Erotimaniac

Where could an unhinged child grow into a deranged adult? The suburban

neighborhood was calm and welcoming. Children screamed and giggled as

they played tag on the tree-lined street. A few teenagers strolled down the

sidewalks, fiddling with their cell phones. A driver occasionally honked his

horn, warning the wandering children. It was noon on a weekend, so the

road was busier than usual.

Ethan stood on the sidewalk, his hands on a white picket fence. He gazed

at the beige two-story home in front of him – his childhood home. He was

struck with a sense of overwhelming nostalgia. The memories, good and

bad, brought tears to his eyes. He examined the kempt grass as he walked

past the gate. The wood creaked as he strolled onto the porch.

It was all so familiar.

The young man took a deep breath as he stopped at the front door. He

had not visited his home since he fell in love with Emiko. He needed a

second to prepare himself. Tap, tap, tap – he knocked three times, then he

sighed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," a man's voice emerged from behind the door.

Ethan extended his arms away from his body and nervously smiled as

the door swung open – hello.

John Miller, his father, stood in the doorway. John's curly hair was

grizzled. His stubble was hoary, too. He wore a red wool sweatshirt, brown

trousers, and brown dress shoes. His style was conservative, but he wasn't a

stern man. The big grin on his face was genuine. He was happy to see his

son.

John enthusiastically said, "Ethan! Where have you been, buddy?"

"Hey, dad. I've just been a little busy lately. I just came over to talk and,

you know, I–"

Ethan stopped as a young man approached the door – Corey Miller.

Corey was Ethan's sixteen-year-old brother. Wearing black from head-totoe, he was a moody teenager. He kept his distance from his family,

especially when compared to Ethan's close relationship with his mother.

Ethan waved at his brother and stuttered, "H–Hey..."

"Hey, Corey," John said as he patted the youngster's back. He glanced

back at Ethan and said, "He was just leaving. He's got a date or something.

You know, kid stuff."

"That's good," Ethan responded. He turned his attention to Corey and

stuttered, "H–How are you doing, man?"

Corey sighed and shook his head. He wasn't interested in the small

reunion. He casually squeezed past his father and his brother.

As he strolled across the walkway, he shouted, "I'll be back at eleven!

See ya, Ethan!"

Ethan watched as his estranged brother walked down the sidewalk. He

met up with a group of friends one house down. The group bickered and

bantered as they walked away. At heart, the lonely author wished he could

have had a normal life like Corey.

Breaking his contemplation, John said, "Come in, Ethan. Let's have a

little talk."

As he followed his father into the living room, Ethan asked, "Is mom

home?"

"No. She's at the store, running errands or wasting my money on some

crap. I don't know. She should be back any minute now, though. Take a

seat."

John sat on a recliner, Ethan sat on a three-seat sofa. The pair were

separated by a glass coffee table at the center of the room. The large flatscreen television didn't capture Ethan's attention, despite his interest in

movies. Instead, he examined the family photographs clinging to the walls

and sitting on the tables. The pictures depicted a younger version of himself

with his baby brother. A few of the pictures showed a seemingly happy

couple – John and Brooke. One photograph even depicted John with his cop

friends. He was a crime scene cleaner for most of his life.

The pictures allowed him to reminisce about the past. After weeks of

uncertainty with Emiko, it felt good to be home.

John asked, "So, what's on your mind?"

"What's on my mind? Well, where do I start?"

"Anywhere. You're here to talk, aren't you? I'm guessing it's something

pretty serious if you came here without your mother asking you to come."

Ethan stared down at his reflection on the coffee table. He can read me

like a book, he thought, there's no point in lying.

He said, "You're right. I've been having problems with women lately. I

mean, serious problems. It's not like high school or college. That's for

messing around, for having fun. I can't seem to find the right one, dad. And,

when I think I've found her, everything falls apart. I can't tell if it's because

of me or her."

John smirked and responded, "Everyone can't be a ladies' man, Ethan. I

guess you didn't inherit that from me." He chuckled, then he said, "Don't

beat yourself up over the things you've done. I think it's simple. It's the

same issue a lot of you young people have nowadays: you're over-thinking

this. You need to clear your mind and try to think clearly. Don't think about

yesterday or tomorrow, just think about today. Believe me, you'll have

many chances to find 'true love' in the future. If you're worried about

marriage, don't. It means very little nowadays, okay?"

"It means everything to me. Just 'cause it meant nothing to you and

mom, that doesn't mean I'm ready to give up on it. I'm not like you and she's

not like mom. It won't be the same. She won't have men walking in and out

of her bedroom at night while her children watch. I won't fuck hookers all

night, then fuck her like nothing ever happened. I won't... I won't..."

John watched as Ethan rambled himself into a corner. His son clearly

had more to say, but he couldn't muster the courage to berate his father. The

past was shattered, distorted due to forgotten memories. Some secrets were

better kept hidden.

John leaned forward and said, "I'm sorry about what you went through as

a kid. I never meant to hurt–"

The sound of jingling keys disrupted the apology. The pair glanced over

at the front door.

The door swung open and Brooke entered the home, a reusable shopping

bag in her arm. She wore a sundress, as she usually did, and her hair was

tied in a neat bun. She closed the door with a swing of her hips.

As she strutted across the living room, Brooke said, "Hey, baby. I didn't

expect to see you crawling back here so soon. What's going on? You're not

asking your father for money, are you?"

"No, mom."

Brooke entered the neighboring kitchen through the archway. She sat her

bag on the counter, placed a gallon of milk in the fridge, then she returned

to the living room. She fell to the seat beside her son, then she caressed

Ethan's hair.

Brooke asked, "You hungry?"

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

"I... I came to talk."

