Beyond the Borderline

"I guess what I'm saying is not to worry too much. As long as you are honest with your mom, I sure you'll be able to put whatever your misunderstanding is behind you."

"I think you'll find that moms have a great capacity for forgiveness, Rick," she said with a wry chuckle. "They have to develop it, especially if they are raising a son."

She gave me a quick glance and began to walk back down the driveway. My heart was beating like a locomotive, and not from the exertion, as I turned over what she had just said in my head. She turned and looked back at me once as she walked away. "You're all the son any mother could ask for, working so hard," she said, looking over her shoulder. "Jennifer is truly lucky to have you."

My mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and my tongue seemed to stick to the roof of my mouth. "Thanks, " I finally croaked.

My mind was in absolute turmoil. I had the distinct feeling that Marcia absolutely knew that something was going on with Mom, and me, but at the same time, there seemed to be a restraint about her that hinted at the possibility of something less than an upcoming revelation of disaster. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I had a gut feeling that somehow, things might not turn out as badly as I feared. Some of the things she had said lead me to think that there might not be anything to worry about at all, but in any event, I knew that I shouldn't take one single thing for granted about my current situation, so I put my small glimmer of hope back into a black box and locked it away from further examination.

It was late afternoon now, and I was sitting in the driveway, watching my concrete patch slowly dry. The afternoon light was ridiculously and mockingly beautiful. Golden light and shadows from the maple trees lining the driveway dappled the ground. I found myself desperately longing to share the waning light with Mom, sitting on the back porch as we had done many times in the past. On impulse, I picked up a twig lying next to me and scooted over to the patch. In bold strokes, I carefully scratched into the still-damp cement "R L J" and the date. For some reason, this gave me a small measure of comfort. I sighed, stood up and dusted myself off.

As I was stepping up onto the front porch, a delivery truck pulled into the driveway. I quickly ran back down the driveway to pull him up short, protecting my repair job. The driver got out of the truck and approached me.

"Express letter for Richard Lindermann," he said briskly.

"That would be me," I replied.

"Please sign."

I examined the letter with frank curiosity. I was not expecting any communications from anyone, so I had no idea what to expect. There was no name on the sender, only a Vancouver address.

"Vancouver!" I thought. "Holy crow - is this from Mom?"

I tore it open on the spot with a perfunctory thank you. A single sheet of hotel stationary was enclosed. I recognized Mom's writing immediately. As I read, my heart jumped into my throat.

Richard -

I am still sorting out how I feel about the events of Sunday. I am finding it difficult to do my work here because of worry about what Marcia McCleary may or may not have seen between us. Right now, I'm very conflicted about everything that's happened since July 4th. As wonderful as some things have been, what happened on Sunday simply can't be ignored. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do at this point, but things don't seem the same now between us. I'm not sure that I can trust you anymore. We'll talk after I get back, but I have to be honest and tell you right now that I'm very disappointed with the turn our relationship has taken. I'll give you the credit that you are probably sorry about what happened, but there are times when that's simply not enough. I'm trying very hard to be objective, but right now I'm not sure I can see a way to fix things between us.

Mom

P.S. Don't bother about picking me up at the airport; I'll be getting a cab home.

The slight glimmer of hope I felt after talking with Marcia still dimly flickered, but this letter was a body blow. "I'm not sure that I can trust you anymore ". Jesus, it looked as though Mom was going to totally and completely cut me out of her life. I shambled through the front door and into the foyer, slumping down against the wall. I don't know how long I sat there, but when I finally roused myself it was full dark. Looking across the entryway into the living room, I could see the vase of roses I had gotten for Mom that preceding Friday. The drooping stems and scattered, shriveled petals of the dying flowers mocked me cruelly. Shuffling into the kitchen, I had some sardines and crackers and then went up to bed, anticipating another sleepless night. I don't know how I managed it, but somehow I got around 7 hours of dreamless sleep.

