Matricide
The first time young Travis Layton heard the word matricide it struck him as being ridiculous.
"Who would want to murder a mattress?" he laughed.
Eventually, he learned it meant the murder of one's mother. When he decided to kill his own mother, however, he did not think of it as matricide or even as murder. Instead, he saw it as justifiable homicide: a killing in self-defense. It was either her or him, and he was not about to lay down his own life for her sake.
The boy had no real memories of his father, only vague images of a man living in their house when Travis was a toddler. For years, he did not even know the man's name and did not associate him with the term father or the more affection form, daddy. He thought of him only by the sobriquet his mother always used in reference to her former husband: that bastard.
When he was twelve years old, Travis found his parents' wedding photograph hidden away in his mother's dresser drawer. The groom, only eighteen at the time, was a good-looking young man, smiling ear-to-ear at the prospect of a happy life ahead, blissfully ignorant of what fate had in store for him. Although that same young man later walked out on his wife and three-year-old son, Travis felt nothing but sympathy for him.
I would have done the same thing in your situation, he confessed to himself.
The boy's eyes then went to the bride. He could not believe that pretty girl with the slender figure, the dimpled cheeks and the mass of blond curls piled on top of her head and held in place with several dozen bobby pins and a can of hairspray was his mother. What had happened to her?
"Travis!" Lucille Layton called from the living room. "Come here a minute."
He inwardly cringed.
"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes going to the television screen rather than to his mother.
"Would you bring me a bottle of Coke out of the fridge? And a twelve-pack of Reese's peanut butter cups."
"Sure, Mom."
Travis opened the refrigerator and took a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola off the door. Then he went to a cabinet crammed full of snacks and found the candy bars. There was a time when he was younger that he shared his mother's cravings for sweets. That was before he put on weight and had to endure his classmates' taunting him with nicknames like Fatso, Tubby, Lard Ass and Porky. After their taunting, he began to see himself through their eyes: a fat slob. With dieting and exercise, he slimmed down, yet the scars of his humiliation remained with him.
He supposed that as a small child he had once loved his mother. Maybe at one time she had tucked him into bed at night or cradled him in her arms when he was an infant. His earliest memory of her, however, was of an overweight woman who waddled when she walked and fell back into chairs when she tried to sit down, a woman who struggled to catch her breath when she had to walk up the steps to the upper level of their home. Her husband, unable to juggle the demands of his job with the responsibility of looking after his increasingly dependent wife, seeing to the needs of his son and taking care of the family home, eventually gave up and failed to come home from work one evening.
From that day on, Travis had to assume many of his father's responsibilities. By the time he was five, his mother's weight had ballooned to six hundred pounds, and she was still gaining. Morbidly obese, Lucille Layton could no longer walk because her legs could not support her weight. She spent twenty-four hours a day in a large, reinforced bed placed in the middle of the living room, in front of the television. Her son, though only a child, had to see to her every need. Routine housekeeping such as cooking, laundry and cleaning were his more pleasant chores. It was having to maintain his mother's personal hygiene that he disliked most. Still, at that young age, he did not know any better. He did not realize that other small boys did not have to help bathe their mothers, shampoo their hair or change their soiled linens as though they were babies.
It was not until Travis went to kindergarten that he experienced, for the first time, life outside the Layton home. On his first day of school, while many of his classmates were crying for their mothers, he was delighted to be in a world where adults could walk on their own two legs and were capable of doing things for themselves. Although his school represented a safe haven from his hellish home life, he was well aware of the fact that he was an object of pity to many and that his mother was often the subject of ridicule. As an adolescent he frequently joined in the merriment by referring to his mother as Jabba the Hutt in order to hide the shame he felt. At home, his treatment of her was much better, however. He was always polite and respectful.
Travis saw Lucille Layton as someone who suffered from an illness, one that was slowly killing her. Surely it was not her fault she ate as much as she did. What woman in her right mind would want to weigh as much as five adult females? Like most enablers, he never denied her the high-calorie food she craved. Each day before he went to school he placed half a dozen two-liter bottles of Coca-Cola on the table beside her bed along with two large family-size bags of potato chips, four assorted boxes of cookies and a selection of her favorite candy bars. That would hold her over until he got home from school, at which point she switched from snacks to burgers, sandwiches, fried chicken and pizza.
At seventeen, although he was legally old enough to drive, Travis did not have his license since his mother had no car. If he needed to go anywhere, he went by foot.
"Will you stop by the bakery on your way home?" Lucille would usually ask at least three times a week as her son got ready for school. "I have a taste for those chocolate-covered, cream-filled donuts. Get me some of those and a few jellies."
