�Paper or plastic?� the pimply teenager in the green apron asked.

�Paper,� she said, because she could recycle paper bags and save trees, and therefore do her part in saving the world.

Three days time found the little woman in the local grocery store despondently pushing a cart with a few items of food in it. Her son didn�t eat much nowadays. She remembered back when her husband was still alive and her son was a healthy teenager she�d had to shop several times a week, and her carts were always overflowing. The two men�as well as her son�s friends�had been able to clean out whole boxes of chips and cookies, packages of lunchmeats, and loaves of bread in two days flat.

The past few days had been awkward, to say the least. Years of carefully controlling her emotions had all been for naught, for in the space of twenty minutes she had been broken down completely. She�d completely lost it emotionally, and in front of her son, even! She�d never wanted him to see her like that. One of them had to be strong and support the other, and he wasn�t biologically fit to do so. She hoped she hadn�t distressed him more than he already was; the last thing he needed was more guilt, undeserved as it was.

He had held her for a little while, his arms awkward and embarrassed and his big brown eyes terrified, until she had regained herself. She�d pulled from his embrace, kissed his forehead, and fled the room to boil some pasta. Her son had thumped down the stairs twenty minutes later, and they ate the spaghetti together, neither saying a word or meeting the other�s eye.

It had been like that ever since. After being so open and honest for the first time in years, he had recoiled back to his silent, bleary-eyed aloof state. She hated herself for it�he had been so close to spilling his tortured soul for her like his old self always had, and her moment of disgusting weakness had scared him back into his emotional corner. It was enough to make her want to tear her orange-grey hair out by the roots.

He had promised not to kill himself, though. They�d discussed that a bit, and he had promised that no matter how bad things got, he would do everything in his power to stay alive. He had been very serious and very solemn about it. He meant it.

It was pathetic, she�d mused, that a vow like that was the best news she�d gotten in a while�that a vow like that was even necessary at all�but she had to take what she could get. It did comfort her to know that he would not kill himself while he was in mental control of himself. It did not comfort her to know that he was capable of lapsing into uncontrollable insanity at any moment.

The Mother of God was quite familiar with their situation by now.

The cashier rang up her purchase and announced the total. She opened her pocketbook and scrounged about for the bills. She knew she had more than enough in cash.

But�how strange! All she could scrounge up were a ten and a few ones where earlier there had been several fives and a few twenties. She rifled through various lipsticks, tampons, and old receipts, to no avail. The money was gone.

She was quite flustered by this, but there were several taut-nerved soccer moms in line behind her, so she quickly pulled out her debit card and moved out of the way. Where on earth could fifty-five dollars have gone?

She chewed on her lip as she loaded the groceries into the back of the truck. She was sure the money had been there this morning. It would have had to have been a slick-fingered pickpocket to get into her purse without her noticing�and only one other person besides her had any access to her purse. But what would he want the money for? And why would he take it without telling her?

She started up the truck and numerous electronics blinked and beeped to life, including her car phone. A weird feeling in her stomach, she picked up the car phone and dialed up her house. It rang several times, and then she was greeted by the sound of her own voice on the answering machine. Chewing her lip more, she redialed twice, and both times got the answering machine. She started to drive and waited a bit, then called again, with the same results. The sick feeling in her stomach turned cold and prickly. Why wasn�t her son picking up? He never went out by himself, and he wasn�t one to take naps. Granted, he rarely picked up the phone because he didn�t want the world to know he was home, but he always did when she was out, in case she was trying to reach him.

She had another errand to make, but a thousand anxious worries were rising inside her, making her feel quite ill. Where on earth was her son?

It�s a nice day out�maybe he just went outside, she told herself. Yes, that was perfectly logical. She�d come home and find him snoozing in the sun, oblivious. Or maybe he was blasting some of his old music so loudly he couldn�t hear the phone.

�But why would he have taken money from her?

Maybe�maybe he had wanted to buy an awful lot of pills.

She gasped at this thought, tears pricking painfully behind her eyeballs, her heart hammering violently.

�He promised me!� she screamed to the horrendous thoughts. �He promised me!�

He�s lied before.

The road in front of her blurred. She blinked hard, grasping desperately to her composure. She was silly to worry. There was a logical explanation. He was a good boy, a sweet boy. He loved her. He�d promised not to hurt himself again. He was better now; he wasn�t crazy anymore. He was perfectly okay.

