Page 43 of Social Sinners

Warning me

To stay away, hold you at bay

Why do I even try?

Just to get shit on again

It’s a never-ending cycle

And one I’ve vowed to end

Back away, there’s no room for you

Find another soul for which to prey

Cause I’m finished with the games you play

They’ll be no more feeding off my weaknesses

I’m no longer defenseless

There’s nothing you can say or do to hurt me anymore

Removing myself from your clutches was the best thing I’d ever done

Seeing the real you, the darkness residing in your soul

Never forget, I know who you really are

You made me feel like I was never enough

So you could feel better about yourself

It’s pitiful the life you lived

But in the end, I was the one to win

Um, yeah. I’ll let one of the kiss asses from his congregation handle the eulogy… It’s definitely not my forte.

The following Monday, we laid our father to rest. Surrounded by our band brothers and in front of a packed house of my father’s brainwashed minions. Each greeted our mother in turn, extending their condolences, but not one of them said a single word to Jay or me. Had we not been flanked by some of Ventura’s stocky payroll, I’m sure words of condemnation would’ve been cast out atthe gays. Many of those in attendance I recognized from the incident at The Lambert House the day Jay finally escaped our father’s clutches. They eyed us curiously but said nothing. Now, we were all finally rid of his hatred.

We were mentally drained by the time the two-and-a-half-hour service had concluded. It seemed my father’s followers knew a completely different man than we did. They droned on endlessly. Only two were supposed to speak along with the minister, but another half dozen decided they had stories that needed to be shared. Mom didn’t want to go to the reception that followed afterward, and we didn’t blame her because neither did we. When the casket was lowered into the ground, each of us silently said our final farewells. As we left, a gentleman approached my mother, and our security detail was right there by her side.

“Excuse me, Sharon. May I have a word?” he asked, eyeing the hired muscle curiously.

“What is it, Roy?”

“Do you know what’s going to happen with the church?” Wow, Roy was a tactless oaf. Who does that at a funeral?

“It’s going to be sold. I don’t want it,” she told him, trying to walk past but he again halted her by grabbing her arm.

“I’d like to talk to you about buying it.”

She looked down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, then back up. The distaste she had for this human was clearly written across her face. “Easton,” she called out, “can you talk to Mr. Jones for me, please. He’s interested in buying the church.” She pulled her arm free and continued to the waiting limo. I stayed behind with East to see what this yahoo had to say. Mom had asked earlier this week if Easton and his father could handle the sale of not only the church, but the house and its contents as well. She wanted no part in any of it. She offered them a percentage of the sale, but they both politely declined, as I knew they would.

Over the past few days leading up to the funeral, we’d gone through the contents of our old home with mom and removed the items she wanted to keep. Neither Jay or I wanted anything. Mom managed to save a few photos of us before my father was able to burn them as he had done with the ones he took off the walls. She gathered her mother’s jewelry, the rest of her clothing and some of the items we’d made when we were younger, that she’d managed to keep hidden from him as well. Other than those few things, she wanted nothing more from the house. Sal and East donated the furniture to the battered women’s shelter and put it on the market. We fully expected it to sell quickly.

Mom was settling in nicely and had already made new friends. Mickey and Stoli’s moms plus Joey’s stepmom, Maggie had taken her under their wing and were all currently out for a girls spa day. I gave them my credit card with explicit instructions to not let her pay for anything, today was on me.

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