A Phone Call to My Sister in Which I Relay The Events of My Lunch Break Earlier That Day, Wherein I Played Make-Believe With My Son and He Asked Me to Be a Monster

There are many things I thought of saying to him that I did not say.

First of all, how dare he make me, his mother, a good mother,

for all intents and purposes, into a monster, and second, is that

what he really thinks of me? I looked into his eyes and saw

too much of his father to determine the truth of the matter,

so I went into the office to grab my phone and text the bastard:

                                                       “Your son thinks I’m a monster.”

I wondered what lies he’d spin, or if he’d deflect altogether, say,

“That’s funny,” or, “He realized that just now?” or if he’d say

anything at all. Just so you know I’m not opposed, in principle,

to being a monster for the sake of my son, it’s just that I’m not,

and before you say anything, I’ve been sober for a whole month

so I have no idea where he’s getting this from. I’m never violent.

What? That’s different. He’s a naughty kid – gets that from Brent –

he needs discipline so that he won’t grow up into—into—into Brent.

He’s not just trying to play! We play all of the time – literally last night

he was coloring on the bed next to me while I was catching up

on SVU. It’s literally malicious, Cindy. Sometimes I’m scared

for my life. Did I tell you about the time he stood over me

while I was sleeping? Yeah, he just stood there, like a demon,

and stared at me. Thank God I woke up and told him to get out

or I don’t know what he would have done. What? Jesus Christ,

Cindy, I’m obviously joking, but I do think he’s… a little off-beat.

I should’ve known, with all the crazies on Brent’s side of the family.

One of Brent’s uncles is in jail, for assault. I’m not just saying that.

I don’t hate my kid, I’m scared, Cindy, that I’m going to have to commit

him somewhere. Anyways, after I texted Brent, I’m checking my email

and he has the audacity to come in and ask if I’m still playing. Still playing?

Kid, I never started playing monster! Cindy. Oh my god, you won’t

believe this. Brent just texted me back:

“Ha. Not surprised.”

What a loser. The kid takes right after him. Like father, like son.

Christ, Cindy, you’ve got to help me out. They think I’m the monster.

I hope Brent and his whole messed-up family dies in a plane crash.

That’ll show my son who the real monsters are. Cindy? Hello?

Andrew Oom