Chapter 8, Jeremy
Even though he had to wait the better part of an hour before his bus arrived, having barely missed one when coming out of the lobby then another while lost in thought – his boiling mind bubbling with fury, the remnants of his meeting with Dr. Reichmann – not realizing the bus had stopped, waited, then left him sitting on the bench looking like a fool. The trip home doing nothing to ease him of his anger as he was still fuming when he stepped off at his stop. A stop he almost missed in preoccupation. Ringing for the driver at the last possible second, causing everyone, each of the passengers, to give him a look. The look – the one you give to tell someone they’re an idiot without speaking the words. He thought of giving them his own look but resisted the urge, instead disembarking and stomping down the sidewalk indicating to each of them, in case they met up with him again in the future, that he was not a man to be trifled with or to be given the idiot look.
Reaching the door to the undersized house did not take long, his pace fast and fierce as it was, though by the time he turned the knob the boil had begun to simmer. A chuckle escaped his lips, the image of how foolish he must have looked, how childlike his behavior. After all, who said I needed his approval after all?
He closed the door behind him then sat to remove his shoes – old brown leather lace-ups that his mother had purchased for him years ago – aged but well taken care of. His eyes, like always, gravitated towards the spot where his mother had died. Memories washed over him like waves on the beach, reminders of days gone by, changes he’d had to make, to adapt, just to survive. He had often thought he would not make it, yet here he was and she was gone. Well, not entirely gone, the memories and damage still linger, he mused then rose to make his way to the kitchen for tea.
Looking around, he did one final check of the kitchen, making certain everything was in order before turning off the light and going to the study to ponder. It used to be his mother’s sewing room but he had converted it into a study filling it with books and a new, used computer. He placed a large recliner off to the side with an end-table and lamp, both at optimal heights. And it was this last action, this final transformation of making the room over to be his, that drove his mother’s overbearing presence from the house at long last, that he might make it his own.
Not the memory of her of course, he could never drive that from this house or his mind, but at least he no longer felt she could appear at any moment with her shrieking voice and piercing eyes, accusing him of some imaginary infraction for which he needed to be punished. The belt or portion of the belt, her favorite implement of delivery, dangling from her hand.
Fully reclined, he allowed his mind to wander over the day’s events. He skimmed through the morning as it was mostly uneventful and stopped at Dr. Reichmann’s office and his meeting with his mentor and advisor. Up until today, that is.
It had started out well enough, moving along freely and easily...