It's All Your Fault

The mug of black coffee held in his hand offered a comfort, warming his chilled insides as he stared, expressionless, at the television. His slight movements of occasionally wetting his chapped lips and raising the drink to take a sip, showed he was not in an unresponsive vegetative state.

Then the phone rang. He already knew who it was, and he debated with himself whether or not to pick it up. His eyes averted to look over at the answering machine to double-check it was turned off.

After the next countless ring shrilled in his ears, he slammed his coffee on the nightstand, splashing some on his hand. He irritably waved it to shake off the hot droplets while picking up the phone with his other hand.

"Jon," the voice on the other end said.

"Dad," Jon responded in the same monotonous tone. There was a moment of hesitation.

"We've been through this before."

"Correction," Jon interjected. "You've been through this before. I, on the other hand, have given you my answer therefore ending this discussion."

"You are my son," Rick hissed in an angry tone. "I want you to come with me."

Jon's voice cracked as he tried to maintain his composure. "Dad... please. I do not want to go. I've.." He took a deep breath and shuddered. "I've already made that clear before."

"It would mean a lot to me," Rick said quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry." Jon put the phone back in its cradle, allowing the tears to fall.

Even though he was in a deep sleep that night, he mind was haunted with disturbing dreams. He woke up with a sore neck and red puffy eyes.

Hastily, a shower was taken and clothes thrown on. He took note of the overcast weather and pulled on a black trenchcoat. He silently crept down the stairs and into the garage where he started up his car and left.

The drive took only twenty minutes, but to Jon, it seemed like hours. When he finally got to his destination, he parked in the sparsely-filled lot. The air was icy, causing him to pull his coat closer. His shoes became dotted with dew as he trekked through the grass which was in a need for a good mowing.

He stopped in front of a flat gravestone. He stared at it, feeling his pulse pound in his throat. He looked around to make sure no one else was in hearing distance. He shifted uncomfortably, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.

"Um.. I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday," he apologized, biting the inside of his bottom lip. "I wasn't sure if I should come today either but I thought I should." He paused, then brandished a long-stemmed pink rose. "I brought this for you because I remember whenever Dad came home - every so often - he'd bring you a bouquet of pink roses.." His voice trailed off as an image from his childhood flashed in his mind. An image he wished he didn't remember.

I look up and see Mommy stirring dinner on the stove. She looks really angry and sad, like she's gonna cry. I hold onto her leg and I ask her what's wrong. She doesn't even say anything and won't look at me. She brings the pan to the counter, shaking her leg a little to tell me "off." I feel bad, so I walk over to the table and sit in my chair.

"Mommy?" I ask. "Where's Daddy's plate?"

She's mixing some potatoes with a spoon. "Daddy's not going to have a plate at the table anymore."

I'm scared. "Why?" Suddenly, I hear the front door close. I jump out of my seat and run out of the kitchen. There's my daddy! He's holding a bunch of pretty pink roses. He stops only to pat me on the head then rushes into the kitchen. I follow him but hide near the doorway.

They're fighting. Yelling and shouting. I get really upset. They're using big words that I don't understand.

"You're not even here for your son!" I hear Mommy scream. Oh no.. this is all my fault!

I watch her as she grabs the flowers and throws them on the floor.

Jon gasped as a sob clenched in his throat, not realizing he tore a petal of the rose and let it flutter to the ground. "Why did you let that happen?" he demanded, tears trickling down. "I didn't come yesterday for your birthday because you were never there for mine! You don't know how hard it is for me! How hard it was! You guys were supposed to love each other! I thought you loved me!"

His cries because more hysterical and he fell on his knees in the soft, wet grass. His face cortorted as he sobbed, his head hanging over the grave marker which tears splashed onto.

"If it wasn't for you and your-your stubbornness and anger, Dad would have nev er left us!! All because of you! It was you who was the reason why Dad married Sharon! Does that name ring a bell?!" He gasped and wiped straying spittle off of his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, unconsciously ripping the rosebud apart, petal by petal, and placing them on the grave. "Sharon! That bitch fucked me beyond repair! I wouldn't have been put through that shit with my fucking next-door neighbor because someone could have protected me! But, no! You were too damn busy fighting! Thanks a whole lot, Mom!" He clenched the now-bare stem in his fist as he cried.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, dropping the stem. A fresh wound bubbled blood. A small, brown, dried thorn was wedged in his palm. He pulled it out and his gaze fell to the flower which he had torn all the petals away. They rested on a sloppy heart shape he realized he made of the torn flower bits. His eyes widened. Another memory crawled out from the depths of his mind.

"That's a pretty flower," I think to myself as I run over to the big bush of flowers in the yard. Oh! They're pink! Mommy's favorite! I'll do something that'll make her happy. I look across the yard where she is weeding the garden. Good. She isn't watching.

Here I go, I'm taking petals from the pretty roses and making a big heart out of them. When i'm done, I look at my work and feel proud. Hmm. I think I'll give Mommy a flower too. I grab the nearest one and then I feel something hurt me! I pull my hand out and see something sharp in my hand! It hurts so bad, I yell for Mommy. She comes running and sees the red stuff coming out. She picks me up and takes me into the bathroom and sits me on the toilet.

"Oh, Jon," she sighs. "Why were you taking apart my roses?" She quickly gets the thorn out, puts some stingy stuff on my hand and puts a Band-Aid on it.

I wipe my nose. "Cause I want to make you a present, cause I love you."

"Oh.. Jon." She sounds sad, but she looks happy! She hugs me tight and says, "I love you too."

Tears flowed freely as he fumbled blurry-eyed to straighten the petals. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated over and over. Blood trickled from his cut and dyed some parts of a few petals red. He arranged them into a perfect heart. "Happy birthday, Mom," he whispered.