The Kindness of Strangers

This is not a true story. Memory is an unreliable witness, and though I've tried to tell my tale to the best of my ability, I'm willing to accept not everything played out exactly as you're about to read.

When I was around the age of 8, my parents divorced. I can't say I recall the proceedings, but from what Dad relayed to me over the years, it became pretty messy. Ultimately Mom "winning" the house; custody of me; and the "right to take Dad to the cleaners", or so he would often put it.

It wasn't long after, he packed up everything that Mom hadn't "stolen" from him and moved back to North Carolina where he had grown up, leaving me and Mom living together in the family home. And I quickly began to hate it. Mom was way more focused on her career as a realtor than me, and her long hours saw me invariably spending more and more time in after-school care or being "babysat" by a neighbor or another family member.

A stark difference to Dad's place on the East Coast. On the two occasions I was able to visit him early on, he spent all his time with me. When I first arrived, there was a new PlayStation in my bedroom. On my second trip, he had a dirt bike for me which I could ride in the fields behind my grandparents' house; and on the eve of my last night, he promised the next time I came, he'd get me a puppy!

At only nine years of age, I boldly told my mother I wanted to go and live with Dad; and apart from some partly overheard late-night arguments between them on the phone, it all went smoothly, and I managed to escape the bustle of Los Angeles to the laidback rural lifestyle of the Tar Heel State.

Mom wrote letters often and even visited a few times in that first year. She wouldn't stay with us though, so the time we spent together was pretty limited. Dad said she preferred her job over us anyway and couldn't wait to leave. I wasn't bitter. I just felt sad for her. I always thought she would've been happier if she was more like Dad. He didn't let work rule his life and viewed family time with my uncles as far more valuable. That pretty much consisted of them sitting around the property drinking most of the time, and come to think of it, I don't even remember him having a job for much of my teenage years anyway.

Mom's visits became less frequent over time and eventually, the letters stopped altogether. There were plans for me to fly over to L.A. for the holidays, but they always fell through at the last minute, and as time passed, we became more and more estranged. Sometimes months would go by without even a phone call from her and despite comments on my social media posts, it seemed she was happy to have me and Dad out of her life forever. At least that's what he said about it anyway.

Which made the events surrounding my senior year of high school, all the more surprising.

Dad died.

It was my aunt Leticia who informed me. My closest confidant, (apart from my father of course) she was the one to sit me down at her table and tell me of the accident. He hadn't stood a chance against an eighteen-wheeler on the interstate. Driving the car that was to be my graduation present back from the lot, police said he'd pulled out right into the path of the oncoming semi. Drunk, they said. Which admittedly didn't come as a surprise to anyone in the family.

Academically, I'd done pretty well in school. Dad always begrudgingly acknowledged that I'd inherited that from my mother's side of the family, and it was with his (and admittedly Mom's) encouragement that I applied for entry to a few universities that I admired. Attempting to major in the arts, a small college fund that Dad presented to me in my final year wouldn't go far in the elite schools I'd targeted, and therefore when offered part scholarships at three institutions, I was the first on Dad's side of the family that would seemingly attend college.

Unfortunately, none of them were in North Carolina.

Mom attended Dad's funeral and was even back the next month for my graduation. Why she was so attentive was a mystery, but in those few weeks, I saw more of her than I had in the last two or so years. Maybe she was feeling guilty about not being there during my formative years. I don't know. But I had to admit, when she was around, I found it harder to hate her than I did when she was across the other side of the country.

*

'Made a decision yet Sugar?' Aunt Leticia questioned me as I sat at the dining table early in the evening, leafing through the college brochures laid out before me. Her eyes drifted between the Rhode Island School of Art pamphlet in my right hand, to the MIT booklet in my left.

'Narrowing it down,' I smiled as she sat across from me.

'Well, it's nice to be wanted,' she released a chuckle before stretching forward and tapping the glossy cover of my third option. 'And what about that?'

I looked down at the University of Southern California prospectus, and the acceptance letter for my scholarship slipped inside.

'Really?' I contradicted.

'It's close to yo momma!' Leticia posited.

'And therein lies the problem,' I laughed to which my aunt shook her head.

'You have to grow up sometime child,' she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

'What's that supposed to mean?' I was surprised at the statement and even caught a look of apprehension in Leticia's eyes as she seemed to reflect on what she'd said.

