"DEFENSE"
by Behlor Santi
“Your ma sucks elephant dick,” taunts Billy, the sixth-grade bully, and I ball my right hand into a fist, ready to cry that no, my mom doesn’t suck dick, she don’t even suck lollipops. She says that sugar is bad for the teeth. I punch Billy, and he squeals like a pig, the pig-fucking pig. I keep on pounding him, enjoying his lack of defense, ‘cause you gotta defend your mother, she went through mad pain to put you in the world. My ma’s not like those streetwalkers downtown, wrinkled and saggy. Ma's blonde and pretty, like that actress Heather Locklear on that cop show.
My beautiful mom stays in my head, as Billy’s blood covers my fist. The dean drags me away, the soles of my Reeboks screeching against the asphalt of the schoolyard. I smile at my fellow students. I am defiant. I continue to smile and be defiant as the dean writes my suspension slip. I come home, carrying the pink suspension slip, and I smell burnt pot roast.
Ma greets me in the foyer, hugs me; I smell the burnt pot roast, and the rum she always buy from the local liquor store. The liquor-store owner comes to my house a lot. I hand my mother my pink slip, still smiling, because I defended her honor against Pig Face Billy.
Does Ma still remember that day? She must, considering the fact that she doesn’t remember her lurches and stumbles and blackouts. Why remember those piddling moments and forget the day your son defended himself and defended you? Just today, at lunchtime, she hands me Irish cream and passed out over her own drink. I drink my Irish cream and eat my lunch—bangers and mash. I will still defend my mother today. If somebody calls her a bitch or a whore, those nasty words, I will bash him till they couldn’t stand. I will enjoy the smell of their blood. My mother’s a fine woman. If anybody insults my mother, my punches would set the record straight. It’s not that sentimental shit. My mother knows me, gave birth to me, and therefore I honor her. After gulping down my Irish cream, I return to my lunch. My mother, eyes closed like sealed seashells, vomits over her dish.
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Behlor Santi is almost 25, and she lives in New York City. She loves candy, shopping, and sex--not neccesarily in that order.
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