My Little Man

"Bye, Mom! We'll be back in the morning", he had said.

And I just kept doing the dishes. I didn't say goodbye. I didn't say that I loved him. I didn't tell him to be careful.

He would be with his friends again. Always his friends, never me. I guess he was just at that time in his life. That girl was going, too. I really hate her. She doesn't know anything about me, but she thinks she does.

Oh, your mom this. Oh your mom that.

She was brainwashing him. I shouldn't have let him go. I knew something was going to happen. I knew it. I didn't want him to go. I told him not to. But he went, anyway. He should have listened.

"What could happen?"

"Lots of things"

I listed some of them off. He didn't listen.

"I'm not going to be attacked by a hungry bear. I'm not going to get lost in the woods and never find my way out again. I'm not going to drown in the lake. You worry too much! I'll be fine."

Unfortunately, he hadn't thought of everything. He should have listened.

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The teenagers sat around a campfire outside of the woods, the moon glistening on the lake behind them. Three boys and a girl. The boys, tall and thin, still growing into their bodies. The girl was thin and blonde; a typical cheerleader stereotype. She snuggled up next to the tallest of the boys. He had dark hair and blue eyes. It was a small fire, almost unnecessary; used more for the light than the heat, as it was a warm September night. It was starting to get late. As Jenny began to nod off next to her boyfriend, they all agreed that it was time to hit the hay. Three boys could fit in one tent, and Jenny could sleep in a second tent on her own. But she was "scared" to sleep by herself, so her boyfriend opted to share her tent with her.

"Dude, your mom's gonna kill you if she finds out", Chuck joked.

"Well then, we just won't tell her, will we?"

Chuck and Jason exchanged knowing glances.

"Okay, Little Man. Just keep it down, okay? Some of us actually intend to sleep tonight" Jason winked.

"Yeah, whatever."

Jenny awoke with a start. Something had snapped outside of the tent. A twig? Something, or someone, was outside. She looked at her boyfriend snoring quietly next to her. He must have not heard it. She crawled out from under her sleeping bag and peeked out of the tent. Suddenly, someone grabbed her. She tried to scream, but a hand quickly slapped over her mouth. The attacker's other hand skillfully caught both of Jenny's and held them behind her back. Being dragged towards the lake, the last thing Jenny thought was an inconsequential, "Who'll take care of my cat".

Toby sat up in his bag. Someone had just crawled into the tent. It was dark, so he couldn't rightly see who it was, but Jenny's sleeping bag was empty, so he assumed that it was her. She must have had to pee and was coming back. That's what he thought, anyway. The person lay down next to him. A familiar scent drifted towards him. Comforting, but not Jenny's. Just as he realized whose scent it was, a sharp pain, like nothing he had ever felt before, stabbed through his abdomen.

"W-why" he sputtered through the blood that was quickly filling his mouth, spilling out over his pillow. Then he blacked out.

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It was 6:00 on a hot afternoon. The 16th of September. I could never forget.

"We'll be back in the morning."

That's what he had said, but it was 6:00 in the afternoon now. Where was he? Why hadn't he called? He knew that if he just asked, I'd probably let him go to a friend's house or the pool or something. Where was he? Why hadn't he called?

His friends. I know what they say about me behind my back. They say I'm crazy and overprotective. He always stood up for me, though. He'd say that I wasn't overprotective. I let him do almost anything. I just worried a lot since his father died in a car accident because he hadn't been paying attention.

"She just loves me" he said. He wouldn't say anything about my not being crazy, though. In fact, he was the one who started calling me that. A funny little term of endearment. He would walk into the room and say, "Hi, Crazy!" with that silly half-grin on his face that reminds me so much of his father. Tom and I once decided that he had his father's smile, my hair, and my mother's eyes. A handsome boy, all around. Very smart, with a good head on his shoulders. When he would greet me this way, his father would always stand up for me. He would say that I wasn't crazy, just overprotective. He never agreed with his father on anything.

When his father died, he made me promise that I would never get married again. I know it seems like a selfish thing to demand, but I really don't think I could have anyway. Not after Tom. So he became the man of the house. He was only 11 at the time, so I called him my "little man", and it stuck. Even once he had outgrown me at the age of 14 (he just shot up one summer), I still called him my little man. And now, at the age of 17, 6 ft. tall, my little man was gone, too. There are no more men in my life. I don't know what I'm going to do.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. The 16th of September. I'm reading on the couch in the living room, my look-out point. It's angled just right so that I can see the front door and the back door. I figured, unless he intended to climb in through his second-floor bedroom window to avoid a good reckoning (unlikely), there was no way he could get in without my knowing it. I looked at the clock. 6:09. Tick. Tick. Tick. The second hand was so loud. Normally I would have music playing somewhere, but I didn't want to miss any noise that could give him away. The sound of footsteps on the linoleum entrance, the door creaking closed. Anything that would tip me off to his arrival. My iPod lay uncomfortably on the end table by the couch. Usually it was in my pocket with someone, Norah Jones or maybe some 80s or 70s music,  playing in one earbud. My iPod, "Harold" he had named it, was a gift. He gave it to me for Christmas. Filled it up with all my favorites and some new stuff he thought I'd like, and I did like it. He was so perceptive. While staring at Harold, deciding if I would put my earbud in and just keep the volume down, there was a knock on the door. "Aha" I thought. Here we go. I opened the door to a police officer.

"Are you Mrs. Johnson?"

I was shocked. Why was there a police officer here? He wouldn't be in trouble with the law. He was a good boy. Never did anything particularly wrong. A good boy. The last time there was a police officer here, it was because Tom -

Oh no.

"I'm sorry to tell you that your son's body has been found in the woods."

"What?"

"I'd rather spare you the details, but I'm afraid I can't. Your son's friends were brutally murdered. The boys dismembered, the girl drowned. Your son's abdomen was stabbed multiple times with a sharp weapon of some kind. He... he didn't have a chance, Ma'am. I'm very sorry."

"What... No! That couldn't be! He... he was just camping. He couldn't be -  no. That's not possible."

"I'm very sorry for your loss."

"I'm very sorry? I'm very sorry?! No you're not! You don't know him! You don't know me! You don't know what I've been through! You don't..." I collapsed in the doorway. "Not again" I cried. "Not again."

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I'm not crazy. I didn't murder my son. I didn't. I'm not crazy, no matter what they said. No matter what he called me. I loved my son very much. It's just like Tom would say; I'm not crazy. I'm just overprotective.

Author's Note

This was written for an English assignment in 2009.

Reviews

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Very enjoyable..I felt your feelings.. provacatately.