"Sure, Mom. Will a dozen be enough?"
"Make it eighteen."
Once he opened the door and stepped outside, it felt as though a weight had been removed from his shoulders. Halfway on his walk to school, he was joined by Kenny Dawson, his closest friend. Unlike most of Travis's other classmates, Dawson did not look down on him because of his peculiar mother.
"What are you smiling about?" Kenny asked when he saw the exuberant expression on Travis's face.
"It's Tuesday."
"Ah! Let me guess. You have to stop at the bakery after school."
"That's right," Travis confirmed. "And Darlene works on Tuesday."
Darlene Falcone was the seventeen-year-old daughter of the owners of the bakery. When she was not participating in after-school activities, she worked behind the counter. That afternoon was no exception.
"Hi, there," she said when he walked into the bakery later that day. "What can I get for you? Cheesecake? Tiramisu?"
"No, donuts. A dozen Boston cream and six jelly."
As the girl removed the donuts from the glass case and placed them in two cardboard boxes, Travis watched her long blond hair bounce in its ponytail and wished he could remove the elastic band that held it in place, allowing her silky yellow tresses to fall over her shoulders.
God, she's beautiful! he thought.
"Did you know there's going to be a carnival at the firehouse next Friday night?" Darlene asked as a machine wound red string around the boxes.
"I heard something about it," he replied.
"Are you going to go?"
"No, I can't make it."
Travis saw a look of disappointment on her pretty face and immediately changed his mind.
"Maybe I can stop by for an hour or so."
Lucille kept a short leash on her son. Although the law required him to attend school, the rest of his time was spent taking care of his mother and their home. He was not permitted to see his friends outside of normal school hours, participate in sports or join in any extracurricular activities. He was the only teenager in town who had never been to the local multiplex movie theater or the local shopping mall. In fact the only places he had ever visited, other than school, were the grocery store, the bakery and the fast food restaurants.
At half past four, he walked through the front door, and his mother's eyes lit up with joy—not at the sight of her son but at seeing the two boxes of donuts.
"Oh, good! You're home," she exclaimed, eager to rip open the thin cardboard to get at the chocolate-covered treats.
As Travis picked up the empty soda bottles and discarded bags, boxes and wrappers from her snacks, he tried to put his mother in a good mood.
"Would you like pizza tonight?" he asked. "Or I could walk over to the Hot Dog Hut and get you some of those Texas wieners and chili cheese fries."
"I was thinking of ordering Chinese tonight, but hot dogs do sound good."
"And the Hut sells those thick peanut butter milkshakes you like so much."
"Get me six hot dogs with everything on them, two loaded large fries and three milkshakes."
Travis looked down at his mother. Her face and fingers smeared with chocolate, she had already eaten the eighth donut and showed no signs of stopping.
"I should be back in half an hour," he said as he headed for the front door. "Oh, I almost forgot. There's going to be a carnival in town next week."
Lucille's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I was thinking I might stop by ...."
"No," she said firmly, her mouth full of food.
"Only for an hour—a half hour."
"What part of no don't you understand?"
Her mood softened when she saw the resentment on her son's face.
"I need you," she whined. "You're all I have."
"It's only for thirty minutes. You'll be fine. You're here all day when I'm at school."
Lucille combated her son's logical argument with emotional hysterics.
"You don't care what happens to me," she cried shrilly. "The house could catch on fire, and I'd burn to death. But what would it matter to you as long as you get to go to a stupid carnival."
"You're right, Mom," he reluctantly conceded. "I won't go."
* * *
It was the last day of the school year. Students and teachers alike were excited about the start of summer vacation—everyone except Travis Layton, that is. For him, July and August brought two months of nonstop servitude. It meant being cooped up all day in a hot house that reeked of the stench of greasy fast food, body odor and human excrement.
After getting dressed, he stocked his mother's soda bottles and snacks on the bedside table as usual.
"On your way home, will you stop at the bakery?"
"Sure, Mom. Donuts?"
"Only six. I'm more in the mood for brownies today—eight of them ought to do it. And for dinner tonight, I'll order a couple of pepperoni and sausage pizzas and some garlic knots."
Although the thought of food produced a nearly orgasmic pleasure in his mother, Travis was not even tempted. He would have one or possibly two slices of pizza, and Lucille would finish the rest.
With a quick "See you later," he walked out of the house. He breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh air, enjoying the fragrance of his neighbor's flower garden.
Unlike his friend, Kenny was in good spirits, anxious for the start of summer break.
"I got some great news last night," he announced.
"Oh, really? What is it?" Travis asked.
"My grandmother—the one who retired to Florida—has to have knee surgery."
