to the paper. One of the two failed drafts sitting next to you bore the result of that purple burst, making it look like a inkblot test. No need to say what you saw in that vague purple image.

You listened for a sign. A sign of anything. A sound of biting or accepting. Even disgust if necessary to end the unbearable silence. And that sound came. It came with a bang. You jumped. It was the front door.

You heard your mom’s chair scrape and her muffled footsteps and then a considerable pause, and then the door opened.

Your mom said “yes?”

It was your neighbor: “Did your son tell you?’

“About the letter?”

“No, I didn’t leave a letter. I just wanted him to tell you that I was taking you to the movies tonight.”

A long pause followed.

He continued “You can’t say no. That’s the rule. I hope you have money for your ticket. Popcorn is cheaper though. I have a coupon from the mail. We have to hurry though, otherwise we won’t have seats and you’ll have to sit on my lap.” He laughed really hard at his joke. Then his laughter died down and there was silence. “What’s the matter? You can’t come? Do you have a boyfriend who won’t let you? Your husbands out of the way but you have a boyfriend already?” he laughed again. Tone-deaf, in both senses of the word.

You could hear your mom shuffling in place. She didn’t say a word.

“You know, I only wanted to invite you because I felt bad for you. I was sad when I heard about your husband dying. I didn’t know him well, but I had a great time when we had dinner that first night. I think he got the wrong idea though, like I was trying to steal you away from him. And since then he’s kept you guys away from me. I’m just a friend. And as a friend I want to take your mind of your husband with a movie. It’s not sexual or anything. I already have a girlfriend. I just don’t bring her around when you’re home.” He paused for a second, then bursted in again with “W-we have an open relationship. So if I ever did bring another girl home, it would be cool. I’m not sure why I’m telling you that though. I guess so you won’t be concerned about seeing her out and about. If she saw us, she probably would think it was sexual but it would be cool.”

The silence was deafening.

“So what do you say? Do you want to go to the movies with me? If you don’t go, I won’t make it for this showing because I’ll have to take the bus.”

“No.”

He was silent for once.

You lay in the darkness of your room, holding onto your sheets, pulling at them, making them tight along your bed.

Your mom continued: “Let’s just go to your place.” You could tell that it took her a lot to force that sentence out by the tone of her voice. He couldn’t pick up on that though. Either that, or he didn’t care. This would be the least hard thing she’d force herself to do today.

"O-okay.”

The door closed behind them.

Your dad’s pet-name for you was Scout. He came up with it when the two of you went bird-watching together. He said it was because you were good at seeing things most people couldn’t, not just birds, but trails through the thick vague treeline.

It was funny, because you didn’t seem to inherent that from either of your parents. Or you did, but not to that degree.

Your dad was analytical and scientific. Your mom was creative and intuitive. You somehow had both these traits, but you had it even more than they did. And deep down you knew that’s why they both ended up where they currently were right this second.

And that’s why you were here to enjoy it.

You remember once, standing out in the woods near a waterfall. Your dad had taken another way around and had yet to make it there. Over the thick sound of the falls you could hear a tiny chirping noise. It didn’t take you long to see that bluebird, brighter than any blue you had ever seen, sitting on a branch on the other side of the river.

Just as your dad came up behind you, the bird disappeared into the wild woods that birthed it. You thought about telling him about what you saw. But you silently decided you wouldn’t. That moment would be all yours.