Thursday and Friday were sheer agony. I managed to finish the task list to my satisfaction around 4 pm on Friday and went in to take a shower, my first in 5 days. As I stood under the running water, I glanced at my flaccid cock. Other than my morning piss hardons and the brief event in the driveway with Marcia McCleary, I had not had one waking erection since Mom had left. Quite a change for a guy who had fantasized about his Mom three or four times a day for the past 7 or 8 years. I stepped out onto the bath mat, dressed and went down to the kitchen. I still had not cleaned up the cum from in front of the kitchen sink. I had, I think, purposefully left it there to remind and punish myself about the follies of thinking with the little head. I still felt no need to clean it up.

I decided that the least I could do for Mom was to fix some dinner for her. I still had no appetite, but I wanted to welcome her home properly, regardless of what was in store for me. I set about making one of her favorites, linguine with Puttanesca sauce, taking care to execute everything perfectly. I set a bottle of Barolo on the kitchen table and opened it to breathe.

As I was finishing setting the table, I heard the cab pull up. I quickly went to the front door to turn on the outside lights. Mom got out of the back seat, dressed in her usual business attire of a plain, but form fitting black skirt with side buttons, a plain white blouse and short jacket. She looked haggard, but still beautiful to me. The cabbie quickly handed out her luggage and she began hauling it back to the house. Her path took her over my patch in the driveway and she seemed to pause briefly, inspecting the work. She appeared to nod once to herself, as she looked, my handiwork apparently passing muster for her. Sensing the need for restraint, I opened the door for her and took her luggage in hand. A brief peck on the cheek and I welcomed her home.

When I closed the door behind us, Mom simply stood there, staring at me. Her gaze was neutral, but I sensed that she was trying to decide if she was going say anything. I couldn't bear her silence. It cut more deeply and hurt more sharply than any tirade or explosion could possibly do.

"Mom," I began, stuttering in my nervousness, "I guess we should talk. Is that okay?"

Shaking her head slightly, her eyes continuing to bore into me. I thought I saw a strange mix of sadness, residual anger and even uncertainty in her expression.

"I have nothing I want to say to you right now, Richard," she said tiredly.

"But can I say something?" I pleaded. Mom appeared to take in a breath, ready to shut me down, but I plunged on, ignoring her attempt to stop me.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I said miserably. "I don't have the words, I feel so bad about what happened. It' just...it's just that I wanted to...wanted you..."

"All right, I'll get right to the point, Richard," she said resignedly, cutting me off. Clearly, she didn't want to hear any apologies or explanations.

"I'm tired. I am emotionally exhausted. I am NOT prepared to discuss anything with you tonight or this weekend. I wish to be left alone until Monday. I've already called the office to take the day off, so we'll have enough time to sort things out between us.

Her hard demeanor softened briefly and she gently touched her finger to my bruised cheek. "There are many things I am very sorry about right now," she began, "Not the least of which was the way I slapped you on Sunday. Whatever else happens, I hope you can forgive me that. I was as angry with you as I have ever been in my life."

I had a lump in my throat the size of a boulder. "It's okay Mom, I got no more than I deserved. What I did...it was so selfish, I can't believe I did it...it was like I was a different person, an animal. It was a horrible thing to do. I'm so sorry, so sorry, Mom," I whispered, eyes wet with shame.

"I'm still very sorry I hit you. Of all the things that happened on Sunday, that was probably the least forgivable. I'll never do that again, as long as I live."

"That's done and in the past as far as I'm concerned, Mom. Uhh, but there is something I have to tell you. Marcia was by on Wednesday. She wanted to talk."

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I suppose that was to be expected. What did you say to her?"

"I told her that you might be back in the middle of next week and could talk then."

"I'm glad you bought me a little time." I hope I'll be able to do some damage control in the meanwhile."

"I made you some dinner," I blurted awkwardly. "I thought you might be hungry after the flight."

A small, but genuine smile flashed on her lips. "That was very considerate of you. I could use some of your cooking after the past week. Be a dear and run upstairs to draw me a bath. I want to eat quickly and have a nice long soak."

I smiled and nearly ran upstairs. I carefully started filling her tub and put in some of her favorite bath oil. Scouting quickly around her bedroom, I found a single candle and lit it, placing it next to the tub. I double-checked the water temperature, making sure it was perfect.