"That's your idea of good news? What are you, some kind of sadist?"
"Nah. She needs someone to watch her cat and dog when she's in the hospital and then while she recovers, so my Mom and I are going to go down to Florida for an entire month."
"That is great news."
"Too bad you can't come with us," Kenny said. "It wouldn't cost you anything."
"My mother would never allow it."
"It wouldn't hurt you to ask."
"She wouldn't let me go to a carnival for half an hour. What makes you think she'll agree to my going to Florida for a whole month? Besides, who would take care of her? She's bedridden."
"Well, what's she going to do next year after you graduate? You'll be eighteen then. Are you really going to devote your entire life to taking care of your mother?"
"I don't think about that," Travis admitted. "I just take it one day at a time."
It was a half day at school. Textbooks were handed in, report cards issued and yearbooks passed out. After the athletic and academic awards assembly, students were free to go home, although many hung around the building, having friends sign their yearbooks.
"Feel like stopping for burgers on the way home?" Kenny asked. "My treat."
"Can't. I've got to go the bakery and then head home."
"Well, maybe I'll see you before I go to Florida."
"Yeah, maybe," Travis said without much conviction.
Although it was not Tuesday, Darlene was working behind the counter of Falcone's Bakery.
"So, are you going to be working here all summer?" Travis asked hopefully—at least seeing her several times a week would be a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dismal two months.
"No. My boyfriend got me a part-time job with him at the bowling alley."
"Boyfriend?"
"Yeah. I met this great guy from Jefferson High at the fireman's carnival. He asked me to his junior prom, and we've been dating ever since."
Although he remained calm on the outside, inside Travis was devastated. What if his mother had let him go to the carnival? Would Darlene have met the guy from the neighboring town?
When he walked through the front door, his mother was lying on the bed, wearing only a king-size sheet. The smell had alerted him to the need to change her diaper pad. The unpleasant task did not improve his already despondent mood.
"Kenny Dawson's going to Florida for a month," he announced after washing his mother's soiled body.
"That's nice," she replied indifferently. "Do you want me to call for the pizza now?"
"Isn't it way too early for dinner? It's only one o'clock."
"All right. I'll wait. Maybe you can make me a sandwich to tide me over."
"His grandmother is getting knee surgery," Travis continued, "and he and his mother are going to take care of her pets."
"Pets are such a nuisance."
"He asked me to go with him."
Lucille's laughter caused an eruption of fat on her massive body.
"That's ridiculous!" she declared.
The teenager did not argue. What was the point? He knew his mother would never allow him to go. She was utterly helpless without him.
* * *
It was on the Thursday morning of the third week of his summer vacation that the thought of matricide first crept into Travis's brain. He was at the kitchen table eating his breakfast, a dish of cold cereal and a glass of orange juice, with a pen and paper in hand as his mother dictated her shopping list. He had committed most of it to memory since many of the items he bought on a regular basis: sour cream and onion potato chips, white cheddar popcorn, honey mustard and onion pretzel pieces and cheese puffs. Then there were the sweet snacks: Oreos, Keebler Chips Deluxe, LU Little School Boys with dark chocolate and Dare Lemon Creme sandwiches. And, of course, the candy: Raisinets, Mounds, Butterfinger, 5th Avenue and her personal favorite, Reese's peanut butter cups.
He suddenly wondered what she would do if something should happen to him. What if he got hit by a car crossing the busy street on his way to the grocery store? He supposed Medicaid or Welfare would pay for someone to look after her, or maybe she would be put in a nursing home, at the state's expense.
More taxpayer money going to waste! he thought.
Although he felt guilty at being a disloyal son, he could not help seeing his mother as someone having no value to the world, a drain on society. Lying in bed all day, watching television and eating vast quantities of food, she consumed but offered nothing in return.
And what about me? he asked himself. What opportunity will I have of making a mark on the world? I can't go to college. I won't even be able to get my own place to live. After all, I can't just leave her here by herself. What would happen to her? Why, she'd die!
That was it. The seed had been planted, and in a surprisingly short period of time, it germinated.
Later that morning, as he pushed his cart through the grocery store, Travis passed Kenny's mother in the dairy aisle.
"Hi, Mrs. Dawson," he said.
"Hello, Travis. Are you enjoying your summer vacation so far?"
"It's okay."
"And how is your mother?"
"Same as usual. What's Kenny been up to?"
"He's been helping out with his uncle's landscaping business, trying to earn some spending money for our trip to Florida."
"He must really be looking forward to it."
"Yes, but I don't think he realizes how hot and humid it is down there this time of year. It's a good thing my mother's condo complex has a pool."
