The Curse Of The Crying Boy
Welcome Home

We pull up in our driveway and excitement builds up in my body. I’m excited to see where I’m going to put him. I have many options: the living room, the dining room, the hallway, the staircase or maybe even right in the main entrance.

I get out of the car and watch my husband take him out of the car.

“Careful!” I say, as my husband is holding him under his arm.

“I know. Don’t worry, I won’t break it” he says, walking to the front door.

“I forget to tell you before. Thank you” I say, unlocking the front door.

“No problem honey. You deserve it” he smiles.

“Thank you. Now give me him—I mean it. Give me it like that I can figure out where I’m going to put him! I mean it! Sorry” I smile back, putting my purse down.

“It okay. I know you don’t do it on purpose! You can call it whatever you want” he hand me the painting and I give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I love you” I say.

“I love you too honey” he says back.

I take my painting and look at the places I could put him. I hang him up in the stairs case but it just doesn’t look right; it doesn’t fit in with the other painting hanging. I hang him up in the entrance but once again it doesn’t look right, it’s just odd. I go in the dining room and put it next to the painting of me and my husband, it’s perfect. We look like a family. The family I’ll never have.

I go in the kitchen; I get a rag and damp it. I return to the dining room and go straight to my painting. I pass the damp rag on the painting of me and my husband, and pass it on my sweet boys painting.

“There you go, my handsome young man” I pass the rag removing the dust covering it from the auction house.

“I can’t believe you burned in that fire and died a horrible death. You deserved so much more in the world. You sweet boy” I put my hand on the painting gently.

“Welcome home!” I smile, looking at him in the eyes. It warms my heart, knowing I can give him a forever home. Even if it’s only a painting, I swear I can feel him smile. I smile back.

I can’t believe that everyone has returned the painting. It’s such a beautiful painting to look at. I continue staring at him.

“Please don’t tell me you’re talking to a painting now. Do I have to call the nut house?” My husband startles me.

“No no!” I laugh.

“What are you doing then?” He asks.

“Nothing I was just thinking” I answer, still looking at the painting.

“About what?” He hugs me from the back. I lean into him, letting out a deep breath.

“How horrible it must have been for those poor little children inside that orphanage, not getting adopted and getting burned alive. For sure they were mistreated, look at how miserable he looks with those big tears, falling from those big beautiful blue eyes” I answer honestly.

“I can’t even imagine” he says, so gently it’s almost a whisper. A tear falls down my cheek.

“Me either” I express.

“But what an odd place to put it, right next to us. You really want that constant reminder of his horrible story right next to our wedding picture?” He says without a care in the world.

“Why not? A painting this beautiful deserves to be seen” I explain.

“It’s a bit weird, don’t you think?” he adds. Turning me around to face him.

“You’re weird” I attack. Looking at him in disbelief.

“How am I weird?” He asks.

“The way you’re talking” I answer.

“We’ll you put a random painting from an action of a crying orphan right next to us, I don’t like it, it’s not like he’s our son” he says, it feels like I got stabbed in the pit of my stomach.

“No our son is dead! Trust me, I know!” I scream in anger.

“If this thing is going to cause fight between us, you’ll see how fast I’m going to bring it back to the auction house!” He says, storming out of the dining room.

What an asshole! How can he blame that poor sweet innocent boy for this fight? He’s the one that started the fight by bringing up our son. How can he be so heartless? The painting is not the problem. The problem is that we haven’t spoken about what happened. All he does is work in office and he thinks by buying me stuff here and there that it’s going to make it better.

This is the most happy I’ve felt in a while. I’m not letting him take this painting away from me. It’s not fair.

“I’m sorry” I whisper, looking at his sweet eyes.

I look out the window. It’s really dark outside. I look at the clock. It’s 10:55 pm. I yawn. It’s time for me to head to bed. I take my rag, bring it in the sink. I’m going to clean up tomorrow. I don’t feel like doing it now. I make my way to my bedroom.

“Goodnight” I smile, as I pass by the dining room.

I get in my bedroom and Rene is already in bed. I go in the bathroom and put my silk pyjamas on and brush my teeth. Leaving the bathroom, I lie down in bed next to him, covering myself.

“I’m sorry” I say softly.

“Me too” he kisses me. I smile.

I turn around. He wraps his arm around my waist and we both fall fast asleep.

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