His Name was Eric

His name was Eric. I don't remember much about the guy; just that one-day mom showed up wearing him along with a smile I'd never seen before. They met at the Naugels and had some "amazing" connection just before he gave her a ride home on his motorcycle. At least, this was the phone conversation I’d overheard between excited laughter, as my mom shared her story of newfound love with a friend. The only trouble was, Erick was 21 and my mom, well she was 36. Don’t get me wrong, she was very beautiful and looking back I can see how a young guy like Eric would be taken by her elegance and allure.

He on the other hand, was blonde, blue-eyed, and untrimmed with a rough around-the-edges sort of appeal. Worn leather jacket, ripped jeans, and a white t were his go-to fashion choices and his friends were eclectic, diverse, and un- refined, but anyone that came by our house, was always polite and on their best behavior. Mom had that sort of effect on most people. I think it can be best described as a presence that scares the shit out of you without saying a word. They both fell quickly in love and Eric moved in. It wasn't any big event when he came though. Probably because whatever and whoever he left behind wasn't much worth remembering.

My mom was happy and content. Eric made her feel like a woman and I saw a different side; unstressed and a little more carefree than I could remember. We were poor as hell, but maybe it's a little easier to be hopeful about life with someone by your side to soften the blow of poverty, social inequality, and unplanned mishaps. From time to he would talk to me about the books I was reading or artwork I was tinkering with, he'd ask a lot of random questions in an honest attempt to be some sort of father-figure. But he was only just a kid himself. These small attempts always stood out to me, though I was very quiet about it all at the time. He's is probably the only man I remember my mom dating that ever gave a enough of a shit, to ask anything at all.

It was a quiet evening and silence veiled the house like a weighted blanket. Feeling like things were a bit too quiet, I decided I would go to find mom and see what she was up to. The floor creaked under my bare feet tiptoeing, from the bedroom across cold hardwood floors to my mother's door. I really can't remember if I wanted to talk or just say good night but whatever the case, I was eager to do so. I knocked, then, waited quietly, in the dark of our family room looking at the warm light creeping through the bottom of her door. I could faintly hear laughter muffled by the base of Eric's voice and waited just a few moments more before turning the knob. As I opened the door they both turned

in shock, and I stood frozen not making a sound. They were naked, he on top of her, looking back on my 8-year-old face helpless in the moment. My body felt stiff but somehow I managed to shut the door and run to my bedroom, crawling under my bedcovers as tears streamed down my face. What had I just seen? My heart pounded, my stomach turned, and in that moment I felt changed forever.

I don't remember being consoled or receiving a “talking-to” after the incident. I think my mother didn't really know how to address things without feeling embarrassed, so instead it was never discussed. I think I appreciated that since the whole thing was something pretty traumatic. Eventually, as time passed, mom and Eric began fighting regularly. I’m not sure if it was the lack of money or his constant need to drink and get high, but I can remember her yelling and crying often as I sat in my room listening quietly. One night she took several bottles of beer and threw them into the middle of the street. He of course, went and salvaged the few unbroken bottles seemingly unphased by the incident. The thing is, she wasn’t very subtle about anything. Whether it was an expression of love, or anger, happiness, or sadness, you could be sure that a fiery passionate expression of what she was feeling would manifest either verbally of physically. I’m sure that’s part of the reason he was so drawn to her. Often during an intense confrontation, Eric would disappear with a friend only to eventually return with placating remorse.

The day that Eric left for good was very strange. I was home from school, feeling sick and mom left sometime mid-morning. Eventually, I began to feel somewhat better, so I made my way to the family room and sitting on the floor, took in some sun by the glass slider. It was the perfect spot, quiet, and peaceful, to warm my feet and enjoy silence. Eric entered the room a while later hauling a six-pack of wine coolers and parked himself on the floor against one of the wood paneled walls. He opened a bottle and guzzled down a few swallows but eventually stopped to ask a question. “ Have you ever had any alcohol?” I looked at him surprised and shook my head with a simultaneous, “no.” He must have started early that morning because he reached into the pack and handed me one of several berry-flavored coolers. “ Your mom says you need to be exposed to things, and you know, I think she’s right... here.” I was hesitant but he looked at me with an assuring confirmation and nudged the bottle in my direction. After taking that first sip, I’m not sure if it was the Bursting flavor of sugary sweet, or the fact that it felt like rebellion, but I was beyond excited. I can’t remember the conversation specifically; after all, I was only about 8 years old. I think he asked me about school and other general things but eventually everything dwindled to silence and we just sort-of sat in the quite of the room for a little while. Finally, he stood up and said. “Let’s go for a ride.” I had never been on a motorcycle

