This story was inspired by a nude scene I saw from the movie 'I Really Hate My Job,' featuring Neve Campbell. So when you think of the mom, think of Neve Campbell. This story is told in the first-person, using present tense -- an experiment I never repeated. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading and enjoy.
***
"Are we there yet?"
"Not yet, just a little bit further."
"How about now?"
"Still a ways to go."
"Screw this."
Despite being the youngest in the car, I'm not involved in that exchange, oh no. That's my dad driving and my mom playing the role I would be playing, if I was just a couple years younger; yes, she is the one that is acting like the brat.
All three of us are on route to a 'family bonding' trip, scheduled and arranged by my dad, its pitch black outside as we drive to our destination.
My mom's sulking in her front seat while Dad's trying to keep a smile on his face as he keeps on driving. I'm sat here in the back, thinking about how I got here, and at the same time, trying to get my mind of this god-damn clunking sound made by this car.
We all have to go to some crappy-ass log cabin, eat some marshmallows and do whatever else families do, that all might be fine, but only if this was a normal family.
I'm looking over at my mom right now, in her black, worn-out biker jacket and torn jeans, she sure don't look like a mom. And I look over at Dad, with his buttoned shirt tucked into his clean trousers and his smart combed hair, how did they ever hook-up in the first place?
***
Mom up and left us when I was young. I don't remember much about her, expect for a few photos Dad left around, and that her name was Rena. She was a real looker, that's for sure, with medium-length, sexy cropped black hair and pouty lips. She had quite the figure too; I remember one picture of her in a red and black bustier dress which really accentuated her fine breasts.
Dad took down those pictures as I got older. Maybe his reasoning was that I was thinking of her less as a mother, but more as a hot chick, and he didn't want me to remember her like that. Overtime, me and Dad coped without her around, when I was in my teens, I just thought of her as an ingrate who up and left her family.
So you could try to imagine the shock I had when my dad approached me on the eve of my 18th birthday and told me he had a major surprise: he found my mom and she was coming home.
That whole day, a flood of emotions drove towards me; I was angry, confused and surprisingly, strangely intrigued. On the day of my 18th birthday, I decided to give her a chance. Besides, I thought she may still be hot; it had only been fourteen years since I last saw her.
After Dad went to go get her, I looked at the one picture Dad had of her. It was on his bedside, and it was taken a few months after I was born. Looking at that picture, those eyes, those lips, those tits: a sick part of me got excited at the prospect of having her around.
I was thinking she may be apologetic, very apologetic towards me, I expected her to be overly apologetic, if you know what I mean. I waited with gleeful anticipation for her to come through that door, and when she did, my jaw hit the floor.
Her hair was cut short; she had some rock-band's t-shirt on and a leather biker jacket over it, she also had on some torn-up blue jeans on and black-combat boots. She stomped into the front door with a disgruntled look on her face; she additionally had a rolled-up cigarette in her mouth. I was in utter disbelief, what happened to the woman in the pictures?
She tossed her bag to the floor and mumbled, "Hey." She then walked off, went into the spare bedroom, and went to sleep. That was some greeting from my long-lost mom.
If it was not bad enough having a thirty-five year old Grunge groupie for a mom, she also had a horrible attitude. She turned out to be the kinda girl your momma told you to stay away from -- thing was she was my mom. She came back home late at night, drank and smoked a lot and just displayed general rudeness to all around her.
In the mornings, she would walk around the house in nothing but a long t-shirt, which caused all sorts of problems. For example, whenever she went outside to pick up the milk, the neighbours got a full-moon and then some! All my neighbours know if my mom is shaved or trimmed, and I know that ain't normal!
I was expecting this seductive raven-haired beauty and now I got a trashy rocker chick living in my house. It doesn't matter to me that she's moderately attractive; it's still a huge letdown, I should also mention she pretty much ignores me.
Dad told me she has a "no sex rule." From what I can tell, she never put-out to any guys, not even my dad, maybe she had enough men from all her travels, I don't know. I never even got a solid reason for why she left, none at all.
***
It's now six months later and Dad decided we needed to overcome all our hostility, so he arranged for us to go to his old log-cabin. We have been on the road for three hours and it's getting restless. This damn clunking sound seems to be getting louder and louder.
"Hey Dad, you think you should check on that?"
"Oh I don't think it's that big of a problem," says Dad, sounding quite sure with himself.
The clunking doesn't seem to be getting any better, if anything, it's getting worse every second.
"Dad, I really think you should check up on that sound."
"We all don't want to explode," chimes in Mom.
Dad pulls over the car, he gets out the car to check on it. He opens the bonnet, a loud bang comes from the car and a puff of black smoke goes into his face.
"Well, we're fucked," says Mom.
Dad looks at the car, thinks for a bit, and walks up to us.
"Ok, here is the plan," says Dad. "You two go book yourselves in that motel, while I drive to the next town to fix this car. Since it will take all night, you two better get some sleep."
"Whatever," I reply.
