text: Warning: Deals with heavy topics. I'd prefer not to say more. \ Darren's car shuddered a bit every few seconds. He was concerned about it, but he figured he'd deal with it when it broke. The neighborhood was getting dark and grey as the sun went down and front lights got turned on. It was mostly porch lights that have that orange haze and the bugs always get stuck in. A hard turn into the driveway, but there was only room enough for one car in the garage and that one was Mom's. Mom had moved in with Darren a few years ago. She wanted company and he wasn't very good at telling her no. The car shuddered to a stop and he shifted it into park. There was something satisfying about that moment when the car finds itself a stationary object due to your hands. It was about as good as the feeling of starting a car up. As he stepped through the grass onto the front porch, he could hear the TV in the house. It was playing the usual evening drama. Probably some crime-show. The door would be locked, so he pulled out the keys. He knew the keys by their shape but also by the scratches on them. It gave them a unique look that always caught his eye even before the shape or color. The door handle was loose when he unlocked it. He told himself he would put it on a list of things to fix, if he ever made one. The little dog started barking. It was Mom's. Not that he disliked it. It would lick his face on occasion and he would laugh at it rolling on the ground. Its damn bark, however, every time a noise happened in the house did make him imagine punting it across the room. He'd never do that, of course, and anytime he imagined it he felt bad afterwards. Mom didn't get up, but he could see the light brown curls of her hair peaking up over the top of the lazy-boy chair. He always had to shoo the dog when he closed the door or it would try and run out. The damn dog never ran too far, but it was a hassle running around half bent over trying to catch it, especially in the dark. He'd never admit it, but it kind of made the dog endearing to him. He always felt rather satisfied once he caught the dog and it was something he had accomplished on his own which no one else would ever have a claim to. There wasn't much in life he could say that about. Deadbolt behind him, not just for safety but to keep the electric bill down by making the seal on the door pull tight. He didn't say anything to Mom, but just turned and headed to the kitchen. She was probably asleep, he figured. There was only a lamp on in the house, beyond the red light of the clocks in the bedroom and the microwave in the kitchen. But, upon a flick of the switch, let there be light. It was so bright it momentarily dazzled. The bugs stuck in the light fixture gave the light almost a spotted look, like a dalmatian. If only those silhouettes didn't have legs sticking up showing their true dead-bug nature. He opened the door and got a glass of orange juice. He was working on his health, he told himself. But he also figured the chemicals from the meat plant he worked at would get to him early anyways. Thats just how things were. The dog barked and ran out the dog flap on the back door, making him chuckle a bit in the middle of a gulp of orange juice. It amused him how the dog seemed to just change thoughts in a split second and suddenly it's entire existence could only be satisfied by jumping at a bird or barking at a person passing on a bike. He envied that a little. He opened the dishwasher, which was half full, and made sure to put the glass on the top towards the back like his mom always lectured him on. He never tried to do the opposite on purpose. He merely got tired sometimes and it slipped his mind. He remembered tonight. He wore gloves at the plant, and they left a bit of a stench on his hands. He didn't like the smell. So he squirted a bit of lavender scented soap on his hands and gave them a good washing. While there were letters and newspapers on the tables, him and his mom kept things pretty clean. They just got so much in their mailbox they sorted through at a slow pace that things got covered over again fast. With a sigh he walked around to where his mom had drifted off. The TV was on a commercial break which was louder than the show itself. Due to this, his hearing didn't catch the silence. But he might not have noticed it anyways. He was awfully tired. Darren didn't consider himself particularly strong, but he could pick up an older woman like his mother. And he liked it better when she slept in her bed rather than out here. That was his priority. Getting her to bed. So the TV and the dog and the lights would come later. He reached under her knees and behind her back, making sure to cradle her gently and support her head. Keep in mind, she wasn't particularly light, but it was his mom. The heavier she was, the more he felt like a dutiful son. He walked at an angle, carrying her into the second bedroom. He made sure her head didn't hit the wall along the way. He moved at a slow gentle pace, but he didn't notice how still she was in his arms. It had been a long day. He was tired. His focus was on making sure she stayed healthy and getting her back into her bed which, as she said, was better for her back. He set her down on top of the bed before heading back to turn on the light. Now that he could see a bit better, he returned and pulled back the covers. She had been wearing depends for a while now, so he didn't notice anything unusual