before and I knew if mom ever found out about this, it could be the end of life for both of us. It was the 80’s and people really didn’t wear helmets or seatbelts. At any given time you could see a pickup truck on the road hauling a group of teens huddled together in chattery laughter, trying to stay warm from the wind. The rules of safety in many areas were very much in the grey. Likewise, without any safety precautions, he showed me where to put my feet and said, “Hold on tight”. My heart was racing and my chest felt like it would explode with anticipation. We took off and I squeezed my eyes shut, arms gripped around his body like a vice. We were going so fast I was afraid to look but I could feel the rolling twists and turns if the road and hear the crescendo of sound, and wind against my cheeks as the bike took speed. As we whipped through the streets, my thoughts painted the excursion though worn down roads of passing cars and blue curtain skies with swirling clouds cascading gently in the distant mountains. Finally we came to a stop and I opened my eyes and blinking several times adjusting to the sunlight. We were parked in the unfamiliar driveway of an older duplex style building. Eric dismounted and explained, “ Were just going to stop here and say hi to my friend.” I tried looking through the dark screen door as we stood on the front step waiting for someone to answer. Eventually a man in his late 30’s a bit disheveled and worn from life, let us in. We entered and took a seat in the dreary front room of his small apartment. I looked to the little box TV and crooked antenna sitting on a lonely table in hopes of some entertaining escape. Eric told his friend “This is Marie’s daughter”, and he acknowledged me before they began talking. I simply zoned out but was offered another wine cooler, which I gladly accepted and eventually some weed. I declined the later but became a bit woozy from the 2nd or was it the 3rd bottle of alcohol my 8-year- old body wasn’t accustomed to. I told Eric, “I feel weird. Dizzy.” He and his friend laughed, before offering some reassurance, “ Don’t worry, that’s normal. It’ll go away in a bit.” My eyelids became heavy as I focused on the TV and eventually fell asleep before being woken Eric’s voice, “ Wakeup, Come ‘on, we have to go.” Sleepily, I rubbed my eyes and realizing where I was, followed him to the bike before riding home. When we arrived, his calm demeanor seemed to wash away leaving uncertainty and worry. Heading straight to the living room, he swiftly removed the evidence and no other words were exchanged between us. I knew this was a horrible secret I could never share with anyone and the end of he and my mother. She walked through the door only moments after we arrived. Churning sickness filled my stomach as the fear the knowing she could sense something was wrong grew. I had already brushed my teeth several times but hesitated to give her the usual kiss hello. Eric kissed her and she pushed him away recognizing the scent of alcohol on his breath. She scoured the house looking for the evidence and he begged her to calm down. “ I only had a couple of drinks, there’s nothing here.” He pleaded. I was scared. Could she know the

truth? What would she do? I regretted everything in that moment and wished I could have redone my actions in the morning of that day, but I could not. At some point the screaming and yelling stopped when she found the empty bottles hidden in some trash outside. Erick’s friend came by to calm her down but it was done and nothing anyone said could change her decision.

Eric left that night. I remember him saying how much he loved her and begging to stay. I remember him making every attempt to get close in an effort to make her forget what had occurred. They stood in the darkness of the night under the twilight of the moon for some time knowing full well this was the end. Finally mom calmed down and spoke to him gently. I couldn’t hear her words as I huddled near the large window in my bedroom watching their shadows and light of the lamppost touching their silhouettes. I can only imagine what they exchanged. I’m sure she told him that she loved him, but he couldn’t stay. I know it broke her heart to do what was necessary in that moment because after that night we never saw Eric again. She was very depressed for a long time after. I could hear the weeping in her room many nights as I sat by the door and listened. I tried to give her comfort her one evening when she was sobbing on the kitchen floor. It was impossible to understand what her broken heart was feeling. As time moved on the pain became less apparent. Though I’m sure it was hiding below the surface, we never spoke of it. I never dared tell her the events that took place that day. I know it would have tarnished the memory she held of him and I couldn’t be the catalyst of that. In light of how crazy the experience was I always wondered what became of him. I’m sure mom did too. But in the end I guess we just never know.