Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

kind of talk is that?” she finally managed to gasp—theatre-like! “Jason,” she rasped, “you know . . . you know perfectly damn well . . . that I… that I can’t work! You know that! You know that!”

“No!” Again, he was shocked by his seemingly-involuntary response! “No,” he continued. “I really don’t know that!” His “loss of control” was still patently evident! “I don’t know . . . for a fact . . . that that’s true! You get around here . . . pretty good! So, you broke your leg! It was supposed to be a pretty bad break! Or so I’m led to understand! But, when was that, Mother? How long ago? Fifteen years ago? Sixteen years ago? Longer ago… than that?”

“Listen, you little pissant! Don’t you… don’t you dare . . . give me a ration of shit, like that, Boy! Do you hear me? I don’t wanna hear it! Not from you . . . you little snip! You know… know very well . . . that it was only eleven years ago! Eleven goddam suffering years . . . and coming up, on four months! And… for your information… it really was a serious break! Very serious! God damn serious! You can’t even imagine . . .”

“All right,” he said, nodding slightly. “I’ll agree… that it was serious. But, you still…”

“A damn serious break,” she interrupted. “You can’t even imagine! You have no idea! No one knows! Knows… what I’ve been through, since then! Terrible injury! Pain! God only knows! Terrible pain! Unbearable pain! No one ever seemed to think so! No one gave a shit! Judgin’ from any of the shit-assed sympathy . . . that I ever got! But, it was! It was freaking unbearable! Bad break! Bad, bad, break! And… goddam it… there’s not a whole lot of people! Not many . . . who think that it was really all that serious! Even today!”

“I know, Mother. But…”

“Let me . . . tell you something, Mister Smart-ass! It was serious! Very goddam serious! Very painful . . . and very traumatic! But, what the hell… do you know? You can’t never really imagine! Have no idea, of all the grief! The grief . . . and pain . . . that I…”

“Yes.” His answer would be comprised, of shockingly-clipped words! He was still surprising himself! “Well… if you want my opinion… I think that you’ve milked the hell, out of that accident, Mother! Played it… played it, to the moon! To the absolute hilt!”

As before, Jason couldn’t believe that he’d just said that. And in those tones! He’d virtually never locked horns, with her, before! Not like this! Never like this! Certainly not over that stupid accident! He’d never questioned her—about the circumstances surrounding “The Accident”! Although the entire, highly-blown, incident had always been the proverbial 800-pound gorilla, in the room. Always!

Jason guessed that, what had just happened—in far-away New York—had, somehow, precipitated the surprising, the stunning, manner of change, in the deepest recesses, of his “docile” personality! Had triggered, in some unexpected manner, an extreme change, in him! He was positive that this wasn’t—not at all—like the Jason “of old”! Nothing even close!

Was that frightening—or what? Something—a, newly-acquired, personality quirk? Something else—to be feared? Maybe even greatly feared? Quite frankly, he didn’t know! But, the sudden realization—of the “obviously-worrisome” aspect—was not nearly as troubling, as he would’ve expected! That fact—plus the fact, that it seemed not a great cause for concern—was troubling! The entire mish-mosh—was, patently, scary! And unexplainable!

“You’ve milked that accident… for years, Mother,” he plodded ahead. in spite of himself. That same “something” was refusing to turn him loose! Not permitting him—to simply drop the matter! That all-new—that scary—“bulldog” quality! Where had it come from? Was it going to remain? Frightening!

He was certainly in unknown—unseen, disconcerting—territory! Shark-infested waters? He really didn’t know. But, the dam had burst! Big time! Years of pent-up “whatever” (could it, possibly, be rage?) was being fervently unleashed! And he was, apparently, powerless—to stop the force! The strange—the frightening—thrust!

“You’ve gotten everything you can . . . out of that damn injury,” he continued. But, he didn’t know why! “Why Social Security… why they ever fell for it… I’ll never know! Well, maybe I do! Can make a helluva guess, anyway!”

He was still having this unprecedented—this highly-perplexing—problem! Trying to understand all this new-found (and, apparently unstoppable) aggression! Was all of this—the product of the grotesque happenings? In far-away New York? Were those poor, desperate, doomed, people—were they, at the root, of his sudden burst of “unthinkable forthrightness”?

Whatever this more-or-less epiphany—this stark, earth-shaking, turnabout—Jason found himself, blindly, (“Damn-The-Torpedoes” style) charging full ahead! Blustering forth! As—literally—never before! Having—shockingly—come this far, there was no turning back! Nor could there be! Maybe never! Probably never! Again, it was “Damn The Torpedoes”!

“Listen, you little snip,” his mother was half-screaming at him—her “heart attack” apparently forgotten. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at! What you’re referring to! But, you, fucking, listen to me! I don’t, fucking, like it! Don’t like it at all! You under-fucking-stand?”

“Listen, Mother…”

“That guy… that son of a bitch, the one who ran me down . . . he was so spaced out! On goddam drugs! He didn’t even know . . . know where the hell he was!” Her son was not the only one “Damning The Torpedoes”, at that point! “Bastard,” she ranted on. “The son of a bitch! He had this great big record! This arm’s-length record . . . for DWI’s! A record as long as your fuckin’ arm . . . for your information! Three… or four . . . of ’em! Three or four… for drivin’, under the goddam influence! Three or four of ’em! Didn’t have any goddam insurance, either! Shithead!”

“Mother, you’ve got to…”

“The car . . . his damn car . . . it sure wasn’t safe! Sure as shit… it was not! The whole damn thing . . . the whole situation . . . it was a goddam screw-up! This schmuck! He never should’ve been on the goddam road . . . in the first goddam place! Period! The car… that piece-of-shit car . . . that never should’ve been allowed, on the shit-assed road, either! And the son of a bitch . . . he slammed that car! Slammed it… right in to me! They marched his drunken ass off! Marched it… the hell… off! To fucking jail! Threw the freaking book at him! About goddam time! Too late for me, of course!”

“C’mon,