'Just, it's been nearly a month since yo daddy...' she left the sentence unfinished, again shaking her head.

'And?' I prompted her to reveal what was on her mind.

'You were always the bright one Oliver,' she once again stalled, looking down at the college documents. 'Talented too,' she added, no doubt referring to my artistic abilities. 'I just can't believe you can be that naïve,' she ended just as cryptically as she'd begun.

Confused, I dropped the brochures from my hands, collecting them all together in a pile.

'Aunt Leticia. What are you talking about?' I questioned and she momentarily looked toward the door before drawing a breath.

'Sugar,' she once more paused and I began to get frustrated with her stalling. 'I love yo uncle, you know that. And by extension, I loved yo daddy. But Honey. Do you recall him working an honest day in his life!?'

I didn't have any idea why she would raise the issue right then and there and threw back what I hoped was a look of incredulity.

'What's that got to do with...' I began before she interjected.

'How you think yo daddy could afford that car he was giftin' you?'

'I don't... what are you talking about?' I shrugged.

'It wasn't my call Sugar,' Leticia frowned. 'While he was alive, I mean,' she shook her head. 'Hell, yo uncle'd probably have a fit, me tellin' y'all this.'

'Telling me what? You haven't said anything!' I disputed and Aunt Leticia was silent for another extended moment.

'It was yo momma child,' she revealed. 'That car. All the money. We all knew. It was yo daddy didn't want you knowin'. Who was we to go against his wishes? I thought you'd'a figured it out befo' now!'

I took a moment to process the information, feeling my face redden as I began to understand my ignorance.

'You never went without. Did ya Honey? Who you think paid for all them fancy art books you wanted over the years?' Leticia added, not intentionally turning the dagger, but it hurt all the same.

I should have known. Maybe I subconsciously did, but Dad never had a nice word to say about Mom so by osmosis I too thought her incapable of doing good by us, or more pointedly, me.

'Uh-huh,' Leticia nodded, rising from her seat. 'And that fancy university is right near yo momma's house out there in Los Angeles. Now I know you two ain't seen eye to eye all this time. But I also know there ain't no momma on Earth don't want to be near to her baby. You think about that when yo decidin' where yo gonna complete yo "free" education!'

She gave air quotes to the "free" in her sermon and though I might've potentially been the first on my father's side of the family to go to college, I was clearly not the most intelligent in even my current household! Nothing was free. Leticia had just made that abundantly clear. I began to wonder if it was Mom who had indeed paid the price for my happiness over the last decade.

I wasn't brave enough to call her. Approaching by way of Facebook to enquire if she'd be willing to house me for a few days while I got myself established in L.A.? And contrary to a long-held belief, she was eager to help, even enthusiastic about me staying. I thought of how nice she'd been to me throughout Dad's funeral and my graduation and wondered if this was the real woman and not the monster my father had painted her to be. There was only one way to find out.

*

My flight was changed. Originally, I was to arrive at LAX on Saturday evening, but a cancellation saw me bumped into an earlier departure that had me in around midday. Again, organized via Facebook, Mom was originally going to pick me up at the airport, but not wanting to fuck her around any further, I arranged an Uber to my old neighborhood.

Ten years, and on the drive from the airport everything looked the same, just different, if you get my meaning. Houses on our street, however, had been demolished and rebuilt and I didn't even recognize we'd arrived until the driver called our destination and I looked out the opposite window to see Mom's house just as I remembered it. My bags in tow, I allowed the car to depart before I crossed the quiet street, noticing as I headed up the curb even my basketball rim and backboard remained above the garage.

A Subaru was parked in the drive with doors open and the sound of a vacuum cleaner rising from within the vehicle, stopping my approach as I skirted the side and saw the source of the noise.

It wasn't the welcome home I'd been expecting.

With back, or more appropriately, ass to me, Mom straddled the hose of the vacuum cleaner, the ribbed pipe cinched between her upper thighs. Her legs were bare save for white sneakers on her feet and matching workout shorts that hugged her buttocks, creeping almost halfway over each cheek.

'Mom!' I choked; the title caught in my throat as I was admittedly taken aback by the sight, my eyes finding their way to the bulge of pussy that sat suggestively against the grey tube. 'Mom!' I voiced with more authority and her head rose inside the car, a blond ponytail falling onto her shoulders before she straightened further and turned her face toward me.

