Start the Day

1501 WordsJul 14, 20187 Pages
Matt Moore circled the basement furnace. It was a slow, but tense, nervous pacing. The seventeen-year-old was constantly wringing his hands or waving them in disgust or desperation, thinking, planning, and contemplating his need. His arms, legs and jaws were as tense and yearning for a chemical fix worse than an empty belly for food. He owed money. There was no more credit. He suspected his mother was on to him since twenty dollars disappeared from her purse. The hurt in her eyes suspecting him was more than he could bear. He never thought the little blue pills would bring him to this point. They owned him, controlled him, and drove him. “God,” he prayed, “Just one more fix. I’ll quit. I can’t make it through the morning.” Matt, for that…show more content…
Rinsing diapers, teaching him to tie his shoes, drying tears after a fight on the way home from grade school, watching his face light up for an ice cream cone, wondering why he wore his jeans so tight, and his hair too long rolled together as she watched him slip from view on his way to high school. In another year . . . she choked as she heard news on Vietnam from the kitchen radio . . . just a few more months and he could be marching off the war. “God, our leaders are mad,” she fought back the urge to cry. “What’s that war about again? Some domino theory on how Commies are taking over the world one small Banana Republic at a time?” Her little one with a gun? Some other mother’s boy with a gun? For what? She thought of her son’s friend from Powers, poor little Mark, staggering out of the woods just last week as she drove by. What a shock it was to see him drenched in blood, looking confused, looking, perhaps for his mother. How could anyone be so heartless? She went back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. She had laundry to do and vacuuming. The solemn, yet nonchalant business as usual voice on the radio tallied the casualties. Once again, we killed three to five times as many Viet Cong and North Vietnamese yesterday than what we lost. Somehow that was supposed to show we were winning. Big deal! Big diddly deal! “Do you explain that to the parents when you tell them, your son
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