As I headed back downstairs, I heard voices in the kitchen. Shit! It was Marcia. She must have been laying in wait, just itching to get her hooks into Mom. Their voices were low and I could not make out what was being said. I slowly started down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen. I felt as though I was heading for my own execution. They must have heard me coming down because the conversation paused. I heard Marcia's voice.

"Please come into the kitchen, Rick."

As I stepped though the door, the tension in the room was obvious. Marcia was leaning up against the refrigerator, as though she hadn't a care in the world. Mom was seated in the breakfast nook, her hand clutching a glass of the Barolo so hard I thought it might burst.

Marcia spoke again, looking directly at me, smiling reassuringly.

"We have some serious things to discuss, so I hope you'll give Jenny and me a bit of privacy for a few more minutes. Please don't interrupt us. Now be a dear and go upstairs for a little while."

I nodded mutely and went to sit at the top of the stairs, in an agony of suspense. The low tones of their conversation resumed for about 3 or 4 minutes. Suddenly, I heard the sound of breaking glass. I sprinted downstairs and slid into the doorway. Mom had dropped her wineglass, shattering it on the tile floor. She was mopping up the wine and glass shards, her face averted from Marcia. She was pale and visibly shaking. My first thought was that Marcia had revealed herself to Mom and that she knew our secret, but she glanced up at me briefly, mouthing silently, "Don't worry." She helped Mom finish cleaning up and briskly stood, appearing to squeeze Mom's shoulder comfortingly as she got to her feet.

I was totally unprepared for what happened next. It remains to this day the single greatest and most dramatic surprise of my entire life. Marcia looked at me and crossed the room. She took both my hands in hers and said warmly and gently, "Your secret is completely safe with me. I hope you two can work things out. I'd like to think you both could be as happy together as Shawn and I are." She pecked me on my cheek and then left quickly, quietly shutting the front door behind her.

By now, Mom had resumed her position in the kitchen nook. She was still trembling, looking as though she were about to faint.

I started towards her, but she immediately thrust her arm at me, palm outward. "No, Rick! Just come and sit down. We're obviously going to have to talk now." She took a deep breath and gazed at the ceiling, seeming to marshal her thoughts. She then turned to me, pain and confusion written on her face.

"I don't know what to do, Rick," she said miserably. "I'm so relieved and surprised about Marcia that I feel like I'm going to faint. But, I think...I think I'm going to need some time and space to figure this all out. Right now, I just don't know if I can go forward. I just don't know if we can work this out," she sighed heavily.

I nodded dumbly.

Her face softened and a small smile formed on her lips. I thought I detected the faint sparkle in her eyes that I loved so much.

"I will always love you as my son," she said softly. "I forgive you for what happened on Sunday. I am at fault much more than you are for letting things progress to that point. It was always in my power to stop things, had I chosen to do so. I let my own loneliness and your attentiveness get the better of me."

She took in a deep breath and continued. "I hope that we will be able to get back at least a little of what we had before July 4th, over time. I don't want you gone from my life and I hope you can accept this, because I think this is what I...I...I have to...must do... right now." Her face was hard to read as she spoke. Her expression was tight and resolute, as though she was mustering all her internal strength to speak. At the same time, I could see real sadness in her eyes and almost an apologetic tone in her words.

She stood abruptly and strode past me. As she passed, she looked over her shoulder and gave me a ghost of a smile, something I never hoped for, and said "I'm going to get my bath and go to bed now. Tomorrow is a new day and a new beginning for us. I'll see you in the morning."

I slowly followed behind her. I didn't even look at her ass as she climbed the stairs in front of me, even though I could have seen her panties completely.

***

There was no sleep for me that night. I was wracked by an overwhelming sense of loss and grief, unlike anything I had ever felt in my life, even surpassing when Gramps and Nana had died. I felt as though the future now held nothing for me, just endless struggle and dull, gray decades, stretching ahead to a lonely grave. Around four in the morning, I gave up and went down to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. I slowly crawled into a somewhat alert state of buzzed exhaustion and contemplated my choices with a feeling of absolute desolation.