But as she waited at a red light, impatience gnawing through her chest cavity, the image came back. She�d fought it often these past few years, but it never fully went away. Often, in nightmares, it haunted her, and she�d wake up crying and feeling more alone than she ever had in her forty-seven years of life. It was horrible�

She entered the house, still hearing Arik�s frantic voice ringing in her ears. He was asleep, Arik had said. He was safe right now.

The house was quiet, and she thought this was a good sign. Silently, she tiptoed up the stairs. The poor boy, he had been through so much. This was going to be difficult, but she would help him. He was depressed, but he could be cured. She would spend every penny she had on medications and therapists, if any of that would help him. He would get over this.

She was very tired, but a strange sort of peace had come over her. She would make sure Arik had tucked her son in right, take the dangerous things out of his room, kiss him goodnight, and retreat to her own room. In the morning they would work on this, and it would be okay.

She reached the top of the stairs and pushed his bedroom door open.

He wasn�t in there.

The floor shattered beneath her, and she had to grab the wall. Oh God, she thought, and she knew.

She couldn�t breathe�she thought she might faint.

�The bathroom light was on.

It took all her effort to force her tiny feet to move, and her heart was hammering so loudly in her head she couldn�t hear anything else. She pushed the bathroom door open.

He was on the floor, whiter than she had ever seen a person before, drowning in a pool of his own bright red blood, gashed and cut and hacked apart from his waist up�and he was not moving or making a single sound.

She screamed.

A car behind her honked, but her world was spinning violently. She slammed her hands against her leaking eyes, trying to calm her shaking sobs. She gasped for breath and blinked hard. How many more times would that horrible memory torment her? Would it ever go away?

Oh, Lord, it had been such a horrible night. After her husband died suddenly, she�d thought that nothing else could possibly hurt so badly. But, no, waiting for the ambulance for what seemed like hours, with her son�s life bleeding away onto the tiled bathroom floor�pacing desperately while they pumped blood back into him at the hospital and tried to sew his wrists back together�listening to him scream when he woke up and watching him stare at her like a crazed animal, his pained eyes not recognizing her�knowing that she had failed to prevent this, failed to make him happy�

If there was anything worse than that, she could not bear it.

The drivers behind her were getting nasty, so she scraped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and urged the car forwards.

But he was okay. Why was she getting emotional? He was okay. He was alive. Of course he hadn�t killed himself�how could she be so morbid to even think of that? He was okay. He was okay. He was okay.

Suddenly she was home. He wasn�t in the front yard. But that was okay, it had been awhile since she�d called�maybe he had gone inside. Yeah, he was okay.

She went to the door inside the garage and turned the knob. The knob didn�t budge. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she gagged on it, unable to breathe. Why would the door be locked? It was never locked!

She hammered on the door, but there was no response from inside. A thousand anxious images burst in front of her eyes. She panicked.

�Roger!� she cried. �Roger, please, open the door!�

She pounded and pounded on the door, tears coming to her eyes�Oh God!

Suddenly the door yielded beneath her, and she fell forwards against a flat chest in a red long-sleeved shirt. Her son looked down at her, looking quite puzzled. He was alive, he was unhurt, he wasn�t bleeding�oh, he looked so handsome!

�Mum, what�s wrong?� he asked, noticing her wet eyes. �Are you okay?�

�Ahh�Y-yes, I�m fine! A-allergies,� she lied, not about to confess that she had been afraid he�d committed suicide. �Just allergies.�

He raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.

�I tried to call you. Why didn�t you answer the phone?� she asked, calming herself.

He looked away. �I was out.�

�Outside?�

�Naw. I took my car for a spin. Haven�t driven it in awhile,� he said, looking a bit awkward.

�Where did you go?�

He shrugged. �Around. But why are you home so early, I thought you said you weren�t going to be home until 5:30?�

�Oh,� she said, �I, um�� I was afraid you�d killed yourself. �I was feeling a bit tired, so I decided to do my other errands tomorrow. Why do you ask?�

He looked nervous. �Ahh�� he murmured.

She turned to set her coat on the hook, and he danced in front of her, shielding her view from the rest of the kitchen. She tried to look over his shoulder, and he moved again to block her.

�Roger, what are you�� And then she smelt it.

She slunk past him and went to the kitchen table. It was set for two, with full silverware�and chopsticks! In the center of the table were several white boxes of steaming, wonderful-smelling Chinese food.

