The Firebird

A Mother's Love

                                                                  

                                                          The Firebird

   The kids at his new school called him “Lurch”. The worst part was, she saw it. He was a tall kid, all arms and legs. He walked on his toes with a forward lean, as though there was a forever wind against his sail. He was growing so fast. She could not afford to keep buying clothes at the rate he was growing, so his sleeves and cuffs were going to have to ride up for awhile, but what was she to do? Her clothes were not nearly new either.

   The other kids were not beating him up yet, but that would probably come. With his height he was at least somewhat imposing. What would she do when they did, though? A single mother in a strange town? He was a good boy. He did all that she asked, which was quite a bit, and he asked for little in return. He wore the shirts with the too short sleeves, and the high-water pants without complaint. His grades were good. He helped around the house. There was only the one thing that he really wanted, and he never even asked her for that.

   She saw him looking at it. She saw him at the store reaching out his hand to touch it. He had touched it as a woman touches her baby. That was how she had known. It had brought a tear to her eye. She vowed then and there that he would have it. She knew a way.

   The man at the pawn shop would only give her $200 for a ring Benjamin had paid $2,000 for. Benjamin had given her that ring directly after her pregnancy, and directly before his accident. The ring was all that was left of him, but Benjamin would not have minded what she was doing. Benjamin was a good man. He had not left them, but had been tragically taken from them.

   It was not nearly enough, but she took the money for the ring, and then she immediately set it back on the counter top. There would be missed meals in her son's future, but she would give the boy this. The rest of the money she had gotten from Adam. She didn’t love Adam, and he did not love her, but there were times that Adam needed a woman, even a pear shaped woman like her, so she gave herself to him during those times, and in return he helped her. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that was not so terrible. Adam hopped on top of her quickly, and hopped off as fast, like a rabbit, as though he was afraid someone might see him on top of her. She had long ago stopped dressing up for Adam, stopped trying to be pretty for him, but he did not appear to notice either way. It was not prostitution, she told herself. They were just friends helping each other, only they weren’t friends in any of the other ways that people were friends. Still, it was not prostitution. She was not a prostitute. She would marry Adam if he were to ask, but he would not ask.

   It was a bright red Gibson Firebird that she carried from the shop. The fret board was worn. The paint was scratched up pretty badly, and the neck had been repaired. There was a name scratched on the back that she could not make out. She knew from her research that the Firebird was a good guitar, one of the very best, even if this particular one was pretty old. The man threw the amp and the pick-ups in “cheap”. It had not been easy to take the money out of her purse, knowing what she had to do to get it.

     

                                                                ~

   All of that was only memories, these many years later. She no longer had to sleep with Adam, and no one called her boy “Lurch” anymore. Her son was rich now, and his clothes fit, but he still played that old Firebird. In fact, its music never ceased to amaze her when she heard it on the radio.

Author's Note

I got an excellent critique of my last story, and am posting this one, as I tried some of the same narrative ideas with this one that I did in the other. Any comments about confusing narration, or growing bored because you don't know who the narrator is, or who the protagonist is, would be appreciated.

Also, I have assumed in this story, just as I did with "Fast Cars", that the reader is curious, and intelligent. I myself am curious as to whether not knowing who the narrator is makes you want to stop reading, or did it make you want to find out more about her?

Any help is appreciated!