Arborphilia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ready to find out the meaning of arborphilia? Read this little tid bit then ;)

Submitted: September 11, 2010

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Submitted: September 11, 2010

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“Mom…can we talk?” I stare at her from under my eyelashes and see each muscle in her jaw individually stiffen. She moves closer to me, sitting at our coffee table. Unexciting, it’s plastic. However I’ve always been attracted to our dining room table, dark mahogany. Not that I would ever act on that.

“What is it sweetie?” Mom cocks her head to the side smiling, as if she is innocent of the topic about to be opened. I force a smile and try not to wince as she flinches.

“This is about…what you saw last night…Between me and her.”

“Oh, it’s a girl?”

“Don’t say 'it'.”

“I’ll say 'it' ‘til the cow’s come home what the hell were you thinking?” My mom says quietly, her anger bubbling on low heat. It is only a matter of time before the cauldron steams over and burns away everything in its path.

“We’re in love Mom!” I stand, looking out the window. “And I’m not crazy either…this is just how it is.”

“Just how it is?” Her hand flies and burns her judgement scarlet across my face. “I don’t even know what to call you!”

“Son? But if you can’t stomach that I guess there’s always arborphiliac…”

“A what?”

“Nevermind…”

“Stop looking out that damned window at her!” She screams, covering her face with bony fingers. This is why Birch and I work so well together, no drama; at least not when other people are involved.

“So you admit she’s a her” I jab, making my mother shudder.

“I believe you believe that and if I don’t recognize that you won’t listen…”

“I’m not going to listen, Birch and I…”

“Birch?’ We both freeze. I nod stiffly and try not look at her or the window where Birch waits patiently for me forever. “This isn’t healthy…this arop…whatever.”

“Arborphilia. I’d have come out of the closet sooner if the wood wasn’t so alluring” I joke but my mother just stands there staring. My cheek still stings from the first slap so I stay quiet.

“What I saw last night…did you clean it up?” She asks hoarsely, the words seem like moths, fluttering away barely heard to blend in with the scenery. I nod coldly.

“I’m a gentleman, of course I clean her up afterwards…”

“Because I have a swing…”

“I take it down first…it’s like undressing her.”

“Oh” my mom steps slowly into the kitchen, her eyes fixating on Birch. “And if she’s a girl…why were you on the receiving end?”

“Heh…we like to mix it up…and it’s a bit rough when I go in her…”

“I would suspect so” her frown deepens more if that is possible, but a light flashes threw her tired, old eyes. “Your father is home.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Already did.”

That is when I hear the chainsaw and the splintering of wood.


© Copyright 2018 Risely B Riddled. All rights reserved.

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