with respect to that either. Not that he would've said anything. It was always an awkward subject for him, and he never quite knew how to handle it. But he'd bashfully get what she needed from the store. They argued sometimes, and as he lifted her legs under the covers, he thought of their last fight. He thinks it was about his eating habits. He never ate too well, and his mom always seemed to nag him about it. He knew it was because she cared, but he still had a bit of pride, which he asserted by being slightly slovenly. It was a paradox, but it worked for him. And if his mom ever got really angry about something he would do his best to change things up. An example being the orange juice earlier. The room was cool enough that he thought she'd be fine under the blankets. They were pretty light. But he turned the fan on in her room for some extra noise cancellation in case some asshole's muffler was broken when they tore through the neighborhood at 3 am. He turned off the lights, noting a little how gaunt her face was. But only seeing her from the light reflected off the hallway wall, all the way from the kitchen, it was far less obvious. He walked over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He knew she loved when he gave her kisses, and even if she wasn't awake, she had trained him well in it so it made him feel like his task wasn't complete until he gave her a kiss on the cheek, or when she was in bed, on the forehead. She had done that when he was little. He walked to the doorway and looked in, his body partially blocking the pale yellow light from the hallway. It made him think of the trips they had gone on when he was younger, riding in the car, the streetlights shining their lights across the window in a hypnotic rhythm. He liked to pretend he was asleep so Mom or Dad would carry him inside. Most kids probably did that. But it still meant something to him. He wondered if she did that lately. He was pretty sure she had. But that was fine too. He didn't think she was doing it tonight though. And he was correct on that point. He closed the door most of the way but left it cracked. Then he returned and shut off the TV and put up her glass from the table, getting it to the dishwasher. He considered putting it in the sink, but he was already here so might as well. The shifts were brutal to him. His eyes felt dazed from the glaring white walls and the bright lights that gave the perfect amount of light so that the slices of meat could be checked from all sides as they came down the conveyor belt. Another glass of orange juice. It had been growing on him lately, though he definitely needed to pick up the low acid kind or he'd get acid reflux before bed. Kitchen light went off... Then he had to get the dog in. He called it, and like usual it didn't come for a few seconds. Then it bounded in. He shut the door behind it and locked the doggy door. Mom had watched too many of those criminal shows. Didn't like the idea of just a flap keeping the outdoors and in separated. He thought it was funny that she cared about that when she was asleep but not when she was awake, as he knew she fell asleep without planning on it anyways. He brought it up once, but regretted it and she ignored the conversation. Now the living room lamp went off. He sighed and headed to his bedroom. He wished he had more time to relax after work, but exhaustion hit hard. The door to mom's room was open a bit further as the little dog had shoved it's way in and had already gotten up, snuggling next in the covers on the inside of the bed. Which meant the dog was in the middle, like she owned the place. Well perhaps she did. Mom doted on the little dog. And he told himself he didn't, but he did. He gave it the end pieces of hotdogs and would chase it outside sometimes. It almost gave him the thrill of trying to catch the dog, without the worry of it running into the road. Almost. There was still light, however, in the hallway. A small lamp from an outlet low to the ground, just to make sure everyone could make it to the bathroom or kitchen without stumbling, no matter their eyesight or how awake they were. He used the restroom, stripped down a bit, then got under his own covers. Later during that night he would realize he had gotten a bit hotter under the covers and so he kicked them off. This, however, made him concerned for his mom so he went in and pulled the heavier covers off of her, except her feet. That way her body could be at the temperature it needed. The dog didn't like this, running around in circles, and he shushed it to stay quiet. But the dog settled. He was still very tired. He half noticed she hadn't shifted positions from when he laid her down, which a bit unusual. But he was still very tired. In the coming days, the little dog would mean everything to him. Sure, others were shoulders to cry on or hug. Close family friends meant a lot. But the little dog was a bit more special to Darren because it had been mom's. And it had slept with her every night. It still slept on her bed, so he still went in some nights and turned on the fan to make sure it was cool enough. He wished he hadn't been so tired that night that he hadn't noticed. It wouldn't have made a difference. She was gone hours before he got home. But for Darren she was there for at least a little longer. \ Its not particularly original, but I though it might be worth sharing. Its repetitious, but perhaps that gives it a bit of charm.