Solo Ambition

[Jin]

The faint sound of sirens stirred him from sleep.

Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, had been anything but for longer than he could remember. Gang violence, crime, poverty and wealth disparity- it was a bastion of the American Dream like so many others, a flickering flame that people crowded close to for warmth in a cold world. Theo had never seen the allure of hope.

Or maybe he had, once. As he stretched and yawned, he made his way toward the dirty window and glanced out at the street. The children who were playing there had scattered, some still lingering close by as police cars and fire engines rushed into the block. The faint sound had grow louder, and now he could hear it ringing in his ears. He grimaced.

Then came the knocking at the door.

He hurriedly pulled on his pants and unlatched the deadbolt, prying the door open to glance out at the officer standing there. "How can I help you, sir?" Theo asked, not fully opening the door.

"I have some questions for you son," the man said, "starting with do you know a Lauren D-"

"My mother." Theo cut him short, nodding. "She's not in right now, I'm afraid."

"Your mother's been shot, son," the officer told him. He suddenly felt a chill, a strange knotting in his gut. "Do you know anyone who would have cause to see her harmed?"

"She's virtually an invalid," he said in a quiet voice. "She goes out like twice a month, for groceries."

"Our detective is putting together a profile for this case," the man assured him, "so your cooperation is appreciated."

"Where is she?"

 

[Jin]

"Her body's been weak for a long time," the doctor observed. "It's a medical miracle that she survived the ambulance ride."

Theo felt his shoulders sag, but his expression went unchanged. When he heard the news, he had set his expectations low. "It's not likely we'll be able to save her, because the invasive surgery to remove a bullet might be too much for her on its own. That's leaving out the possibility of complications involving her body reacting to the morphine..."

Everything the doctor was saying, Theo already knew; but somehow, hearing it made him feel a strange somberness. Mental preparations for the loss of his mother technically began several years ago, but now that it was virtually imminent, he wasn't sure how ready he really was.

"Yeah," he murmured. He could have shown a bit more of a response, but felt it would have been needlessly futile. After all, he had been waiting for it, hadn't he?

"You're taking it surprisingly well..."

"I've been her caregiver for three years," he shrugged. "Nothing I could do then, and there's certainly nothing I can do now."

"Err... would you like to see her?"

"Is she lucid?" He gave the doctor a quizzical look.

"She's been asking for you vehemently since she arrived," came the hesitant response.

Theo frowned.

 

[Jin]

"The...o?" her voice was weak. More so than usual. "Are you there, Theo?"

"I came as soon as I heard," he told her. "I'm here, mom."

"I don't think I have much longer, Theo." She was usually so cheery, so bright, so optimistic that he had to grit his teeth to endure it. She lacked those qualities as she spoke to him now.

It felt like someone driving a dagger into his chest.

"Who shot you?" he asked.

She shook her hear. "Revenge won't keep me from going, Theo." She held her hand out toward him. He stayed just outside her reach. "I tried so hard," her voice was breaking, there were tears. "I knew something was wrong, but I tried to pretend for your sake that I didn't. I wanted to try to give you a normal life, son."

"Mom, come on," Theo managed to force a smile. "What are you talking about?"

"About your dad," she said. "About him being violent, about the things he was involved with." He could feel his stomach churning, but he kept his mouth shut. "About the abuse," she added after a moment's hesitation. "And about how it effected you, even though I didn't want to believe it."

"Mom," he said gently. "None of that matters now."

"It does matter," she protested. "It's the only thing that matters. I wanted to show you what it meant to be loved. I wanted to give you a proper childhood, to have the sort of parental guidance and support that you deserved. I was never able to live up to my own expectations. For whatever reason, and by whatever powers that be, I was never capable of doing the bare minimum for you."

"Mom, please, stop-"

"Theodore Russell, I am on my deathbed. There is no future for me now beyond this room, I have never been as firm with you as I should have, but you will shut up and listen to what I have to say this time."

He swallowed, hard.

Then he nodded.

"You're not even crying," she said sadly. "I knew all this time, and I never said anything."

Theo glanced up toward the door. The nurses had left them alone. He twisted round with a start when he felt a touch on his arm, and he saw that she had sat herself up. She was looking dead at him, in his eyes.

"I couldn't teach you about love," she said. "And I don't know if you ever got to experience it on your own. When you brought that girl home, I had hope-"

"Mom-"

"I wanted to believe it was something real. I wanted to see you happy and fulfilled, and I wanted to know you would be loved when I was gone. Now I have to leave this world uncertain that will ever happen."

