"Max" Chapter 4

Max was released after six months of therapy. Mom and Dad barely watched him as he sat in the backseat. Max was a careful child. He always looked both ways before he crossed the street. Made sure to wear protection when riding his bike. Always buckled his seatbelt. Today he did not buckle his seatbelt.

“Happy to head back home, Max?” Dad asked. “I bet you miss your room.” Max looked out of the window.

“You should be happy” Mom said. “You could’ve been killed in that place.” Max looked at the back of Mom’s head. “After we put you in there we started finding all of these horror stories about people getting shock treatments.”

“Yeah” Dad said. “They would come out and kill themselves or their family. They were never the same afterwards. But not you, Max. You look the same. Good job.” Max returned to looking out of the window.

Back home Max walked to his room as his parents stayed in the living room. He placed his bags on the floor. Max never placed his bag on the floor. Max always placed everything where it belonged. He sat on his bed and stared at the wall until the sun came down.

The next morning Max was up before his alarm clock. Mom and Dad were in front of the television watching the news as they often did offering their social commentary as they shook their heads in disbelief at the world outside.

“Savages” Dad said as he lit another cigarette. “No one cares about anyone anymore.”

“I blame the lack of parental involvement in their children’s lives” Mom said as she picked at a small mole near her jaw line. “Parents pretend their children don’t exist. They don’t notice them until they’re in court.” Max stepped in front of the television.

“Good morning, Max” Dad said. “Bet it felt good to sleep in your own bed again.”

“Listen” Max said.

Mom stopped picking at her possibly cancerous mole. Dad’s cigarette fell out of his mouth and into his lap. He jumped up quickly, wiping the embers from his crotch. He took a step towards Max. Max held his hand up.

“For 11 years I have lived with the two of you. I have had no problem with having you forget my birthdays. I have had no problem with you forgetting parent/teacher conferences. I have no problem with the fact that you have never told me that you loved me. But what I do have a problem with is being placed in a psych ward for half a year and having my brains fried.” Max ran his fingers through his hair. Max always kept his hair cut short and neat. It had not been cut in six months. “How dare you? I mean, seriously. Why did you do it? It couldn’t have been because I was any trouble for you. Six months of my life gone. And why? That was not a rhetorical question. Tell me why.” Mom and Dad just stared in shock as their son said more in the past minute than he had in his entire life. “I said tell me!” Max shouted. He quickly scanned the room for an object. Settling on the ashtray that sat upon the small table he pick it up and threw it at his father striking him between the eyes. His fathers eyes crossed and he slid to the floor. “Will you tell me, Mom?”