"About what? You don't seem very talkative now. Am I interrupting

something between you and your father? Is that it? Am I not good enough

to be part of your conversation?"

Elbows on his knees, Ethan leaned forward and dug his fingers into his

hair. He was irked by his mother's rotten attitude, but he couldn't challenge

her. She positioned herself as the matriarch of the family. He could only

sulk and moan.

Chiming-in, John said, "He was just talking about girls. That's all." He

muttered, "It's all he ever comes to talk about..."

Wide-eyed, Brooke said, "Oh? Well, tell mommy about your problems.

What's wrong, sweetie?"

Ethan sighed, then he said, "It's a long story and I wouldn't want to bore

anyone, so I'll just get to the good stuff. I met another woman – a better

woman than Karen. I love her, I just don't know if she's 'right.' And, if she's

not the one, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Lock it down."

"Wha–What?"

"You heard me: lock it down. If she's better than Karen, better than all of

the other trash you've dated, you have to make sure she doesn't get away

from you. Marry her, Ethan. You better not let this opportunity slip through

your fingers. I'll be very angry with you if you do."

Ethan said, "I want to, mom, but it's just–"

"What?" Brooke sternly asked.

Ethan grimaced and sniffled, as if he were about to cry. Brooke shook

her head and glared at her son, infuriated. John stared down at his lap and

sighed, embarrassed. The dysfunctional family was burdened with issues,

but they didn't confront them.

Eyes brimming with tears, Ethan said, "I'm... I'm just scared she might

be one of the 'bad' ones you used to tell me about. I can't tell anymore."

Brooke explained, "That's fine, Ethan. In fact, that's normal. It's nearly

impossible to know which ones are good and which ones are bad these

days. They hide behind fake personalities, excessive make-up, and

ridiculous cosmetic surgery. Bimbos with bodies like ants... Christ. They'll tell you they're real, then they'll stab you in the back. Fortunately, there are

some good ones out there and the gamble is worth it. Do you know why?"

Ethan shook his head. Brooke continued, "Babies. Good or bad, they can all

make babies. As soon as you give me grandchildren, legitimate

grandchildren, you won't have to worry about anything."

Ethan gritted his teeth. He had to fight the urge to kick and scream. He

visited his parents in search of reassurance. Instead, he found himself facing

his mother's selfish goals while his father passively watched the discussion.

Ethan said, "That's good for you, but what about me? How will I know if

she's good? How will I know if I can truly love her and if she truly loves

me?"

"I told you: it doesn't matter."

"It does."

Brooke stared at her son with a deadpan expression. She huffed, then she

simpered and shook her head – amused.

With a smug smile on her face, she said, "Believe it or not, the only way

to tell for sure is to get married. People show their true colors after they've

tied the knot. They feel... comfortable, so they reveal themselves. That's the

way society works. You don't find out who you actually love until you're

already married. So, marry her. Keep her with you and don't let her get

away."

Chiming-in, John said, "And, if she rejects you, she probably wasn't the

right one to begin with."

"Reject?" Brooke repeated in an uncertain tone. She huffed and rolled

her eyes, then she said, "Don't worry about that, Ethan. You don't have to

accept rejection. If you want her, she is yours. You just have to fix the

problem. If she 'rejects' you because you're too big, lose a few pounds; if

she dislikes your style, try something new. Whatever you do: don't let her

get away. You understand me, right?"

If you want her, she is yours – the sentence stuck out to Ethan. The rest

of his mother's advice was insignificant. He heard what he had to hear:

justification for his actions. He felt guilty about his treatment of Emiko, he

didn't know if his actions were justified. His conscience was dormant, so he

used a distorted version of his mother's moral sense to lead him. If the

woman said Emiko belonged to him, then he didn't have a problem keeping

her by force.

Ethan nodded in agreement and said, "You're right. She's mine and I'm

hers. We can work through anything as long as I'm leading her away from

the darkness." He smiled as he gazed into his mother's eyes. He said, "I'll

think about everything you said. I think I know what I have to do, though. I

have to keep her."

Brooke returned the smile and said, "Exactly, darling, exactly..." She

caressed his cheek and said, "Your eyes are sparkling. Forget about her for a

second. Forget about me, forget about your father... Think about yourself

for a moment. Tell me: do you truly love her?"

Again, Ethan stared down at his reflection on the coffee table. The

answer was simple: yes. As he developed his one-sided relationship with

Emiko, he spent most of his time thinking about her desires. Does she love

me? Is she a succubus?–those questions dominated his thoughts for weeks.

Succubus or human, mutual or not, he loved her.

And that's all that mattered.

Ethan said, "I love her with all of my heart."

Brooke ran her fingers through his hair and said, "Then that's all you

need. It doesn't matter if she's a 'bad' one as long as you love her. You make

sure she knows that, too. Girls like it when a man takes charge."

"I'll handle it."

"You better. I want grand-babies before I'm sixty years old. You might

believe otherwise, but I'm not immortal."

Ethan sighed in disappointment. His mother was able to bolster his

confidence while burdening his shoulders. As the first born son, it was his

responsibility to bring her a child. At least, that was what he was told since

he was a boy.

Brooke said, "We'll come to your place this Sunday for a family dinner

so we can finally meet this lover of yours... What did you say her name

was?"

"Emiko. Emiko Takahashi."

"Oh, a foreign woman. I'm sure you'll make beautiful babies with her.

Until then, remember what we told you."

Ethan stood from his seat and said, "Okay. I'll see you in a few days, I

guess. I love you."

"We love you, too," Brooke responded.

John waved and said, "Good luck, champ."

Ethan walked onto the porch and closed the door behind him. He took a

deep breath, conflicted by a mishmash of emotions – joy, fear, anger. He

marched back to his car, determined to fix his relationship before the family

dinner.