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When he died, Dallas had expected a lot of things. Fire. Brimstone. Heat. Pain. The whole hell deal, the one his grandma was constantly rambling about whenever his dad took him over to her house. Once he got older, he guessed that it was because it was easier than hiring a babysitter. It wasn’t like she ever noticed there was a kid running around the house. As long as he was quiet, she’d leave him alone and she wouldn’t give him some long lecture about how he was going to grow up to be a spiteful good for nothing, just like his disappointment of a father.
He hadn’t expected to be greeted by the pleasant warmth of some midday sunshine and the faint scent of something cooking. He didn’t move from his spot on the hardwood floor, only turning over slightly so that he could be prepared in case of an attack. He knew that there was a lot going on after what had happened recently but he just wanted to rest for a second, just a damn second. He was so tired, so, so tired and all he wanted to do was rest.
The floor he was laying on wasn’t just hardwood, it was covered with a soft rug, partially worn from years of being walked over. He felt like a cat, laying in the sunlight, thinking only of sleep and how tired he was. He hadn’t got a solid hour of sleep ever since…ever since two kids he knew had skipped town because they’d killed some other kid.
He froze when he noticed the sound of humming filling the air around him, occasionally interspersed with singing. It was familiar, painfully so. It made his heart ache with homesickness, like a little kid that had been at a sleepover for too long. He didn’t want to get up and look for the source of the sound, afraid that it might not be real after all, that he might just end up wandering around on his own, looking for something he hadn’t yet realised had never been there.
Turns out he didn’t have to. The sound of singing stopped, followed by a warm, familiar voice asking, “Um, I’m not sure I know who you are…Are you alright?”
He looked up, scrambling onto his hands and knees. There she was, looking exactly as he remembered. Her soft blonde hair was neatly tied up out of her face, a small white flower tucked behind one ear, matching the ones sitting in a jar of water on the windowsill. Her green eyes were filled with concern and her mouth was turned down at the corner, chewing at her bottom lip.
“Do you feel alright? I know it takes some getting used to after…something like this happens. Why don’t you come sit down for a minute, I’m sure we can get this sorted out.” his mother continued, offering him a hand with a gentle smile.
Dallas had prided himself on rejecting affection and acts of kindness for a very long time. He didn’t trust it, he hated the way it made him feel small and sick. Normally he would have pushed the offered hand away and stalked off, somewhere far away from any kind of gesture that might make him feel somewhat vulnerable. But not this time. He couldn’t. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in so long, he couldn’t just leave her without even saying anything. He wasn’t sure he ever even wanted to leave.
So he took her hand and let her help him to his feet, guiding him over to the neat kitchen table, decorated with a pretty white tablecloth and an empty fruit bowl. He remembered that tablecloth, crumpling it under his fingers as he sat down. It had sat on their kitchen table his entire childhood, even after his mother wasn’t around anymore. He’d often pulled and tugged at its threads when he’d gotten bored or when he’d been trying to ignore his parents arguing. He’d never liked listening to someone yelling at his mom.
“So, what’s your name honey? And how do I know you? Are you one of Kathleen’s boys? I swear, I could never keep up with them all and I’ve…been away for a good while now I think, so you’ve all probably grown up by now.” she rambled, moving back over to the oven, where something warm was cooking.
Dallas remembered that name. She’d mentioned it once when they’d been looking at one of the old photo albums she’d kept safely packed away in her closet. She’d pointed to a photo of three little girls clustered around the side of a swimming pool, their legs dangling in the water, one of them holding a watery looking ice cream cone. “That’s me and my sisters,” she’d said with a nostalgic smile, “Kathleen and Stacy. You’ve met your auntie Kathleen before, when you were just a little baby. She thought you were an absolute nightmare, since you never stopped crying and trying to climb out of your crib. She couldn’t stand me for the longest time because I was absolutely smitten with you.” He felt the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile at the memory. She’d never stopped talking about how happy she was to have a kid and how much she loved him.
“I’m, uh, not one of her kids, no.” he mumbled, fiddling with the sleeves of his worn jacket.
“Oh, did Stacy have a son then? I’m sure I’d remember that. I guess it has been a while since I last saw her, especially after she moved to the city and got that fancy job, she never really had time to visit or chat with her family.” she mused to herself, looking out the kitchen window as she spoke.
“I’m not her kid either.” he said, a growing sense of dread clawing at his stomach. He knew what he’d need to say soon and he was so terrified of what she’d say in response.
