Get Zombie: 8-Book Set by Raymund Hensley

laughed. Just a few
more minutes and she'd be out of my life for good. No more problems.
I could live my life. I could make love to the woman I loved in my
own home. Of course, I'd have to get a new place, but that was fine.
I already had a new one picked out, in Waikiki, close to the beach.
If my mom didn't burn the other place down, I wouldn't have that new one. I should've thanked my mom, really. I looked at her through the
rear-view mirror. She was staring at me. No smiles.
    I
had to look away quick. I shivered a little. Gadzooks. I could feel
her eyes pushing laser beams into the back of my head. It's funny.
She gave no struggle when I told her that I was placing her in a
home. She actually didn't even look at me. And so what? Am I supposed
to feel bad? This is for her own good. For her own protection. Clair
(that's my sister) and I can't take care of her. She's too much for
me. Do I have to remind you that she burned my apartment down ?
That she drove my girlfriend to tears on so many occasions? That I
couldn't have sex in my own home because my mom lived with me? I got
no privacy; it was annoying. One time, right in the middle of sex,
the bedroom door opened and my mom fell to the ground. She said,
stuttering, “I'm just looking for some towels. Got any towels?
Oh, never you mind. I'll go look in the bathroom. You two just go on
and...pray or whatever you were going. It looked like she was
praying.”
    Then
she left. She didn't even bother to close the door.
    I
still believe she was listening to us. And WHY? Why, I ask, would
anyone listen to her own son make love? Or maybe she really was just
looking for towels, I don't know. My mind plays tricks on me
sometimes. Sometimes when I'm on the field, I throw the football at
one person but end up really throwing it into the crowd. I almost hit
a baby one time. Good thing that bird was in the way. Coach Olotto
sent me to Dr. Leeway, and he said that I got hit too many times in
the head and that I should sit down more often and drink more water.
Long story short, the old noodle's getting soft. But so what? I'm
making a lot of money playing in the game I love.
    My
girlfriend said that if I didn't put my mom in a home, then it was
over. She'd walk out on me. My life was falling apart. My head going
to the dumps I can handle, but my heart? NO. I had to do something. I
had to pull my life together. Get my mind together. The first
step was to get rid of my mom.
    When
we got to the home and I went around to open the door for my mom, she
was already outside. I guess she wanted to show that she was still
strong – maybe prove that I was wrong in thinking she was
helpless. I remember saying to myself, “So close now. Freedom.
Freedom!” Mom looked at the place. It was called Aloha Elderly
Homes #6. Compared to numbers one through five, #6 was the cheapest
and farthest. I had struck gold, Jerry, gold . And the
place...the place looked like a refurbished high school, and it came
complete with a playground. Some of the elderly folk were on the
swings and in the sandpit. No one laughed. They all stared at me.
Frozen. Eyes sad. Lost.
    I
told my mom, “See? They even have swings here. You like to
swing. I think.”
    She
said nothing; just stared up at the home – at the nurses
helping little old ladies down hallways. Come to think of it, I think
that particular elderly home was really once a high school way back
in the eighteen hundreds, or something.
    And
just then something pinched me. It felt like a centipede was crawling
in my chest.
    Was
I really doing the right thing?
    Was
it right to just DUMP my mom into the hands of strangers because I
was too weak and too selfish with my time to take care of the woman
that gave birth to me? That took care of me? I felt evil, and I hated
it. My girlfriend materialized in front of my eyes. She was on the
swings, naked, beautiful, her breasts soft and nice.
    “If
you change your mind, I'm leaving you!” She snorted and spat in
my general