�What on earth is this?� she exclaimed, spinning back around to look at him.

He put his hands in his pockets and swayed sheepishly. �Well, it was a surprise.�

�A surprise?�

�Yeah. For you.�

She blinked. �For me?�

�Yeah. I know you love Chinese food, so I thought I�d throw you a little surprise party. To cheer you up. And�� he fiddled with his bangs, ��to apologize. I know it�s pathetic compared to what I did, but I couldn�t think of anything else and I wanted to do it as soon as possible. I�m sorry for what I did. The suicide attempt and stuff. I never realized just how badly it hurt you�well, I mean, I did�but I was only thinking of myself. I never thought about what it would be like for you to lose both Dad and me at the same time.� He stroked his left wrist absent-mindedly. �I really don�t know how I could have done that to you.�

Tears filled her eyes, but different tears than the ones she�d battled with on the drive home.

He cleared his throat. �So, yeah. You�ve seemed really upset since�the other night, so I thought maybe a surprise would help cheer you up. �Oh, and, eh, I�m really sorry, but I had exactly eight cents left in my drawer, and I couldn�t remember how to get money out of my bank account, so I took some money from your wallet. Kind of lame to pay for someone�s gift with her own money, I know, but I promise I�ll pay you back as soon as I can!

�And I was going to set up more, but you came home too early, so�.� He shrugged in the direction of the table. �Ta da. That�s the best I could come up with.�

�Oh, Roger!� she cried, and she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek. �Oh, honey, it�s wonderful! It�s so wonderful!�

He grinned. �Really? You like it?�

�I love it!� she exclaimed. She kissed his cheek again. �And I love you! I love you more than you can possibly imagine!�

He gave a short laugh. �Yeah, I know, I know. I love you, too, Mom.�

She laughed into his shoulder, suddenly giddy with happiness and relief and weightless with tremendous love. �This is so thoughtful, I can�t believe you did this for me! It means so much to me, Roger, thank you! It does make me feel better�I�ve been so worried about you!�

�Yeah, I know,� he said. He pulled away so he could meet her eyes. �Stop worrying about me, okay? I�m fine. I�ve been thinking about it a lot these past few days, and I think I�m getting better. Must be the pills or something. I really don�t want to die anymore, I swear! I-I think I�m okay.�

She pulled him into a hug again, eyes glistening. �Oh, that�s the best news I�ve heard in years! I�m so glad, honey, I�m so glad! I�m so proud of you! Oh! You�re so amazing��

He chuckled. �Come on, Mom, that�s a little much, I think! You�re so emotional! Let�s just eat, okay, or I�m going to start bawling too!� He pulled away from her and began spooning chicken lo mein onto his plate and then into his mouth. �Holy shit, this stuff is good. Those Chinese really know their noodles.�

He looked so much like his old self then, with his thin face cracked into a wide white grin and his mind on food, that she couldn�t stop her tears. Her son was back. �I�ve missed you,� she whispered.

Roger glanced up, fried rice on his lips, and he laughed and laughed.

end.

Author's note----About time I got this up, really. I finished it early in the summer, but it took me until now, the second-to-last day of summer, to post it. ^^; I liked it at the time I wrote it, but it's a tad old now, and bits of it irritate me. It could have been better, but I guess now we'll never know. I actually let my mother read this...without letting her read Life of Arik Redde. Which I suppose was a mistake, as she missed out on the whole emotional impact of seeing Roger again after his horrendous downfall, and mostly just made fun of him. Yeah, he's kind of a weenie, but, hey. Blame it on bad genes.

This story was a much different style than I usually write in. I focused mostly on mundane daily acts such as putting your hair up or trying on clothes in order to illustrate Roger trying to return to just such a mundane life after a rollercoaster of mental chaos. By now I hope at least ONE PERSON picked up on how Roger's name was not used as a subject once in the entire story until the very last sentence, when he finally seems to have become himself again. I did that on purpose, man. If you dissect this story, there is a lot of hidden irony, foreshadowing, etc--and I know NO ONE picked up on it. Alas. Such is life.

Well, I hope you enjoyed it :] Stay tuned for 'the 2nd Roger Story', in which Roger returns to high school...and is much more normal, heh. THANK YOU for reading, I always appreciate it :D I also ALWAYS appreciate feedback of any sort: E-mail me! Comments brighten my day :D

--Dana. 8/25/3

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