Gone
Ma’s sitting in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette. Her eyes are red and watery, and she’s dragging extra hard on her cigarette, the way she does when she’s stressed.
“When did you get back home?” I ask. No response. She’s looking at some papers that I guess are from the court. She and Jason went there this morning to handle some business. It was none of my business, so I didn’t need to go, besides, I was at work.
“Where’s Jason?” I ask.
“He’s gone,” she says, eyes still on her papers. “Gone,” she repeats and lets out a half chuckle. “Not once did I go after him for child support. Not once did I keep Jason from him.”
It seems that she’s talking to herself more so than me. “So he’s staying at his dad’s for a while?”
No answer.
“When is he coming back?”
Still, no answer.
Ma tosse
