A poor mother never lets anyone inside her old trailer until one day when she collapses and is rushed to the hospital. The events that follow end up changing her life forever.
“Hey, kid! Stay away from him!” Barbara screamed as she dashed over to her son Timothy, who was playing with a boy named Harry. “How dare you come here to play with my son? He doesn’t hang out with lunatics and recluses!”
“Mom!” Timothy cried. “Harry isn’t any of those! We are friends, and I was the one who invited him to play with me and other kids from the neighborhood.”
“Shut up, Tim! You have no idea how dangerous certain people can be. Don’t you know his mother is a crazy woman who never lets anyone near her or inside that stupid trailer of hers? How many times have I warned you not to see him?”
“Mom, please! Harry is a nice boy. We just….” Timothy had just started speaking when Harry interrupted him.
“It’s okay, Tim. My mom says that mothers are always right, but Mrs. Anderson,” he remarked, turning to Barbara. “My mom is very sweet. She doesn’t let anyone inside our trailer because she is scared.”
“Scared?” Barbara laughed sarcastically at him. “It’s us who should be afraid of her! I’m sure she’s up to something fishy! Anyway, keep it in mind, kid: don’t ever play with my son again! Did you understand?”
Harry’s eyes welled up to the point that he couldn’t speak. He rushed away from the park to the spot where his old, white trailer was typically parked, under a dry tree that marked the beginning of a forest that connected two suburbs.
When his mother, Tracy, saw he was crying incessantly, she was worried. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”
“It was one of our neighbors again, mom,” Harry said, sobbing. “They always keep calling you names, mom. I hate that! I hate each one of them!”
“Oh, honey,” Tracy said, hugging him. “You should never hate anyone. When people get angry, they end up saying things they don’t mean. It doesn’t mean they dislike you, or….”
“No, mom! You don’t get it!” Harry retorted. “They don’t want to understand you, or me, or anyone else. Do you even know what happened today? Mrs. Anderson called you a recluse and told me not to play with Timothy because I’m a recluse’s son according to her. Can we please leave this town, mom? I don’t want to stay here.”
Tracy didn’t know what to say at that point. She couldn’t tell Harry that her savings were running out and that her boss had fired her just that afternoon. “Honey,” she started after a pause. “Maybe we can wait for the next month before deciding something?”
“But why, mom? Why should we keep taking their insults?” The boy lost his cool. “Ughh…fine, just do what you want! I want to spend some time alone,” he grumbled as he walked away.
When Harry left, Tracy burst out crying. She cursed herself for being a terrible mother and a failure in life who had failed not just herself but also her son. She rose up slowly and walked to her bed, where she clutched a picture of Harry and kept crying. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep, unable to think of anything.
Almost an hour later, Harry returned to the trailer. “Mom, I got some bread on my way back. Can you please make french toast tomorrow morning?” he said as he entered and closed the door behind him.
He found Tracy on the bed, sleeping – or so he thought – until he observed something odd about the way she was lying there. “Mom? Did you have dinner?” he asked and shook her a little, and soon Tracy was on the floor. “Mom! What happened? Open your eyes!” The boy sobbed, realizing his mother was unconscious.
