Page 86 of Feral Daddy

“Mom, why do you have to barge in here like that? I’m a man now.” I whined at her intrusion.

“Well, technically, not until tomorrow. It’s April 2nd for another twelve hours; until then, you’re still my baby,” she said, sitting on the mattress beside me and rubbing her hand over my cheek.

“Mom,” I swiped my hand up, pushing hers away, “I’m not a baby.” I groaned.

She stood up, grabbing the pile of dirty clothes I threw against the wall before passing out last night.

“I’ll never understand you boys. I mean, the hamper is right there.” She pointed to the cloth basket, which was only ten inches from the pile.

She reached over with her free hand grabbing the Ghostface mask from my nightstand and gave me a pointed look. “It’s not Halloween, son,”

I was up on my feet in seconds. “NO, it’s for something else. Just get out, Mom, please,” I whimpered, snatching the mask from her hand and tossing it under my pillow.

“Oh, Dallas, I’ll never understand you and your toys,” she cooed, throwing her hand in the air as she turned toward the door.

I placed a peck on her cheek and a hand on her back, nudging her to keep going. I guided her through the door, closing it behind her and securing the lock. I turned with my back against the door and slid to the floor. I rubbed my hand over my face. “What a dream,” I whispered to no one.

Looking up at the poster where Rocky Balboa hung, staring back at me with the quote,

“You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life, but it ain’t about how hard you can get hit; it’s about how hard you get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward.”

The End!