He hadn’t seen his mother in years. Since then he’d grown and changed a lot, along with realising a pretty big thing about himself, which had also led to him changing a lot as he got older. His father had taken it terribly the first time he’d brought it up and most everyone he’d talked about it to since had had similar reactions.
“I am already dead. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?” he thought to himself.
He already knew though. He loved his mother, he always had. She was kind to him and she loved him too, unconditionally. She’d always been there for him, no matter what. He couldn't bear the thought of her hating him too, not wanting anything to do with him. He couldn’t stand the idea of all that love going away just because she didn’t like the way he was, the way he’d always been.
“I can get through it. I can. There’s more to this whole dead thing then just her. There are other people around here too, I’m sure there are. Why else am I here anyway? I’m not here for her.” he thought venomously, wincing at the tone of his thoughts. He didn’t like thinking about his mom so angrily and bitterly. She meant so much to him, it wasn’t fair to think about her like that.
“Who are you then? If you don’t mind me asking, that is. I just don’t know why you’d pop in to see me first if you’re just some stranger-”
“I’m not a stranger, I’m…I just…I…OK, do you remember your kid from when you were alive?” he choked out, shoving his hands under the table so that she wouldn’t be able to see them shaking.
“Of course I do! I’d never forget her, I loved my baby more than anything. Why do you ask?” she replied, turning to face him. Dallas struggled to conceal the wince that sentence caused. He hadn’t heard anyone call him that in a while. He’d made sure no one knew anything about his life before he’d moved away from home, just to make sure no one said anything like that.
“Well…I…I am your kid. From when you were alive. I just…I’ve changed…a lot…since I last saw you.” he struggled to say, feeling like he was about to throw up instead of speak.
His mother fell silent after that, just staring at him, her brow furrowed, clearly puzzled. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat and he desperately wanted her to say something, anything, even if it was bad. It’d be something and that’d be enough for him. It’d be an answer and that’d mean he wouldn’t have to wait in anxious suspense anymore. He hated being this freaked out and nervous, it wasn’t like him to be. He hated it when something managed to make him all jittery.
Eventually, a look of dawning realisation spread across her face and she slowly walked over to the table, sitting down in a chair across from him. She reached over and took both his hands in hers. That was when he noticed that she was crying, tears bubbling over and spilling silently down her cheeks. His heart sank and he felt like crying too. She wasn’t mad, she was so disgusted she was upset. She was crying, she was upset that he’d taken her child away. He practically cringed back in his chair, prepared for the oncoming sobs of disappointment.
“Oh honey…I’m so sorry.” she just sighed, letting out one small sob.
“For…For what?” he asked cautiously, still afraid of what she was going to say next.
“You’re-You’re so young. And you’re here, which means that-that you’re…” she dissolved into tears for a moment, before slowly sitting up to look at him, her green eyes sparkling with anguish, “How old are you?”
“...Seventeen.” he admitted quietly.
She didn’t answer again this time, she just cried, small, soft sounds of pain. He was just surprised that that was what she was upset about. He wasn’t relieved just yet, a disappointed lecture could still be just around the bend, but for now he didn’t have to worry much.
“I mean, it’s not so bad, I’m almost an adult anyway. That’s not that young.”
“It’s young enough. Besides, every mother hopes to never see their child die one day, even if they know it’s going to happen eventually.”
“So…So you’re not mad?”
“Mad about what?”
“You thought you…had a daughter. And you don’t. Doesn’t that make you mad?”
Those words were hard to get out. They made him feel nauseous. He could be opening up an entire can of worms with those few words. This is what could set her off and send her into the rage he’d been so worried about.
“Why would I be mad about that? You’re still you, hell, you’re more you now then you were. When I told you that I would always love you, no matter what, I meant it. No matter who you are or who you become, I’ll still be your mother and I’ll still love you. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there for you when you figured these things out. It must have been hard dealing with it one your own.”
“Yeah, it was. But I took care of myself. I’m like that.”
She struggled to sniffle back her tears, wiping them away with one hand, looking up at him again, this time with a small smile. “So what do you call yourself these days? A mother should at least know her son’s name, don’t you think.”
“Yeah, she probably should,” he chuckled, letting out a soft sigh of relief, “These days people call me Dallas.”
She laughed softly and her smile widened, “Was there any particular reason you chose the town I was born in?”
“I don’t know. Just felt right, I guess.” he shrugged.
