A Mother's Love

A Mother’s Love

Mildred Marsh still makes a breakfast too large for herself. Sometimes she comes to her

senses before her wrinkled hands crack two extra eggs into the pan, other times she doesn’t notice until she places a full plate in front of an empty chair.

A warm cup of Earl Grey helps wash down Mildred’s one-a-day arthritis medication,

masking the chalky taste of the pill with sweet notes of citrus. She finishes the tea leisurely while assessing the crossword puzzle featured in today’s copy of The Star Tribune. When the cup runs dry, Mildred abandons her word game to walk around the neighborhood. Crisp streams of spring air flow through her short, stark white hair as she journeys around the block, listening to the love songs of various birds and watching young children run circles around their exhausted parents. It reminds her of Martha and Nicholas, how rambunctious and free-spirited they were at that age. Back then, Mildred would long for a moment of peace and quiet; now the bleak silence found at the end of her children’s voicemail haunts her.

After Mildred returns home, and the dull ache of loneliness becomes acute, she descends

the stairs into her half-finished basement. The chill of the concrete floor remains a shock to her aging senses each time she comes down here. Laying in a damp corner, surrounded by bushy tufts of fur, is her sole comfort: Billy.

“Good afternoon, Billy baby,” Mildred coos. “How did you sleep?”

The dense pile of umber fur stirs. A black, tennis ball-sized eye emerges from the pile’s

center and blinks back at the old woman. Slowly, the fluffy mound rises and reveals the grotesque creature that Mildred so lovingly refers to as ‘Billy.’ Deeply matted fur shares space on its circular body with patches of slick and greasy hair. Though it is small, standing no taller than two feet, the creature’s stench is overpowering, smothering the seedy basement with the distinct scent of mildew and rotting roadkill. Two tall, cherry-red talons act as its only appendages, leaving thick scratch marks on the concrete every time Billy uses them to drag his limp body around. Aside from its large eye, the only other discernible feature Billy has is a small mouth filled with jagged teeth that protrude in an awkward overbite.

“There’s my happy little man. Are you hungry?” Mildred asks.

Billy lets out a labored wheeze and begins lugging himself toward Mildred, which she interprets as an affirmative to her question. Carefully, she lowers herself onto the floor and pats her lap as an invitation. Billy moves without urgency until Mildred begins pulling at the long sleeve of her pink wool sweater, revealing a plethora of deep purple-and-blue bruises littered with tiny red puncture wounds. The sight of her abused skin propels Billy into a miserable sprint that ends in a quick lunge as he sinks his teeth into Mildred’s arm. She winces at the sudden attack, taking a few seconds to adjust to the pain radiating throughout her body before scooping Billy into her lap.

“Oh, you were quite hungry, weren’t you?” Mildred purrs, stroking Billy’s fur. “It’s okay Billy, Mama’s here. Mama’s got you.”

–

Several months prior, on one of the last warm days of fall, Mildred was tending to her garden. The garden was hardly hers; she thought of it more like an inheritance from Bill. A tedious inheritance that she spent most of her time haphazardly attempting to maintain for her late husband’s satisfaction. Mildred kneeled on aching knees, dirt thick under her fingernails as she pulled vines of Creeping Charlie from the ground and tossed them into a grimy two-gallon bucket. She had been at it for hours, but that wasn’t a bother to her. If her hands weren’t moving, she would think about Bill and how cold her life felt. If time healed all wounds, then one year wasn’t nearly long enough.

That’s when a small whimper distracted her. Turning her attention from the weeds, Mildred saw the leaves of a nearby Hosta tremble. She stood and brushed the soil from her knees before adventuring further into the garden, gingerly maneuvering around Geraniums and Chrysanthemums in her approach. Initially, she thought that the critter nestled between her Hostas was some kind of emaciated Pomeranian with large chunks of missing hair. The creature’s lungs rattled with every deep breath it took. Mildred bent down and took the animal into her arms without a second thought, which is when it became abundantly clear to her that it was no dog. It shivered upon feeling the warmth of her body and began to whine.

“Shh, shh, shh, you poor thing,” Mildred whispered, cradling the hideous creature to her chest. Her thumb stroked a bald spot on its side, moving to expose a small tattoo on the creature’s skin that read ‘BY001.’ This revelation created more questions than it answered about the animal in her arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to set it down. The weight of something begging for care felt good to Mildred, familiar almost. “Billy,” she said, “Your name is Billy.”

From that day forward, Mildred had a new project. Feeding Billy was the most difficult task since readily available advice on garden monsters was limited. She tried dog food, fancy dog food, wet cat food, raw eggs, and cooked steak to no avail. It wasn’t until she saw Billy hunt down and devour an unfortunate mouse that she understood what kind of dietary preferences she was dealing with. Mildred made weekly trips to her local pet store for live rodents after that, head heavy with a guilty conscious when she released them into the basement and listened to their wails on her way up the stairs.

