Isn't it Natural for a Mother to Love her Son?

Lionel Monologue/First person narrative:

I stood on the pier, staring into the once-infinite lake. As a child, it all seemed so large, so vast, so incomprehensible. Now it seemed hardly more than a puddle. I could not see my father’s dinghy anywhere.

“Five minutes, kid,” the bus driver yelled impatiently from the doorway. I said nothing in reply as I crouched down to tie my shoelaces. Being closer to the water, I could see through it with ease down to the muddy bottom. The goggles were still there. The deeper areas of the lake were still a couple meters deep. I stood up and turned away.

Our former summer home was covered in vines, cracking the windows and tearing away at the door. I hadn’t gone back here since mother and I went for pickles. There was a tapping noise beneath my feet, and I lay down on my stomach to see what it was. Beneath the pier was my father’s dinghy.

The lake’s water level had fallen over time, so it managed to lodge itself there. I grabbed the prow and pulled it out inch by inch. Finally, it floated in the water before me.

Somehow, it appeared untouched. It seemed so much smaller now, but it’s red hue made it stand out like a poppy petal on the water. I sit cross-legged at the edge of the pier, looking at the boat bob up and down.

Mother was gone now. People in suits showed up and took her away. It wasn’t pretty. She started screaming and yelling at them in her yellow sun dress, but they took her away. The men in suits came and took me too, but not to where mother was going. I was six at the time.

They brought me to a place with a lot of other kids who had their parents taken away. Some of them had bruises and scars on their faces and hid in the corners of the room when the caretakers came in. I didn’t hide, but I didn’t let them touch me. I was thirteen when I went to my first meeting.

I was part of a support group now, but I didn’t know for what. The meetings made me angry. They kept trying to convince us something was wrong. They wanted us to become like them, but I wouldn’t allow it. They said they took my mother away because she did something bad to me. I told them she was a loving mother. They said that was what was wrong.

I put one leg into the dinghy carefully, trying to see if it could still hold my weight. It sunk slightly, but held its place. I put my left foot in and the boat suddenly jerked away from me. I quickly slipped back onto the pier as the dinghy floated away slowly.

I was surprised mother did destroy the dinghy. She wasn’t the kind of person who would leave evidence lying around.

The dinghy continued to float away.

I only remember kindness from my father. But he always fought with mother. I always remember him saying “It’ll get better” and “It’ll be over soon.” Then he was killed, found dead in an alleyway. There was a cross pierced through his heart.

The dinghy stopped in the middle of the puddle. I had no rope or no other device to bring it back. I picked up a stone and threw it into the dinghy. It dipped slightly but came back up. I kept throwing stones into it. One of the stones chipped the paint, causing the red flakes begin to fall off into the water. I kept throwing. Finally, I picked two large stones and set them down on the pier. I hurled one at the boat, and it hit its mark. It made a terrible cracking noise and the boat began to fill with water. The paint flaked off into broken petals as the dinghy sunk. I crouched down, paying no mind to the sinking ship. I untied my shoelaces, pulling them entirely out of my shoes. I tied them together then to my ankle. I tied what was left around the stone, and found myself unable to do so. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bit of tough rope. I tied that around the stone and tied the shoe laces to the rope.

“Gotta go kid,” the bus driver yelled again. I paid him no mind. I took off my shoes and set them behind me. I was wearing no socks and the summer heat made the pier burn my bare feet. I crept up to the edge and fell forward with stone in hand.

They said my mother did something wrong. They said she did something unusual. But isn’t it natural for a mother to lover her son? Isn’t it?