Small Apartments by Chris Millis Read Free Book Online Page B

Sage Mennox, and a white wickerwork handbag adorned with pink plastic flowers.
    “Really, Thomas. How can you leave me standing in that filthy hallway? And I am not a ‘dude’, I am your mother.”
    Tommy Balls moaned and rubbed his red, puffy eye sockets.
    “Your apartment is a sty, per usual, but I am not here to quarrel over that this morning.” She straightened herself up as tall as her 5’3” frame would allow. “Thomas, come to church with me today.”
    “It’s Wednesday.”
    “Yes, Thomas. There are services on Wednesday. The Lord is available seven days a week, not just on Sundays.” Tommy’s mother opened her Dr. Mennox book to the first flyleaf and read aloud: “Those who ignore their faith ignore their responsibilities, for faith is the first responsibility.”
    “Even if I wanted to, on principle alone, I would not go to a church that had services on Wednesdays. Besides, I have to work today.”
    Tommy’s mother walked her fingertips over the dog-eared corners of her Dr. Mennox book and cracked it open: “Work has its purpose and its rewards, but should never serve as an escape from your problems.”
    “Mom! Can it with that Dr. Mennox crap. That guy is such a quack.”
    Tommy’s mother’s eyes began to well up with tears. He could sense the shit storm coming.
    “I’m not going to just write you off, Thomas, I am your mother. Are you hoping that I will just ignore your drug addiction? Hmm? Are you hoping I will just pretend that everything is hunky-dory? Well, I will not. I have eyes, Thomas. I see what is happening to you. What sort of life are you making for yourself? You are well on your way down the Road To Crazy. I will not stand idly by while you punch your ticket to eternal damnation!”
    “Mom. Mom, don’t cry. Aw, Je-sus …”
    “Taking the Lord’s name in vain. Right in front of your Christian mother!” Tommy’s mother sobbed as she crossed the room to dispose of her wet Kleenex. “And here is the thanks I get for trying,” she said as she lifted the paperback copy of
Am I Crazy
, by Dr. Sage Mennox, out of the waste-basket. “If I didn’t know better I would think you threw away this book because you can’t read. But the truth hurts even more.”
    “What’s the truth, mom?”
    “The truth, Thomas, is that you threw away this book to break your mother’s heart. Well, let me tell you something Thomas Jerome, I am not crazy. I am mentally fit and physically strong. But you, you are crazy. You walk with the heathens! Your mind is unbalanced, unfocused and impure! You have the power to change your life, Thomas, if you would only try. If you would only read Dr. Mennox.” Again, Tommy’s mother thumbed frantically through the worn pages. “Listen: The decision to change starts with you. But you must be willing to accept help from others. If someone who loves you offers their hand, take it. Take their hand and let them lead you off the Road to Crazy.”
    “Mom …”
    “You hear that? The decision is yours, Thomas.”
    “Mom …”
    “Come to church with me, Thomas. I beg you. Take my hand and I will lead you. Services start at 11:00. We can get a bagel and coffee on the way. Go take a shower while I iron a shirt for you.”
    “I have to work at noon.”
    Tommy’s mother buried her chin into her chest and sighed. “If you feel the Lord’s work is less important today than the work of the Open 24 Hours white trash convenience store, I don’t know what else I can say to convince you. I know you have to earn money to pay for your hashish or grass or whatever it is you put up your nose.” Tommy’s mother smoothed her cotton dress with her white-gloved hands. “Your father wished to be remembered to you.”
    “I remember,” said Tommy. “Where’s he this morning? Pulling teeth or drinking scotch down at the K of C?”
    “I should be going.”
    “Mom?”
    “Yes, Thomas?” Tommy’s mother crossed her arms around her books and squeezed them to her chest