'Oh. My god. Oliver!' She climbed from the back seat, her face flushed, and strands of hair dislodged from the ponytail. 'What are you doing here? I was supposed to pick you up!'

'There was an earlier flight,' I explained, allowing my backpack to drop down my arm into my hand as Mom used the toe of her sneaker to turn off the vacuum. I made the mistake of running my eyes back up her bare leg, the skin tanned and smooth before again I spied "those" gym shorts. The bulge I'd ogled from the rear didn't do justice to the front. My mother's pussy mound pressed hard against the white silky material, a shadowed crevice of cameltoe the highlight of what I knew was a forbidden viewing.

'I would've still come and got you!' She countered, her voice lowering now the vacuum no longer played its part. I'd managed to avert my eyes from her groin but their journey to her face wasn't without incident, taking in the loose V-neck t-shirt and her unfettered breasts, nipples proudly poking through the thin fabric.

'I didn't want to bother you,' I stated.

'It would be no bother,' she shrugged, looking back at her work. 'I was just cleaning the car,' she again found my eyes. 'Well,' she paused. 'Whatever. You're here now. Can I...' Again, she paused, and this time further color came to her cheeks and upper breast. 'Can I have a hug?'

'Oh! Ah, sure.' I dropped the bag from my hand and moved in, Mom matching my action just as awkwardly as our bodies came together in an uncomfortable embrace. We'd hugged at Dad's funeral, a formal almost perfunctory connection in suit jackets and dress clothes. This, however, despite the clumsiness of our bond, far more intimate. The softness of her body, the fullness of her breast against my chest, and the self-conscious press of my groin into her belly; even the scent of perfume in her hair. It stirred something in me, and at that moment, I was unsure as to what.

'So...' Mom broke the embrace. 'You had a good flight I take it?'

'Um, yeah. No problems,' I made to pick up my bag, my eyes again taking in the lump of vulva at her crotch, and I scolded myself for the repeated indiscretion, questioning the motive in the first place.

'How did you even get here?' Mom looked over my shoulder at the quiet street. 'I didn't even hear a cab.'

'Oh, yeah. Uber,' I engaged in the small talk before a moment of awkward silence descended.

'What am I doing?' Mom managed to break the unease. 'Come on, let's get you inside,' she closed the rear door of her car and motioned toward the house.

'You don't want to keep going...' I gestured at the vacuum and Mom dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

'I can finish it later. Let's get you settled.'

I was aware of how inappropriate was my behavior. As Mom led the way to the front door and I trailed with backpack slung and suitcase in tow, once again my eyes found her ass. Scrunch back gym shorts, they'd remained glued halfway over each buttock and I wondered if she had any idea how suggestive the look was. To a nineteen-year-old estranged son that is. And even as I created the thought, I metaphorically slapped myself across the face. Of course she wasn't aware! I told myself. The last thing on her mind would be what her son would be thinking of her ass, and I forced my gaze from the admittedly attractive sight, in turn dismissing the encroaching incestuous zygotes that were forming in the darkest areas of my brain as she ushered me inside the cool dwelling.

*

My decade-long absence from Los Angeles had more surprises in store for me.

'It's like you didn't change anything!' I turned back to her standing in the doorway of my old bedroom. My bags placed on the single bed; I'd taken a moment to look around my surroundings at a memory manifested. Toys I'd left behind; a bookshelf stacked with R.L. Stine novels and action figurines; Lakers posters on the wall of the then team and most poignantly, Kobe; alongside drawings and paintings of my own, my artistic endeavors having begun early.

'You might've changed your mind,' Mom shrugged.

'It's been ten years,' I attempted a humorous scoff, but it fell flat, and even from across the room, I noticed a glassiness appear in her eyes.

'It was your room,' she avoided my gaze, looking down at her foot as she ran it along a floorboard, crossing her arms over her chest.

'Well, you can chuck all this stuff out when I find my own place,' I stated and heard how cold it sounded, regretting the words immediately but not taking them back.

'Okay,' Mom nodded.

'The university can help me out with all that,' I informed her. 'A place to stay,' I elaborated, moving to my suitcase to unpack my toiletries. 'I should be out of your hair by next week,' I once more looked back at her and found her watching me, releasing the lip she'd been biting.

