Trevor in a Brothel with his Mother

Trevor in a Brothel with his Mother

My mother has brought me to a Polish bordello. I’m looking at a hole. All my life, everyone has been talking to me about this hole, and look at this thing. It’s not a hole, it’s more a sort of – slit. And I’m thinking: if this was more like a hole, like everyone said it was, things wouldn’t seem so meaningless. What am I supposed to do with this – ragged gap? Mother has decided to get this done today. She said it was time I got out of the house. She didn’t like me drawing so many maps of countries in my head. I thought I was happy. I’m not happy.

I want mother to give me some ice cream. But she says, “Not now, Trevor. Now you’re going to get your ticket punched.” I don’t like it when I get my ticket punched. “But not by me, by this whore. She is your girlfriend. You can have some ice cream when you’re finished.”

I’m in a cold room on a dark road in Poland. There just wasn’t enough ice cream to reach all the way along the road into the countryside in Poland to the door of this brothel. And now I’m here, and mother is making me feel lonely.

Why are you doing this to me, mother?

Mother looks at me. Her head moves left and down.

Why don’t you leave the room, mother?

She won’t leave. I can tell from her eyes. They move right, to Agnieszka, and then close. When they open again they are back looking at me. This confuses me. I’m following an imaginary line in my head that moves towards a centre. My eyes don’t move left or right, they just blink. I have to put my willy in that slit. It looks too narrow. I want to say it but I can’t. I can smell stale milk and flour.

Agnieszka turns on a black light, and new shapes appear on the green sheet. They look like silver maps of the Philippines. The black light is like the stuff they put in swimming baths to make the wee go blue. I close one eye, and imagine the room as a universe. I feel like I am a tiny body floating from my mother’s hips onto Agnieszka’s knees. Mother’s hips are getting further away, and they fill a couch. The arms of the couch are flaky, and I see a desert at night, beside mother’s fat elbow. The walls look weak and scratchy; they are a giant plastic cliff. I don’t feel like I can lean on them. Agnieszka rescues me from falling into a canyon. She says I have to take a shower. A new thought unfolds in me. “Will you come with me?” “No.” I look at mother. Her arm moves. She covers the desert with her elbow. Both women look at me until I go inside the bathroom. I have to make a bunch with my clothes so they can balance on the radiator. The soap is too small. The towel is too small. The shower-doors rattle, and I feel like they are making too much noise.

There’s a wall in my head. I want an ice cream. On each side of the wall there is another side to my brain. Sex is a spiteful con-trick your body plays on you, and for the first time in my life I don’t trust mother.

I come out of the shower and I have still got water between my legs, under my arms and on my back. Mother dries my under-arms, and I look at Agnieszka. She has no clothes on. She has a flat head and a wide mouth and wide teeth. She looks at me. Her head moves sideways and up and down. It doesn’t seem worth it. But I do it anyway. I’m here now. Mother’s knee touches my knee, and I want to be sick.

But then my body separates itself from my divided mind, and I can feel something rushing in my belly. I don’t feel sick anymore. Agnieszka holds my wrist. I have to push and help with my thumb, and everything feels snug. A wall slides onto the back of my head. My belly releases some pressure. I do a little wee.

I hear a loud voice from next door: “If it’s gonna be that kinda party I’m gonna stick my dick in the mashed potatoes!” People are laughing.

I look at my body and start crying. I think about a road filled with ice cream.

I think my mother is happy.

Filed under: Fiction