His name was Gawd, the name given to him by a drunken, miserable, abusive man who claimed to be the father of the unwanted child. He thrived despite his wretched birth, and watched as a succession of fathers came to bed with his mother. Once been young and beautiful, she was now old and hard, and fell into tearful depression whenever she had a couple of drinks -- and that was often.
She was a weak woman, and Gawd watched as she bowed low to each of her lovers. But she truly loved only the boy, even though he was nothing more than a pill missed through drunken unconsciousness, and tried to nurture him as best she could and protect him from the beatings that seemed to come his way, regardless who might be father. He loved her for it and tried to help her in her difficulties. And so the mother and son grew close together.
Gawd wanted nothing more than to take her out of her life of misery and into something better, perhaps like in the books he read whenever time permitted. That was where he found his escape -- at the town library, among the book stacks. He read anything and everything and found himself interested in all manner of things. But his favourites were the stories about people who made good for themselves in life, who had good families, even after a rough start, like the one he was part of.
He wasn't too awfully old before he realized where he stood in life. Kids taunted him about the starkness of his home life, and by the time he was ten he'd heard the word "whore" more than once in reference to his mother. Still, he loved her, and sometimes, between men and bouts of drunkeness, they shared some time together. His favourite time was when they sat together on the corner of the couch, under the big blanket, "huddsying" they called it, even inventing a word to describe the closeness of the experience. After he got old enough, he'd read to her about the people who had conquered evil circumstances and risen above intolerable surroundings and had good families.
"I shouldn't oughta brought you into the world, Gawd," she would tell him. "'Cause I have trouble enough lookin' out for myself. But you gotta do good at school, and work hard, and you'll do better than me. You won't hafta live this way. I wish I could get you out of here. But I do the best I can. I hope you understand that, Gawd." And she'd brush his usually too-long hair back out of his eyes and give him a big, warm hug.
It wasn't the usual mother-son sort of stuff, but he liked it just the same. It was all he had, and he clung tenaciously to it, pleading with her in his boyish, childish sort of way to forsake her drinking and throw out the latest bum, to at least give themselves a chance to find their way in life. "It's too late for me, Gawd," she'd say. "I got my place in life." So he went about his life, and it wasn't long before another low life came to occupy his mother's bed.
Then came Tom, when Gawd was about thirteen, just getting ready to set out for high school and that big slice of life. Tom came in the night like most of the other ones, but he didn't come swaggering out of the bedroom in his underwear, scratching himself where it wasn't polite, in the morning. Instead, Gawd awoke to the fine aroma of bacon sizzling on a grill. He came out of his bedroom wide-eyed at the sight of the man in the cook's apron and oven mitts loading another batch of pancakes into the oven.
"Mornin' sport," the man said cheerfully.
"Mornin'," Gawd answered, taking up a seat at one end of the kitchen table.
"I'm Tom," the man said, "and I thought I'd fix us some breakfast. Are you hungry?"
"Sure," Gawd answered.
"I'll keep your mother's warm in the oven," Tom said. "I don't expect she'll be up for a while. She had kind of a rough night."
Gawd's guard went up at these last words.
"I'm here, Tom," came a woman's voice from the bedroom. They could hear her getting out of bed. She came to the doorway of the kitchen. Her face was bruised, an ugly gash over her one eye.
Gawd hurried to his mother's side when he saw her, and he turned and shot an angry look at the man in the apron. "Bastard," he hissed.
"No, Gawd," the mother said. "It was Tom that brought me home after another guy beat me up and left me laying in the gutter bleedin'. It was late. I offered him to sleep on the couch."
Gawd continued to watch the man suspiciously, but some of the anger left his look.
"You should sleep," Tom said to the woman.
"I'm hungry," she said.
"Then, let's eat," he said, with a big, wide grin. And they did.
Tom became sort of a regular guest at their place. He said he wanted to be honest with them. He'd been a drinker. Lost his family. Lost his life. Lost his way. But he'd been sober six months and had just started a retraining program over at the high school -- something that could maybe lead to a job. It had been a long time since he'd had a job. And he was like a gentleman toward Gawd's Mom. He never stayed over but always went back to his own place for the night, unless he slept on the couch. He treated the boy well, played some catch with him and took him fishing a couple of times.
Very early one morning, as they were sitting on the bank of the river just outside of town, Gawd looked over and saw Tom regarding him. Gawd thought he saw a tear in the man's eye, something he'd not seen before, from this man or any other.
"You alright?" the boy asked.
The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he gazed somewhat wistfully out over the river's post-dawn mist. Gawd stayed quiet.
"You know, Gawd," he finally said, "I got a boy about your age. At least I think he is. I sorta lost track of him over the last few years. He might be a year or two older than you."
Gawd stayed quiet.