'You can stay as long as you like,' Mom ventured. 'It's just me here. It's always been just me,' she added, and I frowned at her.

'Well, you can't blame us for that,' I snidely retorted, unsure why I was seemingly looking for a fight.

'No, I didn't mean... I don't,' Mom shook her head. 'Look, Oliver. I'm just glad to have you here.'

'Okay.' It was now me to give the one-word response. I was being a dick, I knew. I looked around the room again and it just made me feel sad. It was me that had walked out on her, not the other way around. The room I stood in was a time capsule of a shared past for both of us, was it so surprising she would hold on to the one thing that reminded her of a son she'd lost so many years before? I could feel tears welling in my eyes and I forced myself to harden up. Then why wasn't she ever there? I asked myself. If she missed the life she had with me, why didn't she attempt more of a connection over the years? The answer was that Dad was right! She ultimately cared more about her profession than she did about me.

I decided not to unpack any more than I had to.

'Good,' she slowly nodded before taking a step back out of the room. 'So how about I make us a coffee! Are you hungry?'

'No,' I headed toward the door. 'Just a coffee would be great,' I attempted a smile before pointing down the hall. 'I'll just go to the bathroom.'

'Oh, of course,' Mom also waved a hand in its direction. 'You know where everything is.'

What happened next was bizarre.

Initially heading in opposite directions, I was surprised by her sudden outburst from behind as I reached the bathroom door. 'Oh! Oliver, no. Wait,' she cried as she frantically made her way forward and rushed past me into the bathroom. A whirlwind of activity as I saw her grab a towel before the slow swing of the door obscured her mysterious undertaking. 'Okay,' she once more appeared, and I instinctively looked past her at what was the cause of such anxiety.

'What the hell?' I smirked.

'Nothing,' her face flushed a brilliant crimson. 'We're all good. There was just... water on the floor. Didn't want you to slip,' she clearly lied, and my eyes dropped to what she held in her hands. 'Oh, just. Yeah,' she clutched tighter on the sheer black bra and panties. 'Tidying up,' she attempted to dismiss the items and I could feel her embarrassment.

'Okay... sooo I can...' I pointed behind her and she moved aside with a nervous giggle.

'Yeah, all yours. I'll just... go make the coffees,' she used her underwear-laden hand to gesture toward the kitchen and we awkwardly parted ways.

Inside the bathroom I looked directly at what she'd done with the towel, seeing it on the floor of the shower in a pile. The recess looked dry as did the rest of the floor, and despite my curiosity, I didn't investigate further, completing my toilet break and heading back to the kitchen.

She must have taken note as to how I had my coffee when she'd visited for Dad's funeral, finding a mug of steaming black on the benchtop awaiting me.

'No sugar, right?' Mom confirmed as I sat on a stool, and I nodded and offered a smile as she took care of her own.

'I can help you finish the car if you want,' I proposed to make up for my behavior in the bedroom, just managing to lift my eyes from once again ogling her ass before she turned back toward me.

'Oh, um. Yeah. That'd be great. It was the rain we had the other day,' she continued with the small talk. 'Covered it in dust,' she added. 'I so rarely have to wash it,' she approached the opposite side of the bench, thankfully removing from me the temptation to glance at her pronounced cameltoe.

I attempted to sip my coffee but found it too hot and what followed was an extended moment of silence.

'I know about the car,' I admitted, somewhat cryptically but I could sense she understood to what I referred. 'Aunt Leticia told me,' I confessed.

'Oh,' Mom took a sip from her cup, heavy on the cream and sugar. 'It wasn't a secret. You needed a car.'

'Dad said nothing about you buying it though,' I conveyed, and Mom didn't seem too shocked at the news. 'Why didn't you tell me at the funeral?'

'It didn't matter. Maybe I thought you'd have blamed me for his...' she left out the word "death."

'It was no one's fault but his,' I reassured her, and I think I saw somewhat a look of relief in her eyes.

'I'm sorry Oliver,' Mom gave me a sympathetic smile. 'Your father... we didn't see eye to eye on much, but I know you loved him.'

'Aunt Leticia said the same about you and me,' I relayed, and Mom frowned. 'Not seeing eye to eye,' I elaborated.