That system worked well. Until three weeks ago, when Mildred decided to finally tame Billy’s mane and bathe him. Billy fought harder than a prized boxer, thrashing wildly and indiscriminately in the bathtub while letting out a string of unearthly howls. Mildred tried her best to subdue him, but the willpower of a stubborn 75-year-old only goes so far. Amid a particularly aggressive shake, Billy fell through Mildred’s grasp and dragged his teeth across her hand on the way down.

“My Goodness, Billy!” Mildred exclaimed as she recoiled her damaged hand. She grabbed the nearest towel, settling on a tattered hand towel with the words ‘Mr. and Mrs. Marsh 1971’ embroidered into the cloth, to stop the bleeding. During her search for a first-aid kit, she tried desperately to ignore the way Billy calmly lapped up her blood from the side of the tub. But the following morning, when Mildred discovered the rodent she had procured for Billy still alive, she understood what he was telling her. His new feeding regimen was physically grueling for Mildred, and she often felt weak and light-headed after Billy had his fill of her. But at the same time, she found something rewarding in the process; it was good to feel needed again.

–

“Hey Mom, are you home?”

Unbridled fear washes over Mildred’s being. She isn’t accustomed to hearing a voice other than her own echoing through the house, especially not the one that belonged to her son.

“Oh, Nicholas! What a surprise!” Mildred yells over her shoulder. Her eyes widen as she attempts to unhinge Billy’s jaw from her arm with no success. “Give me a moment and I’ll meet you upstairs, sweetheart!”

“I’ll come meet you!” Nicholas answers. His footsteps thunder across the hardwood floors above Mildred and Billy. “I was in the area lookin’ at a new daycare for Sophia, figured I’d drop by and see how you’re doing!”

“Come on, Billy,” Mildred hisses frantically, now shaking her arm in hopes that Billy will fly off. Her agitations, unfortunately, only make Billy cling to her skin harder than before. By the time Mildred hears the basement door open she knows it’s too late.

“Mom…what’s that?” Nicholas asks as he took hesitant steps toward the brown ball of fur attaching itself to his mother’s outstretched arm. “Did you get a cat or something?”

Suddenly, Billy’s eye shoot up. He gently removes his teeth from Mildred’s arm and stands up, putting his fiery talons on display. The tension in the room is rising like heat. Seconds pass with painstaking labor. Nicholas shuffles, exposing an inch of skin between his black socks and pleated slacks. That’s when Billy leans into an all-out dash for Nicholas’ leg, mouth open and teeth gnashing. Nicholas instinctually punts the creature, hurtling him into the oak-paneled wall and watching as he hits the ground with a loud thump.

“BILLY!” Mildred shrieks as she shuffles toward her monstrous companion, cradling his weak body in her arms like a saccharine infant.

“Billy?” Nicholas questions, “What the fuck, Mom? What is that thing?” Palpable worry drips from every word that leaves his mouth. He tries to walk to his mother, but Mildred shields herself and the whining creature away from him.

“Leave him alone! He doesn’t know any better, he’s just hungry!” Mildred cries.

“Hungry for what? Flesh!?” Nicholas retorts, “It tried to bite me!”

“He’s just confused, that’s all! He’s not used to seeing other people.”

“Mom, that thing is vicious! It’s not some kind of pet!” Nicholas shouts. He grabs his mother’s arm to encourage her to meet his eyes, letting go upon seeing the bruising that discolors Mildred’s arm. “Did it do this to you?”

Mildred doesn’t answer, instead electing to smooth the fur on Billy’s head as though he’s a worry stone. Uncomfortable stillness festers between the mother and son.

“How long have you had…that,” Nicholas inquires, motioning at Billy with his hand.

“About six months,” Mildred replies, “I found him in October, sometime around the anniversary of your father’s death.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nicholas scoffs. A painful moment of silence passes between the pair, then another. It takes a while before Nicholas can find the courage to speak again. “You can’t keep it.”

“No, no, no…” Mildred repeats, rocking Billy back and forth while clutching him to her chest. Narrow rivers of tears snake through the grooves of her wizened face as she turns to her son with an expression of pure anguish. “You don’t get it, Nicky, you can’t…please, you can’t take him from me.”

“Mom, he’s going to kill you!”

“Don’t you understand,” Mildred says, moving her body to face Nicholas, “That Billy is all I have?”

“What’re you talking about? You’ve got Martha and me.”

