Pomme Terre (Part 9, page 2 of 5)


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Part 9

Even though there was no dominant male figure during my childhood, there was never a shortage of men coming in and out of my house. For my mother. No. She was never worthy a mother..." Cliff trailed off, his fists gripped tight until his knuckles were white.

"She was always drunk. She was nasty when drunk, even nastier when not. One day at the age of 15, I was at home and as usual, I saw a man leaving from the bedroom. It was a regular sight and nobody ever took any notice of me, and I, of them. A moment later, the drunk woman appeared at the bedroom door, saw me sitting there and blasted 'What the fuck are you looking at?' With anger, she stormed towards me and I can still remember smelling the alcohol under her breath and the effort she needed to keep her eyes focused. Suddenly, she slapped me real hard. That was the first time she hit me. I wasn't a little boy anymore then, so I stood up and held her arm before the second blow landed on my face. I was confused.

The drunk woman was crazy. One moment she was all crying and apologetic, and asked 'What have I done?' The next second, anger would flare again. She threw herself at me and she..."

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