Mom was still clearly conflicted, unable to come to terms with where we seemed to be headed. It looked to me as though "right and proper" was going to carry the day against love and desire in Mom's mind and I finally had to admit to myself that all my hopes and dreams were just that; fantasies that would never be allowed to come to fruition.

I now knew I couldn't stay in the house another hour. I still loved Mom and I knew my departure would hurt her a lot, but I almost took a perverse satisfaction in that, selfishly wanting her to feel the same pain of loss and rejection, which was weighing on my soul at that time. After all that had happened between us in the past months, I didn't feel I could wait any longer. I needed to get away, simply to preserve my sanity.

I went upstairs and quietly packed an overnight bag, returning to the kitchen. I had a friend in Staten Island I knew I could crash with for a few days while I figured out my own living arrangements. I sent him an email, asking him to call me when he got up that morning. I knew I wouldn't have to wait too long, as he had to open up the cafe he worked at in just an hour or two.

I then sat down to write a note to Mom, explaining how I had to get out of the house now, for my own good, and before anything else happened that might drive us further apart. After what happened that past Sunday, I wasn't sure I could control myself around her any more.

Writing that letter proved to be enormously difficult and took far, far longer than I thought. In my twisted state of mourning and anger, I found the words just wouldn't come. It was that writer's block that saved me.

I was still slumped in my chair, back to the kitchen doorway, surrounded by a flock of crumpled, discarded drafts of my goodbye letter. At the point of complete despair, I thought about simply picking up my bag and walking out the door when I heard something behind me.

"Ricky...what are you doing up at this hour? What's the matter?"

Hearing her voice, I started and cringed inwardly. Having finally, painfully worked up the nerve to move on, I wasn't prepared for another cycle of indecision, postponements or excuses. If I was going to make a break, I didn't want my last memory to be seeing my beautiful mother at the banks of my personal Rubicon. If I was going to get her out of my head, I couldn't afford that final recollection.

As Mom took in the tableau of my discarded letters and the bag by the door, she gasped audibly, gripping the doorframe for support.

"Oh God, Ricky! No! Please don't do this! Please, God, don't leave me like this," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

I slowly stood and faced her, somehow finding the strength to speak the words I had been dreading for so long.

"I have to go, Mom. I can't stay with you anymore. I love you too much, and in too many ways you can't return. If I stay, I'll lose my mind. I have to move on," I said miserably.

"Baby, please, think it over, give us some time. We'll figure things out."

I flushed with anger and for the first time I could remember in years, I actually yelled at Mom, slapping my hand on the kitchen counter.

"There's nothing to think over!" I exploded. "I know that things will never be the way I want them to be for you and me! There's no point in torturing ourselves when all that's left between us is what I can't have and what you can't seem to give, Mom!"

As I spewed out my years of pent up frustrations, Mom quailed from me as though she had suffered a physical blow. She actually slipped and fell onto her ass with a tooth-jarring thump, eyes wide in shock and pain, tears flowing freely.

My fury was immediately quenched when I saw her stumble. In spite of my anger, I found myself at her side before I could even think. I took her in my arms, hugging her as tight as I could, sobbing myself.

"I'm sorry, Mom! I'm so sorry! I can't help the way I feel about you! I promised you I'd never do anything to hurt you and look what happened! I'll always love you, but I can't do this any more! I just can't!"

As my entire world burned to the ground inside, somehow, I found a reserve of cold strength within and hauled her up to her feet. Placing my arms around her, I spoke one last time.

"Mom, as your son, I'm not ever going to stop loving you, but tomorrow, next week and next year, just remember you would have always had that, but could have had this too!"

I bent to her face and crushed her in my embrace, giving her the hardest, most ferocious and passionate kiss I could muster. She stood stiffly against me, not really responding, but not resisting either. Slowly, her lips softened ever so slightly and gradually her hands came up haltingly to rest lightly and tentatively on my waist.

"This is the last time I'm ever going to hold you, Mom," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry for everything, more than you'll ever know, but it's time. Time to go."

Without another word, I broke our embrace and turned away, walking to the door to fetch my bag. Deliberately not looking back, I spoke quietly as I made my way to the back door, my own cheeks wet with tears, "I love you, Jenny Marie, mother."