A pool! Travis thought, feeling even worse at the idea of missing out on such a trip.
On his walk home, pushing the overloaded cartful of groceries in front of him, he imagined a month of sun and fun with Kenny. No floors to wash, carpets to vacuum or dishes to wash. More importantly, no mother to take care of!
All I'd have to do is pack a few belongings and walk out the door. If Mom needs anything, she can call the home health worker. The phone is right beside the bed. It could be the best thing for her in the long run. She might finally decide to do something about her size. If she loses weight, perhaps she'll be able to get out of her bed, become less dependent on me and have somewhat of a normal life.
As the day when Kenny was due to leave for Florida approached, however, Travis realized he would never be able to just leave his mother alone. She could call out for pizza or Chinese takeout, but who would answer the door when it was delivered? And how often would the volunteer health worker be willing to bathe her and change her diaper pads?
Who am I kidding? I'll never be free of her! Sometimes I wish I were dead!
From that one thought born of a lifetime of frustration it was a short trip to the next logical step: he wished she were dead.
* * *
"How would you like some ice cream, Mom?" Travis asked one evening as Lucille was watching Guy Fieri chow down on an immense hamburger that could best be described as a heart attack on a bun.
"Do we have any left? I clearly remember finishing the half gallon of ultimate moose tracks."
"I thought I'd walk down to Cold Stone and get us both a sundae."
Lucille's eyes widened, and she temporarily put down her chocolate-covered graham crackers while she gave her son her order.
"I'll take five scoops of sweet cream ice cream, caramel sauce, hot fudge, Heath toffee pieces, Oreos, peanut butter and pecans. Oh, and lots of whipped cream."
On his way to Cold Stone, the teenager stopped at the Dawson house. To say that his friend was surprised to see him was an understatement.
"What are you doing here?" Kenny asked.
"Is that offer to take me to Florida still good?"
"Yeah, sure. Don't tell me your mother is gonna let you go!"
"I'll work something out."
"Great! We're leaving Saturday morning around seven o'clock."
"I'll be here."
The following day Travis went to the post office and filled out a form to stop mail delivery for the month that he was in Florida. The postal clerk asked no questions, and he volunteered no information.
Early Saturday morning, while Lucille was still asleep, Travis tiptoed into the living room. He left no bottles of Coke or selection of snacks on the table beside his mother's bed, just a case of bottled water. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he yanked the phone cord out of the wall.
Florida, here I come! he thought as he walked out the door and then sprinted down the street.
* * *
Despite the high humidity and the uncomfortably hot temperatures, Travis enjoyed his time in Florida. Before he knew it, however, the four weeks had passed, and it was time to go home.
"Where did that summer go?" Kenny complained as the two teenagers sat in the back seat of Mrs. Dawson's minivan. "I can't believe we'll be going back to school in another week."
"I'd rather not think about it," Travis mumbled, turning his face to the window.
"At least it'll be our last year. That means senior prom, graduation and then college."
"For you maybe."
With a twelve-hour drive ahead of them, Kenny leaned his head back on the seat, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
After an overnight stop in Virginia, they got an early start the next morning. Shortly after seven that night, Mrs. Dawson pulled into her driveway.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off at your house, Travis?" she asked.
"No, thank you. I'd rather walk," the teenager replied. "I could use a little exercise after sitting in a car for two days."
With each step he took, the fear in his heart grew. He had no idea what to expect when he got home. What would he find when he opened the front door? As he turned the corner of his street, he encountered his neighbor out walking her dog.
"Oh, Travis!" she cried. "Where have you been? The police have been looking all over for you."
This is it! he thought, feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach.
For a brief moment he considered running away, but where would he go?
"I went on vacation with a friend of mine."
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," his neighbor continued, "but you have to know. There was a tragic accident. Your mother ... she's ... she passed away. When no one could find you, we feared the worst. After all, you were always so close to her."
The blank expression on the young man' face worried the neighbor.
"Would you like to come inside and sit down? I can get you a soda or a glass of lemonade."
"Thanks, but I'd better go call the police and let them know I'm all right."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"It's kind of you to offer, but I'll be fine. Really."
It was not until Travis opened the front door and saw the empty bed in the middle of the living room that he realized his mother was really gone.
* * *
Although the funeral home was crowded, there were few friends and family in attendance at Lucille Layton's viewing. Kenny and his family were there. His mother's second cousin had read about her passing in the newspaper and came to pay her respects. The majority of the people in attendance, however, came to satisfy their curiosity. They had never seen a seven-hundred-plus-pound woman.
