My boy, he always comes home.
When he moved away, I wasn’t expecting him home much. I remember when he was little, he used to complain about how big the world was, and how it scared him. But once he put one foot out the door toward the world, there was no holding him back.
But still he came home.
I like to jostle him whenever he pops in about he’s this big “city slicker”, living it up in his fancy apartment and working in his nice big office, but he just smiles and says “Ma, you know I only live in a small 1 bedroom place”.
I always have a little laugh at that.
He likes to surprise me my boy, but I’ve gotten used to having a pie ready now. He said it’s the thing he always comes home for. The first time he said it, I says to him “You come home, all this way, for a slice of pie?”
He reminds me of when he was younger, he says it’s his first memory of having homemade pie, where he was out playing in the fields and smelt what he says “was a flower given wings, gliding through the air on a bouquet of ravishing sapidity”, and he swears he leapt from there to the porch to get his hands on it.
Now I don’t care for the fancy words he uses, but I like to think he was right about how far he would go for a slice of pie.
It’s not always roses when he pops by. Sometimes I find him passed out on the lawn, covered in cuts and bruises from god-knows-what and well, you try dragging a 225 pound male into the house.
He’s still my boy.
His last visit was probably his quickest yet. He just landed and well, I had the pie ready. He smiled and started telling me about what just happened in some foreign county, and the developments there.
He has the best stories.
He talked about some weird people, and box-things they had which were called “Mother” and “Father” or some nonsense, and of course it gets him going on again about who he is and where he’s from, and I just move towards and hold him and remind him that no matter what, he will always be loved and I will always be his mother.
He nestles his head on my shoulder and politely says “Thanks, Ma”.
And in the blink of an eye, his head moves ever so slightly and I know he hears something.
I kiss him on the cheek and tell him “I’ll see you soon” and he we hug. I walk him out the door to the front lawn and I stand there proudly with my son. He gives me one more hug and gently says “You might want to stand back a bit, Ma”
And there goes my boy, Clark, off to save the day again.