Theo frowned. He matched her gaze, but responded in no other way.

"As a mother, as a woman, as a person, that feels like the greatest failure possible."

"You did everything you could."

"Do you believe that?" she asked. "I struggle to believe it, I've always struggled. But now, looking at you, seeing you hardly even react to me dying-"

She slumped backward, clutching at her abdomen. Theo watched her reel, uncertain. Part of him wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer affirmations.

"It's like it doesn't bother you at all."

"You're going to die," he told her at last. "And I'm going to walk out of this room alone. You will leave me with nothing, which is only just a bit less than I had to begin with. This world's been cruel and unfair since before I can remember, and nothing about that changes when you're gone."

"Except when I'm gone, you won't have anyone to show you the right way," she said. "You won't get any more support from me, and I won't be able to make you any more home-cooked meals."

"I'll manage," he told her. "Let's talk about something else..."

They went back and forth for a time, and he watched her worried expression slowly change into a smile. There was nothing he could do to change her fate. The only kindness he had left to give this woman who had given him life was the knowledge that somewhere, lost in the darkness, there was a part of him that cared enough to stay with her until the end.

It died with her.

The door flew open. Nurses and doctors rushed in, dancing wildly to the sound of her heart flat-lining. Theo watched quietly as they tried to resuscitate her, but the serene expression she wore in her final moments never changed.

 

[Jin]

"Today we are gathered here in the memory of a sister who gave everything she had for others, but never asked for anything herself." The Reverend was a taller, leathery skinned black man who's eyes sank behind his cheeks. His hair was graying black, and reading glasses sat near the tip of his slightly elongated nose. Theo was barely looking at him, and listening even less. His gaze was fixated on the open casket, a full view of his pale mother, her eyes never to open again.

"She is survived by her son, Theodore, who will oversee the execution of her will..."

The only thing that kept him here, or anywhere really, were societal expectations. The realization had started dawning immediately that those chains were finally slipping, but all the things he thought that he would immediately do started to come into question. Part of him had considered quickly finding three deaths inside of Terrasphere, locking himself out of reality- but that seemed like a waste now.

He finally had freedom, he was finally beholden to nothing and no one.

Why die now, having not truly been able to live?

Why live, when the world he had been trapped in for so long held nothing promising?

There were so many questions, coupled with an equal number of possibilities. "Sister Lauren was a frail woman, especially in the last decade of her life," the Reverend began her eulogy in the way they had discussed, telling her story to those friends who had never heard the entire story. She had always been adamant that no one pity her. "Riddled with accidents, falls, sickness, and widowed by her husband, she nonetheless endured for the sake of her son..."

How horrible had it been, really? The moment she was declared unfit to work, she collected welfare. They had enough to make ends meet. He worked in the grocery store to help keep food on the table. They objectively had wanted for nothing- or, more accurately, his mother had been happy with the life they had.

She knew that her son was not satisfied, though. And at some point, she pieced together that there was resentment hidden behind his support of her. He remembered watching her cry, hidden away from sight. He remembered when she confided in her friends when she thought he couldn't hear. He remembered her friends- the same friends gathered around her corpse- called him ungrateful.

They looked at him, and he stared back. Whether out of habit or respect, he bit back a smile. "Sorry for your loss," whispered one of the women from the prayer committee who was seated directly next to him. Theo gave a quiet nod. "Your mother was a wonderful woman. This was a horrible tragedy."

"Thanks," he muttered, not quite sure what response he ought to give. It was an awkward topic. It was an awkward compliment to receive, and the circumstances were even more awkward. He avoided her gaze by concentrating his own on his mother's hands, folded over her abdomen. "It kind of feels like I lost my sense of direction," he said suddenly, in a rare moment of candor.

"I wasn't expecting you to admit something like that, honestly," the woman said. Theo couldn't help himself. He glanced sidelong at her, noted her expression, and the tone of her voice. "If you need anything, please, let us know Theo. You're in our prayers."

In our prayers. Weren't they always? And what had prayers ever done for his mother? They didn't heal her sickness. They didn't give her a better man than his father. Theo let his gaze linger on the woman, who held her hand over her heart. "God bless you, Theo," she whispered, "god bless you."

He looked back toward his mother.

He won't.