Had a mantis dream two nights ago. I was the giant I wanted to be. I brought my heavy arms down upon a group of clapping schoolchildren. I leapt from one side of the city to the other and kicked apart Credit Union Centre and demolished a hospital, an elementary school, and a row of $900,000 houses. But then I saw Maggie standing in the middle of the road. This was on Spadina Crescent, by the river downtown. Everyone else around her was clapping but she wasn’t clapping. She kept her arms sternly at her sides. It reminded me of when she was young. I roared and hissed at her. Her mouth opened and closed. She didn’t say anything but the quickness with which her mouth moved suggested she wasn’t happy. It was as though her mouth was on fast-forward; it would’ve been funny if her expression wasn’t so aggravating. I reared up and giggled. I brought my two arms together; they clacked dryly, and I swung my entire body down onto her. I came back up and she was still there, untouched. I swiped at her. She withstood the blow and didn’t move. I lowered my claw and nudged her. She was as immovable as a possessed protester. I shoved her and kicked her but even with my immense strength I couldn’t dislodge her. I collapsed onto my belly and cried at her. Then the dream ended. When I got out of bed and rolled down the hall—the sauce and noodles were still there—Maggie and Randal were eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Randal straightened. You need help with anything? he said. I looked at Maggie. The discomfort from the dream lingered with me and balled up along with the petulance of the past few days. She didn’t respect my work. When she’d come into my room with the pasta, she’d never asked if I was hungry. She’d simply imposed. If there’s one thing that bothers me more than anything else, it’s when other people think they know what’s best for me. As I sat before her, I felt outraged; I saw her as a hindrance, an obstacle. I needed to assert myself. Maggie stared at me. I looked at Randal. Did she tell you about what happened when she was seventeen? Maggie’s face darkened. Dexter. I waved her off. If anyone was going to break the tension, it was me. She had an abortion, I said. Now, it’s not a reflection on you or anything. She was a teenager. It was just a one-time mistake. Your mother loves you. She just needs to learn to let some things go. Randal looked at Maggie. Maggie’s eyes crackled. Is that true, Mom? Maggie looked at him. She breathed. Wiped her eyes. I waited. That…that was not for you to tell. You understand, though, right? I said to Randal. It was a long time ago. She was nearly your age. Dexter! Maggie shook the table, spilling her coffee. Mom, it’s okay. Why did you do that? Maggie said. Mom. Randal stood up and went to her and put his arms around her. It’s okay, he said. It’s all right. It’s not a big deal. Maggie said something unintelligible and then hugged him. I got a juice box from the fridge and wheeled back to my room. Maggie called to me; I ignored her. A few minutes later she came in to tell me that I’m unbelievable and that she’d talk to me when she got home from work.
As soon as she got home she came into my room and locked the door. She stood there for a minute looking at the floor, and then she pushed me away from my computer and punched me. Her fist glanced off my temple. Christ! I said. She stared at me for a moment. Her arms shook. She punched me again, under the eye. Maggie! She began beating me. In a minute Randal pounded on the door. Maggie worked with the efficiency of a yakuza enforcer. She punched me and pulled me out of my chair and booted me in the stomach. I squawked. I feebly tried to hit her back. Tremors sputtered down my arms; my hands were jarred spiders. She began crying, then took my journal and emptied the computer-printed pages out of it and dropped it on me. I rolled onto my back and held my face. She wiped her eyes and said, All right, and unlocked the door. Randal dashed in and, when he saw me, swore at Maggie. He ran after her. I heard him shout, Why’d you do that! Maggie’s voice wavered and spiked as she tried to get him to calm down. I lay slumped and awkward on the floor. Wiped blood from my mouth. A tremor made me nudge my nose. Terrific pain all over. I lay there listening to them scrap.
Randal came back and helped me into my chair and cleaned up my things. He put my journal back in order. Said he was thinking about going back to his dad’s house but he didn’t want to leave me. I told him he was a good kid. I asked him if he had a problem with me telling him about Maggie. He said no. I don’t see what the big deal is, he said. I chuckled. My thoughts exactly, I said. I don’t know why she doesn’t trust me, he said. She treats me like I’m fucking seven. I hear you, I said, lifting my bloody hand. Randal took me into the bathroom and helped me clean up. Maggie had left the house.
I’m still sore. Wondering if one of my ribs is broken. Broken rib plus scoliosis equals splintering pain. Breathing is even harder now. Hardly slept last night.
Maggie came into my room this morning before she left for work. I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve run out. You could say you’re sorry for beating the hell out of me. I’m not sorry, though. Oh. Maggie shrugged. Are you kicking me out? I said. I’m not sure. I’m still debating on whether or not that’s too cruel, and if Randal will be so angry that he’ll go back to his dad’s. Last night I had a fantasy of putting you in the car and dropping you off on a street corner downtown, without your wheelchair. Let the streets have him, I thought. You wouldn’t do that to me, I said. I came this close, she said. You’d feel too guilty. I could charge you with assault. You wouldn’t do that. Why not? You’re too proud, too afraid of appearing weak. You wouldn’t allow yourself to condescend to being questioned in court. Interesting theory, I said. It’s not a theory when it’s correct, as you once said to me, Dexter. Well, if that’s the case, you won’t kick me out. Not for your sake, Maggie said, but for Randal’s. Well, I said, when his mother lays a ferocious beating on her crippled brother, sympathy tends to swing toward the brother. Maggie smiled a little. You’re an exploitive asshole, she said. Then she walked out. I locked the door and called her a cunt.