“Be careful Charlie, my dear” his mother said to him, giving him a slimy smooch on his forehead.
“Yes mama” he replied, slowly turning and inching out into the grass.
His mother, who was a very open-minded woman, couldn’t shake her maternal instincts of wanting to keep her son as close to home as possible. “My sweet little boy, off to be his own man” she murmured to herself, turning around and slipping back into the house.
She took in her surroundings, the melodic sounds of water dripping from the ceiling into metal buckets, the musty smell, almost like she was living in a senior home; she quite liked that smell. The kitchen needed to be cleaned, those poor pots and pans that had made their home in the sink had seen better days. The carpet was beginning to come up at the corners of the living room.
A small, somewhat pained sigh left her as she entered Charlie’s room. Her eyes hovered around the room, not wanting to miss a single detail. The bottom of her mouth began to quiver as she fought back tears. She tightened her lips, flattening them out in an attempt to stop her chin from shaking. The lump in her throat made it feel like she couldn’t breathe.
Several tears slid down her stalks. “Oh my sweet boy” she choked out.
writelikewater 