"It's funny," Travis confided to his friend. "I always thought my mother would die from too much food. I never imagined she would starve to death."
"I know how bad you must feel, but maybe she's better off. That's no kind of life for anyone, lying in bed all day, never getting out of the house. It wasn't fair to you either."
That seemed to be the consensus of opinion among the members of the community. No one felt any sense of loss at Lucille Layton's passing, only sympathy for her long-suffering son.
"Where are you gonna live now?" Kenny asked.
"At my house. Where else?"
"You're still a minor. Won't you have to live in a foster home?"
"I don't know. I haven't given it much thought. I suppose I'll have to meet with a social worker from child welfare."
"You can always stay at my house. My parents will let you live with us."
"I wouldn't want to impose. I ...."
Travis was distracted by the appearance of the Falcones and their daughter. It wasn't surprising that the bakers should attend Lucille's funeral. She was, after all, one of their best customers.
"You look so tan," Darlene said after her parents had offered their condolences.
"I spent a month in Florida. Are you still working at the bowling alley?"
"Nah. I quit after I broke up with my boyfriend."
"You're not going out with him anymore?" he asked, trying not to smile.
"No. I'm single again."
There was no misreading the invitation in her eyes. Travis could barely contain his excitement, and now there was no demanding mother to standing in the way of his happiness.
* * *
On Labor Day, Travis and Darlene went to Splash and Swim Water Park. Beneath her shorts and T-shirt, the shapely blonde wore a two-piece swimsuit that revealed more than it concealed. After applying sun block to her skin, she took the scrunchie out of her hair which fell in golden waves down her back. She was absolutely radiant.
The two teens spent the morning riding the water slides and wading in the wave pool. At noon, Darlene took Travis's arm and steered him in the direction of the park's food court.
"I'm starving!" she declared as her slender body rubbed against his.
Ironically, the enjoyable contact he had long anticipated proved to be an unpleasant experience. It was as though he had been doused with a bucket of ice cold water. When he looked at her soft, feminine curves, his mind conjured up images of his mother's rolls of fat.
Darlene ordered hamburgers, fries and Cokes for both of them, and they sat at a table for two, in the shade beneath a massive oak tree. Travis watched as she opened a packet of ketchup and poured it over her burger.
"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked, popping a salty French-fried shoestring potato into her mouth.
Her date picked up his cheeseburger, brought it to his mouth but could not bite into it. A wave of nausea washed over him.
"I'm ... not feeling well," he said, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to vomit.
"Do you want to go home?"
"No. I think I'll be all right."
The queasiness passed, but he could not bring himself to eat. The best he could do was sip his Coke while Darlene finished the two hamburgers and most of the fries.
His appetite did not return at dinner that night nor at breakfast or lunch the next day. That evening Mrs. Dawson urged him to try her homemade macaroni and cheese, but he was only able to eat a few forkfuls.
"My mom's getting worried," Kenny told him as they walked to school a week later. "You barely eat anything, and it looks like you're losing weight."
"It's nothing to worry about," Travis assured him. "I just haven't been hungry."
"Is it your mother? Do you miss her? Maybe you ought to talk to a grief counselor."
"Get real!"
"It's okay, you know. It's only natural you'd be affected by her death."
"Just drop it, will you?"
It was not grief Travis felt but guilt, followed closely by fear.
* * *
Kenny stopped by Falcone's Bakery on his way home from school. Darlene was cleaning the counter with Windex when he walked through the door. She looked up at him, and her eyes misted with tears.
"Have you heard from him?" she asked.
"No. I was hoping you had."
A week after school started, Travis disappeared. He had gotten up from bed in the middle of the night, walked out the door and vanished without a trace. It was now October, and he had been missing for two months.
"Where could he have gone?" Darlene sobbed.
"I don't know. I wonder if he went in search of his father. That's what I'd do if I lost my mother."
"Will you let me know if he calls you?"
"Of course. And I assume you'll do the same."
As he walked back to his house, Kenny wondered where Travis was. After two months' time, he could be anywhere: New York, Florida or even California. Despondent, he took a detour and walked past the Layton home. It was no surprise that the house was still on the market since few people were interested in living in a place with such an unpleasant history.
Staring at the vacant Cape Cod, Kenny was unaware that Travis lay dead on his mother's bed in the middle of the living room. In fact, it would be another week before the real estate agent would unlock the front door and finally find his missing friend's emaciated body surrounded by piles of stale snacks, flat soda and rotting food that the tormented, guilt-ridden teenager had been unable to eat without imagining the look of accusation on his parent's lifeless, bloated face.
No, Salem, I could never commit catricide, but you might want to switch to the low-calorie Friskies just the same.
