The screaming match begins

The following is an excerpt from part two:

Helen’s two sons have been groomed to the same way of thinking. They are no longer “only kids,” except in their immature behavior. The police officer son is furious when he hears that he needs to tend to his own pet while Mom is at work. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In a work of fiction it would be difficult to invent so preposterous a situation. We do not know whom to call when the domestic abuse complaint is provoked by the police.

The younger son, recently of legal age, moved out then returned with a girlfriend. They live rent-free for upwards of a year. Well, not entirely free. The girlfriend gives her $30 share of food stamps from the family who claim her as a dependent. She contributes that to buy snacks for herself and her sponge of a companion. When income tax time comes around, the sponge insists that his mother will not be claiming him as a dependent—he wants the $1,000 refund on his own return. Doors slam, objects fly, the screaming match begins. In the end, the blood-sucking couple has their tidy little nest egg. It serves as the deposit on an abuse-haven they can call their own.

Helen parks in handicapped-designated areas. She does not possess a disability placard. The first time she does it, when I am in the car, I mention that the fines have been increased. “Oh, I’m not worried. My son, the police officer, will take care of it.” She goes out drinking for the night and calls her son, the police officer, for an escort home. She swerves and sways down the road with the cruiser on her tail. It matters not whose rights are infringed upon. Endangering lives is a trivial affair. I want my way.