God Help My Son

 

(Ken is taking a vacation to a desert in Colorado.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. After that, I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. In 2018, a single mother from Gwangju went to the hospital and gave birth to a little baby boy. She then went back to her apartment with her son in her arms and slowly started to go crazy. It’s not easy raising a child, and all the screaming and crying sent chills down her spine. So she took a three-hour walk by her lonesome in order to regain her sanity. Unfortunately, she discovered that the poor kid was dead upon her return. He had suffocated under his little blanket. In response, Mom wrapped him in plastic and dumped the body into a trash receptacle.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. The senator I find the most disgusting is Lindsey Graham from South Carolina. He’s a closet queen who is always beating the drums of war. In fact, he literally wants to nuke the entire world to promote American hegemony across the globe. Anyway, his brilliant new plan is to admit the Ukraine into NATO. This would bring troops from the United States into the conflict, and more of our boys would be coming home in body bags. Yet people continue to vote for this twisted homosexual. In fact, he has a lot of support throughout the nation. I simply fail to understand the attraction.

The Dragon Lady brought me a cup of tea and placed it on my nightstand.

I said, “Thank you, darling.”

She said, “I not you daahlin. Soon, we divorce. Next week, I reaving you.”

“OK. I’m not a jail keeper. You’re free to do what you want.”

“Cunt!”

She left my room, slamming the door behind her.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m the lunatic. For instance, I’m ambivalent about the collapse of our marriage. I’ve been with this monster for a quarter century, and I’m a tad sorry to see her go. But I should be beating the bass drum and dancing with joy. Ding dong, the witch is dead. Am I right? Yet my heart remains heavy. Is there a secret masochist living inside of me who wants to be abused? I’m truly confused.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “Ken is cutting my grass.”

“That’s good. He needs to pull his weight around the house.”

"He's leaving tomorrow."

“How long will he be gone?”

“Two weeks.”

“Man, that’s a long time.”

She nodded. “I’m a little bit nervous. Most of his buddies are knuckleheads.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Don’t make me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Ken and his friends are going camping in Colorado. But they aren’t visiting the Rocky Mountains. Instead, they will spend their time in a desert. I didn’t even know that Colorado has a desert. Yet it does. It’s called the Sonoran. I’ve never even heard of it. Geography was never one of my strongest subjects in school.

I said, “Do you think critters will crawl into their tents?”

“Critters?”

“You know. Scorpions and rattlesnakes.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t even want to imagine it.”

“What the fuck is wrong with Ken? Why would anyone want to visit a hellscape for fun?”

“Well, he’s young and stupid and male. We just have to hope that he survives until he’s thirty. That’s when men typically calm down and become sane.”

“I’ll pray for God to help him.”

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