Teething Problems

By Mark Fletcher

Teething Problems is a descent in to the consciousness of the narrator, a young man in his early twenties, after his life is upended by the discovery that his conception was the result of his mother being unfaithful to her then husband of less than a year and the realization that his hero dad is not his dad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Fletcher
• Release date: Sep 24, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452304427

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Teething Problems

Mark Fletcher

Copyright © 2006 Mark Fletcher

Smashwords Edition 1.0 September 2009.

Published by Smashwords.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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For Jason who got up and went to work one day.

Chapter One

I’ve got to tell someone. To make it real, you know. I have to. Sorry, I can’t stop moving, it helps me, breathe. The phone call … it’s the closest thing to a beginning to all this.

Two nights ago.

Fuck I hate roller coasters.

I rang her as soon as it happened.

I know now, …

*****

Chapter Two

It’s my side of the conversation. Okay? You’ll get the rest. Here’s how it went.

How dare you.

Of course I’m angry, he was at my front door.

Because you told me he was coming. You set this up remember.

He introduced himself.

Through the door, before I opened it, he called out."

I heard him say my name.

No, I didn’t look through the peephole first.

It distorts things.

Their heads look all fat. Especially if they peer in.

This isn’t about peepholes.

Lies.

You said he was dead. Or, gone to be with God, I think was your favorite term. That God needed an angel so he took Dad.

"We celebrated his anniversary, Mother, for years - or cried over it at least. We went to the grave a few times too. How do you account for that?"

Great, so I get a refund on the tears?

Well don’t you be smart either.

Whether he was always alive or not, it doesn’t matter. In my head, my father was dead. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about him.

Of course, I was pleased. A kid finds out that his father is not really dead and that he’s been away for some yet to be revealed secret reason. I couldn’t wait to see him no matter how screwy the story sounded …

He wasn’t the guy in the photos. You lied to me.

You told me he was alive and I believed you. I’ve always believed you. And now, now that I know, I’m just another fucked up bastard.

I’ll be angry if I want to be.

That put on voice isn’t going to help you.

You are so.

I’m not a kid reading one of your Walter the Wombat books.

I’m not putting them down.

This has as much to do with Walter as it has to do with you and me.

"Walter is not innocent."

He’s as real as you and me, Mother.

To millions. You write wonderful stories. Pity you didn’t keep some of Walter’s wisdom for yourself.

No, I don’t resent him.

I don’t resent you.

I’m proud of your success.

Fuck Walter!

"You want to know the sad thing? No one would believe me if I told them what you did."

Well, tell me about it then.

Because I know, Mother.

I know the truth.

He was fucking standing at my door, practically beating it down.

No, I didn’t let him in.

Because I didn’t want to.

I was in shock …once I realized … At first I thought it was someone else and that HE was still on his way. But then he told me. He introduced himself as my father. He knew me.

"He looked nothing like Dad, the man in the photo with me."

So, which one is it, Mother? The man at the door or the man in the photo?

Don’t! I know they’re not the same man.

I’m not blind.

Stop this!

The door or the photo, Mother?

Door or photo?

So, who is the man in the photo?

I see.

Well, at least in my fantasy world I’m not a bastard.

He didn’t know, did he?

God, you’re a piece of work.

My world Mother, because of a quick fuck you had one night when some navy was in town. You fucked your brains out and now you’ve fucked my life.

"You’d been married less than a year for god’s sake."

So I’m an accident then?

I’ll feel what I like!

No, you didn’t think. And with you such a paragon of righteousness now.

You’re lucky I look more like you than him.

Forgive? No.

No!

Well, don’t ask.

I’m not going to continue this discussion.

Goodbye, Mother. No, wait, did you love him?

"You know who I mean. Did you love him?"

Just answer the question.

"I love my dad."

After she’d kissed me and turned off the light and shut the door, I’d crawl out of bed and look out the window.

Sometimes I’d just say good night. Other times I’d talk about what I did during the day. Other times I’d tell my secrets.

It was the best part of the day. Him and me. Perfect.

*****

Chapter Three

Like I said, it’s my side of the conversation. Him turning up at my door is how I found out. I knew my father was coming but I didn’t know it was him.

No, you don’t need me to tell you her words.

I’m not hiding anything. I know that with time things can get colored even though it’s only been two days. You have to take it into account is all I’m saying.

She is my mother. It was always just the two of us. The bond, was, you know, close. Not unhealthy. But close. I trusted her!

Yeah, poor me. Fuck.

I never questioned her recollections of our time as a family before …

She created him - warm and lush stories. By the time I was six or seven he was a superhero. Perfect in every way.

If she was here you’d believe her too. What’s not to believe? Worldwide bestselling author, good looking, witty, politically active, well dressed but not overdone, a widow who’s had it tough and made good and a mother forever caring about her only child. Perfect.

People like her more than their own Mother. I’ve heard them say as much!

And thanks to her Walter the Wombat books, almost everyone on the planet must know her. She’s a star. I’ll choke if another person asks me how she does it. What do I know? Okay, what do I know?

Ever since she got famous, I’ve been the son of the wombat woman. I know that I don’t look that great, not the ‘part’ for her. I’m not sidekick material.

From when I can remember I was told he died. It was a veil of sadness over us people would say.

Mother and I often talked about him until, one day, the subject was forbidden. "Time to move on" she said. But that didn’t stop me thinking about him.

Oh, secret memories