“I haven’t seen you since Christmas. I can’t even remember the last time I saw Martha anywhere but those advertisements for that fancy law firm she’s with. Neither of you answer your phones or return my calls.”

A sick cloth of guilt overtakes Nicholas’ body, covering him the same way a duvet engulfs a bed. He felt nauseous. He wants so desperately to refute his mother’s accusations, but he knows he can’t. He can try and blame Sophia, complain that the stress of juggling a two-year-old and a seven-year-old on top of work leaves him too exhausted to remember to visit Mildred. But he knows, deep down, that his explanation is merely an excuse for a bad son who is focused so intently on his own family that he forgets his mother no longer had one.

“I was so lonely when your father died, Nicky,” Mildred begins to explain. “After you and Martha made sure I was okay on my own, you went back to your lives…but my life was buried in the Gethsemane Cemetery. I didn’t know how to live after he died. When I found Billy, he gave me a sense of purpose again.”

Nicholas watches helplessly as his frail mother shakes and sobs into Billy’s rancid fur. Billy stares at him unwaveringly while Mildred wails in choked gasps.

“Mom, oh God I’m so sorry!” Nicholas blubbers. Fat tears cloud his vision as he throws his arms out and moves to envelop his mother in a hug. In the split second before Nicholas meets Mildred’s embrace, Billy leaps out of her arms and plunges his teeth into his shoulder. “FUCK!!”

Mildred freezes as mangled screams of agony spill from her son. She can’t begin to process the scene in front of her. Nicholas’ tan suit jacket looks wine-stained as blood seeps through the fabric. A dull ring in Mildred’s ears filters out all the sounds around her. All but one.

“MOM!!” Nicholas howls, “HELP ME!! MOM!!!”

As if activated by a switch, Mildred lunges forward and grabs Billy. She pulls with all the strength she can muster, throwing her weight backward and digging her nails into Billy’s skin. Blood from Nicholas’ shoulder falls unceremoniously onto the floor and Mildred slips, sending her and her son crashing to the ground. Pain soaks through her back and up into her chest as it makes contact with the concrete. Pure adrenaline is the only thing propelling her back onto her feet. When she sees Nicholas flat on his back, pulling at Billy with his free arm in vain, her eyes dart wildly around the room.

“Get–Ugh, God, get off me–” Nicholas grits out. He had no idea that a creature the size of a soccer ball could grip him with such force. He’s losing too much blood, and his vision is starting to tunnel.

“GET OFF OF MY SON!” Mildred shrieks, smacking Billy’s body with her trusty two-gallon gardening bucket.

The unexpected attack knocks Billy off-kilter and throws him from Nicholas’ shoulder. Nicholas gasps for air before skittering away from Billy in a messy assembly of limbs. Billy quickly regains his composure and turns to face Mildred. He snarls, the teeth in his overbite quivering to support his intimidation gambit. A long claw on his talon clicks the floor excitedly before he commits to his scurry toward Mildred. As Mildred braces for what she knows will be an excruciating ambush, a shrill whistle catches her attention.

“Hey, asshole!” Nicholas yells. He’s standing next to the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard and throws the door open with a deft smack.

Without any coaxing, Billy changes the direction of his sprint and bolts out of the door. No second thoughts, no remorse. Mildred rushes to the door just in time to watch her once-beloved Billy disappear into the woods behind her house. A thin trail of blood follows his form until he can’t be seen anymore. Once the shock of recent events wears off, Mildred faces her son.

“Are you alright? Are you dizzy?” Mildred asks, frantically patting Nicholas’ face and making worried motions toward his injured shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. Nothing that a couple of band-aids won’t fix, right?” Nicholas quips weakly.

“I’ll go get the first-aid kit!”

“Mom, wait,” Nicholas calls, holding onto the tattered sleeve of Mildred’s sweater. “I want you to come live with Nancy and me.” A few moments slip by in silence.

“Really?”

“Honestly, you’d be doing us a favor. If you’d watch Sophia while we work, then we wouldn’t have to shell out $500 a month for a shitty daycare that she hates. If you don’t mind, our new house has a guest bedroom that you can have.”

A smile stretches across Mildred’s face while she listens to her son’s offer. Tears drip delicately down her worn face and Nicholas extends his thumb to dry them.

“Ah, Mom, please don’t cry!”

“It’s alright, Nick. I’m just happy.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Of course. I’ll start packing my things.”

“Let me call Nancy, she should probably know what’s going on…minus the monster.”

Nicholas leaves to grab his cell phone, but Mildred stays put. She takes a final glance out

at the sea of maple trees that Billy had vanished into, letting the small twangs of sadness she feels wash over her. Her Billy is gone, but it’s time for Mildred to move on. She has a family to take care of again.