"I last saw him when he was about four," Tom continued. "I know it's best that I don't see him. I heard my ex, his mother, is remarried to a real successful guy, assistant manager at a Crappy Tire -- and that's a good job." He paused. "I never amounted to much," he said, and he seemed quite thoughtful about it.
"You couldda though, Tom," the boy offered.
"Na," Tom said. "I can't take the responsibility. The drinking takes over. I'm best on my own." He paused again, and again seemed thoughtful. "But I still think about my boy sometimes, and I hope he's doing okay."
"You should see him sometime," Gawd said.
"Na," Tom answered. "It's best this way. I'm a loser."
Gawd said nothing, but he felt compelled to go to Tom and wrap his arm around him. It was the first time he could ever remember holding a man so close.
"Aw, Gawd," Tom said softly, "You're a good kid," and he returned the embrace. The two sat for a silent moment on the riverbank within the dissipating mist.
It was the first real family time of Gawd's young life, and he cheerfully absorbed it. He and his Mom and Tom went places together, like a for-real family. One time, they even went on a picnic to a park with strange and rare animals in it, like the kind that Gawd had only seen in books. And Tom bought one of those instant cameras and took pictures of Gawd and his mother with the strange and rare animals. It was a very special time.
What made it even more special was that Gawd's mother went on the wagon with Tom. It was the first time the youngster had seen her stay sober for so long. She even talked of getting into some sort of retraining course herself and getting a job. It was a very special time.
Tom would join them when Gawd read his books, and the boy took delight in the fact that his family, of which Tom must now surely be a part, seemed to be just like the ones in the books that Gawd liked so much. It seemed there was a chance that they would rise above what they had become in life, and Gawd reveled in it. He felt he was living a dream.
He still saw a sadness in Tom from time to time, and he imagined that he had again reminded the man of his own son, as he had on that earlier occasion on the riverbank. He usually said nothing, but sat quietly and regarded his friend, wondering if there was anything he could do or say. One day, when they were out fishing, Gawd was again busy living his dream.
As Gawd applied a worm to his hook, he glanced up and caught sight of Tom sitting and watching him. There seemed to be that sense of melancholy about him, and the boy felt compelled to say something at last. He could no longer just watch Tom's suffering.
"You should go and see him," Gawd said.
Tom seemed startled. "What's that?" he asked.
"You should go and see your son," Gawd said.
"We shouldn't talk about it," Tom answered, looking away and fiddling with his fishing line. There was a moment of silence over the river.
"Sorry," Gawd said.
"It's alright," Tom said.
"You're like my dad," Gawd said quietly.
The man looked over and smiled, but he looked quickly away, perhaps embarrassed. "That's good of you to say," he said, looking back after brushing his sleeve across his eyes.
Then Gawd had a fish bite and that ended the exchange, but the boy thought he perceived a change in the man afterwards. The two seemed even closer, like they truly were father and son, and Gawd's mother was the wife as well as the mother, although the man continued to journey off to his own humble abode each night or slept on the couch. Gawd wondered about that. At first, when Tom had started coming over, he had been glad about it, feeling his mother should share her bed with no man. But now that some months had passed, Gawd thought it strange that the man and woman still slept apart, because he well knew, even at his tender age, what it was that brought men and women together.
One day Gawd's mother had to go stay overnight at her sister's, in the middle of the week. Gawd couldn't go because he had school, so his mother asked Tom to stay over. Gawd was thrilled; he always liked having Tom stay over.
They went to McDonald's after seeing Gawd's mother off at the bus station. They ate like pigs, spilling stuff all over the sports pages and the table, making a mess of things the way only men can make a mess of things. Later, they watched the mid-week hockey telecast on the tube and ate popcorn that Tom made on the top of the stove. It was again a family scene, with the man and boy sitting side by side on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn and a big bottle of root beer, just the way a real father and son might do with the mother gone away.
"You know, Gawd, my life has been pretty crazy over the last ten years or so," Tom said, during the intermission after the second period had ended, "but this is really the best time I've had. I've really enjoyed this time I've spent with you and your mom."
"Yeah, it's been pretty great," Gawd answered.
"And I can't believe I've done it without the booze. It's almost made me believe I might be able to put things back together," he said, before pausing. During that pause, he reached over and put his hand gently on Gawd's shoulder. "I'd like to try to put things back together," he said, and Gawd thought he could hear sincerity in the man's voice. "Would you like it if I tried to get together with your mom?" he asked.
"I sort of thought you already had," Gawd said.
"Not really," Tom said. "I know we've done lots of things together, and I seem to be over here all the time, but I've been careful with your mom. I was sort of back on my feet when I met her that night. But I thought she needed time to try to get herself back together a bit -- sort of on her own. I wanted to be around, because I like both of you, but I didn't want to push myself into your family. I wanted her to be sure of herself -- and I wanted to make sure I could trust myself. Your mother's been through a lot, and so have you, and I didn't want to put you through anything more."
