"You have to decide soon, sir," the Doctor told me. Pompous asshole. I brushed past him, maybe a little too quickly. "Jackass," I muttered under my breath. His eyes show no emotion behind his glasses. I don't even know if he heard me.

I walked into her room. The sun was still coming up, I always had to come in the morning before work. I almost cried when I saw her eyes (God, were they that sallow yesterday?), and they lit up. It was a good sign. She recognized me today.

"Mother," I started. I had to stop. I choked up a little bit. I hate to cry, especially in front of her.

"If I had known my son would grow up to be a disgusting spider-monkey like you I would've had you aborted when I had the chance," she said. She cackled a little bit at that. Drool spilled over the corner of her mouth. I wiped it away. I knew she didn't really mean it, she couldn't possibly. It was the cancer, the docs said. That goddamn cancer was eating her brain like an apple. I just stared. She said a few more things, but I could barely hear her over my own thoughts.

She started to look nervous then. Her face squirmed up, mouth opened. Tears filled her eyes, I wiped those away too. "NO! You son-of-a-bitch! Do you know what your father is going to do?!"  I tried to comfort her. Touched her hand, stroked her hair. She began to cry. "You made me...When he gets home he's-"

I cut her off then. That was twenty years ago, I tell her. I try to get her to stop screaming. The doctors don't like that. I succeed eventually, but by then I have to leave for work. I hug her, tell her I love her, tell her I'll be back tomorrow. Anything to make her stop crying. She can't hear me. I leave.

"When are you gonna decide, sir?" the doctor asks again. I tell him i'll decide soon, just one more day.

It's just before dinner, and I am six years old. My mommy and I had been playing, but she's been cooking dinner for the last hour now. I can barely contain myself. No longer do my cars and my action figures hold my attention, not compared to the fun we had. She made me sit down, made me play with my toys. But I couldn't, not for long. I crawled slowly into the kitchen, ready to make my move. What a surprise, Mommy will be so happy to see me. I can barely keep my giggles in. I can hear her footsteps coming toward the dining room. I don't know she's carrying our supper just yet.

I time my attack carefully, and run to her. I wrap my arms around my legs in a tight hug. "I love you mommy!" I shout. She begins to fall, and that's when things slow down. The casserole, the corn, they all fly into the air in a slow, gentle arc. They begin to tip in the air. The delicious food slowly flies out. Time is still slow as the dishes hit the floor.

She screams. She cries. She tells me daddy will be mad. I don't understand yet. I hear the car pull into the driveway. She tells me to hide in my room. I try to behave this time, try to be a good boy, but I don't. I hide at the top of the stairs, and I watch my father come in. That's when the yelling, the screaming starts. Daddy swings his arms. She falls down.

I wake up then, gasping for breath. It's 2:15 in the morning, I still have three hours to sleep. I'm too shook up though.

I get up, go to my kitchen (I love you mommy!) and then sit at my table. I sit there for a minute, gathering my thoughts, before I get up and grab a bowl. Nothing helps me go to sleep like some (casserole) cereal in the early morning.

The cereal doesn't help. I leave for the hospital at six.

Part 2 tomorrow.