“You total sweetheart. Who would’ve guessed that I would have ended up raising such a brave young man. I’m so proud of you.”
Dallas almost burst into tears at those words, just barely managing to hold them in. He hadn’t heard those words in a long time, so long that he’d forgotten the last time someone had said it. It made him feel small, not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel like a little kid again, safe and protected by his mom.
“Now, I’d best come over to you for this next question I’ve got for you,” she said, getting up and coming over to sit beside him.
“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked nervously, feeling the sense of dread begin to creep back over him.
“I know this is a bit of a personal question and you don’t have to answer but I just thought I’d ask…Dallas, honey, how’d you…how’d you die?” she inquired gently, each word soft and careful, as if she was making sure not to say anything too potentially upsetting.
He should’ve expected this question honestly. She’d always been worried about any of his potential injuries and this was pretty much the worst one.
“I, uh, it’s a long story but me and some of my friends got mixed up in some trouble. Things didn’t end well, one of them got hurt, really badly hurt and he…he…” He couldn’t finish that. He just couldn’t say it. It was like trying to talk around a ball of broken glass, the only sounds coming out being faint chokes and very small sniffles. He tried one last time before hunching in on himself, leaning away from his mom, letting one or two stray tears slip out.
“How long ago did your friend…”
“Not very long ago. Maybe a couple of hours ago, I don’t know. I stopped paying attention to the time after that all went down.”
“Oh. Oh I’m so sorry. What did you do then?”
“I…I don’t think you’re gonna like this Mom.”
“I’m your mother, I can hear anything you’re willing to tell me. Do you think you got your nerves of steel from your father?”
“Yeah, OK…Well, I didn’t take it well, so I went out and got myself killed. Got myself shot, to be exact. And that’s about it. Just a couple of big bangs and a lot of blood and that was it for me. Pretty cool if you ask me.”
He laughed, a short, sharp sound that he wasn't sure was genuine or not. It felt more like the product of all his emotions that had only spilled out a few minutes ago. Everything still felt so messy and awful.
“Oh baby. Oh god. Come here.” she cried, leaning over and pulling him into a tight hug.
He was taken aback by the gesture but quickly relaxed into it, the memory of his mother’s hugs pulling him forward. Once he was curled up beside her, he let the rest of his tears spill over. He wasn’t really sure if he did let them. He’d been struggling to keep them in for a while and it had only been a matter of time until they all spilled out in a messy rush of feelings. The best he could do was hide his face in her shirt and sob, messy noises of grief and pain spilling out uncontrollably. Everything should be fine now, he’d gotten what he wanted. He could be with his friend, he could be happy now. But he didn’t feel happy. He still felt just as messy and miserable and cold as he had the night he’d died.
His mother made soft shushing noises as he cried and stroked his hair, just like she had when he’d been a tiny kid who’d come running inside bawling because he’d crashed his bike into a metal fence or something stupid like that. It made him feel better, safe even. That made him cry too, he wasn’t sure why exactly. He thought it might be because he’d missed having someone there to comfort him like that and he never thought he’d have it again. He thought he could hear his mother crying as well and despite the feeling of a strong pang of guilt for being the cause of that, he wasn't surprised. He knew that she wouldn't like hearing about him dying, least of all the way he really did go out, with all that mess and pain.
“Y’know what I think will cheer you up? You said this friend of yours ended up in the same spot you are, with the whole not being alive anymore thing. So why don’t we go find him? I’m sure you could benefit from seeing a friendly face right about now.” she suggested eventually.
“Yes. Yes, let’s do that. Just…gimme a second. I’ve gotta get myself cleaned up.” he replied quickly, standing up and moving over to the stove, swiftly pressing one hand against the side of one of the stove tops, hissing as the muted heat shot up his arm, adrenaline firing through him, burning away the remains of his tears.
“Dallas, what are you doing? Where the hell did you learn something like that!” his mother cried, her voice shooting up an octave when she noticed what he was doing.
“Dad. He always said it was the quickest way to get your shit together. Don’t worry, it’s not that bad, I only do it on the side of the stove. Dad was always a big fan of the actual stove top.” he replied with a nonchalant shrug, flicking a glance down at the red, scarred patches on his palm.
“I’m having some words with that man later. And then I’m having words with you too, just much kinder ones. But let's go find your friend. I said we would and besides, I’d like to meet him. Any friend of my son’s is a friend of mine.”