There was a pause. Gawd was unsure what to say, surprised that the man was confiding in him.
"Another thing. I've been thinking about what you were saying," Tom continued; "about seeing my boy. I'm thinking that maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea. Maybe I could do it. I didn't think I could a couple of months ago, but now I think I might be able to."
"Then you should," Gawd encouraged. "I bet he'd be glad to see you."
"My wife told me never to try to see him. She said she'd make my life miserable if I ever tried. She's probably poisoned the boy toward me, anyway." Tom looked dejected, depressed, tired.
"I'd like to see my dad," Gawd offered. "Mom says he's dead, but he's probably not. But if my dad turned out like you, even if he used to have troubles, I'd be really glad if he came to see me. It would make me know he cared about me. And that would mean something."
"Maybe it would," Tom answered somewhat thoughtfully. "Anyway, what would you think of me hooking up with your mom -- if she'd have me?"
"I think it'd be great," Gawd said, and Tom gave his shoulder and affectionate squeeze. There was a feeling of closeness, but at that moment, the third period resumed with a great scoring chance, and the conversation ended.
The topic didn't come up again in the weeks that followed, but Tom started to proceed with his plan of hooking up with Gawd's mother. He didn't share her bed; instead, he asked her out on dates, for dinner or a movie. Gawd's mother was in her own form of heaven at having a man treat her with some apparent dignity and respect. And Gawd was pleased. He wondered about Tom and his son, but felt that was the man's concern to deal with, and that he would speak first about it if there was anything to be said.
One night, though, Gawd's mom got all dressed up to go out with Tom, who was supposed to pick her up at eight. He was never late and prided himself on his punctuality, so by nine both the mother and Gawd were worried. By ten, there was concern. And by the time they went to bed about midnight, and he had still not appeared, both were extremely anxious and fearful.
Two days passed and there was no sign of him. The mother and son didn't speak of him, both perhaps fearing the worst but afraid to talk of it. Then, on the third day, he came. He was drunk. Bad drunk. Sad drunk. Mad drunk.
Even as Gawd stood outside the door to the house after school, he knew there was trouble.
"You should leave, Tom," he heard his mother say. "The boy'll be home any minute. You don't want him to see you like this. Go home and get yourself straightened out. Sleep it off."
The man sat, slouched, on the end of the couch, when Gawd came through the door. He'd not shaved or cleaned himself for some time. He looked a hell of a mess, the boy thought.
"I came to see him," Tom said drunkenly to the mother. Then, he pointed and leered in Gawd's direction. "I came to see you," he growled. "You, boy, the one with all the answers. The smart one."
"Leave him alone, Tom," his mother said defensively, walking over and putting herself between the boy and the man, who was now halfway up off the couch. "Go home and sleep it off."
Tom had now managed to pull himself into an upright position. "I saw my boy," he said, moving toward the mother and son. "Just like you told me," he shouted loudly over the mother's shoulder to the boy who stood behind her, frightened. "You know what?" he asked, and there was anger in his voice.
The man had been standing, leaning forward, gesturing with his arms, almost menacingly, but now he shrank back and looked small and broken. "I found out where he went to school and went to see him play in a basketball game. I wasn't going to go near him, but after the game -- I just had to say something."
The man stood, tears had started to trace their way down through the misery that was etched in his face. "I didn't even tell him I was his father -- just said I'd like to talk to him for a couple of minutes. He laughed at me. He told his friends I was bothering him and they all laughed at me. They made fun of me. Called me a bum, and told me to clear out of their neighbourhood or they'd rough me up. The boy's a loud-mouthed smart-ass."
Anger had returned to his voice, and he seemed to gather himself up. "Why'd I listen to you?" he asked loudly, menacingly, almost as if the mother did not stand between the man and the boy.
"Tom, it's not Gawd's fault," the mother said. "He didn't know what your son would be like. You probably just surprised the boy. He didn't know who you were."
"I want to talk to your son," the man said, this time directly to the mother, finger pointed threateningly. "And you'd better get the hell out of the way," he said, and there was deliberateness to his voice, even though his words were badly slurred from the drink.
"Get out of here, Mom," Gawd said, knowing there was to be trouble.
The man lunged toward the boy. "No, Tom!" cried the mother, recoiling and wrapping her arms around the boy. But it was no use.
It was an awful and bloody scene before a neighbour tired of the noise and called the police. When the two officers came through the door, there was only Gawd. The mother lay dead, her skull crushed in by a brass table lamp. The man lay dead, a butcher knife protruding from his throat.
Gawd sat at the kitchen table -- reading. It was a very special time. Very special indeed.
And Gawd created the earth..........
(Copyright 1999 by John Gardiner - No reproduction without express permission from the author)