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Learning to Fall: home.
Last night after Terry left tired and angry that he got suckered into digging in the dirt for Momma, he went home to his own momma who was worried the way she always is about him. She stays on the phone some nights with Momma tellin' her about how lonely she is and how she wishes it would all end and is it really okay if Terry stays on for supper most nights at our house. She's sad the way my Momma is but doesn't ever seem to get out of it. Even her smile is sad.
Momma stays up those nights smoking a whole pack of cigarettes, drinking a bottle of wine, saying into the phone, over and over "I know dear" or "yes it is" or "uh-huh, there, there dear."
When he got home Terry walked in the door and tripped over a pile of duffle bags and an old suitcase and wondered if his aunt Racine had come to visit. He ran into the kitchen, through the living room and dining room, into the flower room porch, and then upstairs. He could see his momma's door was pulled shut and heard noises inside the room, loud noises and was worried it was someone come to hurt his momma. He grabbed the golf club he and I stole from Gill last year when we found that bucket of golf balls in the gym storage closet and he pushed the door open and stumbled inside.
At first what he saw didn't make sense. He expected to see a man in a black mask or ski cap, maybe with a leather jacket on, tying up his momma and threatening her and taking Grammy's jewelry. Instead his momma was naked and sitting on top of who ever was in the bed with her and she was riding him like a pony and making funny faces like maybe she was hurting after all, even though she looked like she was in charge.
Terry said he dropped the golf club and ran out, and when he did, his momma came downstairs in her robe after him. So did the guy she was wrestling with, whom it turns out, is his daddy.
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