The limousine pulled into the stadium’s car park.  A man stepped out, straightening his tie before strolling towards the ticket stand.
“He’s late. Of course. The old bat probably couldn’t even find his way to the door.” He growled, glaring at his watch.
He found a bench to sit on, sneering at the leftover paper cup sitting in the far corner of the concrete seat. He sat down and waited, every minute adding fuel to his flame of impatience. The man tapped his feet on the rough ground beneath him, cursing at the damage he knew the tapping was doing to his Italian leather soles. After what seemed to him like days, an older man approached him. The man clutched a shiny wooden cane, struggling as he continued to stand. The other man rose up from the bench.
“Nice of you to show up Mr. Dorsett,” he greeted him.
The old man let out a hollow croak that somewhat resembled a laugh.
“Please, call me Gavin,” he said. Gavin moved towards the ticket booth before pausing. “I don’t believe I caught your name,” he said, turning to face the younger man.
“We met yesterday, you old codger. Why don’t you just retire already,” The young man thought. “Damien Madsen,” he said.
“Pleasure to meet you Damien,” Gavin offered his hand.
Damien scowled at  the man’s wrinkled hand. The skin looked so loose that he was afraid it would all fall to the ground, revealing the dry, brittle bones underneath. He reluctantly took the old man’s hand, careful to avoid his yellowing fingernails. Damien pulled back almost as quickly as he hand gone in. Gavin arrived at the ticket stand and began to order two tickets.
“No need sir, I’ve got everything covered,” Damien said,”Follow me.”           
The pair made their way up to an executive balcony. Gavin stood near the edge that overlooked the entire baseball diamond.
“This is great. Despite my funds, I’ve never sat anywhere but the general aisle seat. My granddaughter loves sitting there,” Gavin marveled at the view.
The stadium began to fill up, and the men looked more and more out of place with their black suits among a sea of red, white, and blue.
“Please sit,” Damien gestured towards the cushioned leather recliners.
Soon after the game began, a waitress came to take their orders.
“What will you have, sir,” she said to Damien.
“A red wine will be fine,” he answered.
“We don’t serve alcohol here,” she told him.
“Well what do you have besides greasy ballpark food,” he hissed.
“We have water,” the woman said cautiously.
“I guess so,” he said. The woman turned to Gavin.
“And you sir,” she asked him.
“I’ll have the greasy ballpark food,” he responded, casting a sideways smirk at Damien.
The woman ran off. Damien straightened his lips and turned to Gavin.
“So Mr. Dorsett, I looked at your numbers from last quarter and it looks as if your current software provider’s services account for forty-eight percent of your expenses,” He explained.
“Why are we talking about this now? We’re at a game.” Gavin interrupted.
“Well with all due respect, we are here to talk business after all,” Damien said.
“You may be here to talk numbers, but I’m here to see David Ortiz score his first hit of the season,” Gavin said.
“If I may just continue. My company LiteWare can offer you services as much as fifty percent less than what you’re paying now. You’d be a fool not to accept my offer,” Damien insisted, his face growing hot.
“Son, you’d be a fool not to sit back and enjoy this game. We can discuss this later,” Gavin assured him.
Damien sat back in his seat, his foot tapping the floor faster than before. There was a knock on the balcony door.
“Come in,” Gavin yelled.
Damien faced the door, expecting to see the young waitress with his water. Instead, a tall security guard entered.

“Which one of you is Damien Madsen,” he asked. Damien raised his hand.
“There’s a woman out here asking for you. Says she’s your mother,” the guard responded.
Damien’s eyes began to shift, his face turning a warm scarlet.
“Let her in, but please wait outside just in case," he said uneasily.
The security guard stepped aside to reveal a frail, weathered elderly woman standing at the door. Damien slowly stood up to face her.
"Sylvia," he snarled, clenching his jaw. Tears began to gather in the woman's eyes.
"My son," she gushed.
She rushed towards him, her arms open ready for an embrace. Damien stretched out his arm and blocked her.
"Don't touch me. What the hell are you doing here," he barked.
The woman jumped as she could practically see smoke coming out of his nose, like a raging bull. Gavin turned his attention from the game. He hobbled to get in between Damien and Sylvia. He banged his cane down in front of Damien.
"Hold on now. That's no way to talk to a lady, especially your own mother. Don't you have any type of sense," he berated.
His voice quivered as he attempted to use a somewhat assertive tone.
"Stay out of this old man!" Damien shoved Gavin and watched as he began to fall, his cane slipping from his grasp.
Before he hit the floor, Gavin managed to catch his balance on one of the seats. He grabbed his cane and stood up.
"If this is any representation of what kind of company you work for, what kind of people they are, then I want no part of it. And you will be hearing from my lawyers.” Gavin staggered out of the room.

When Damien realized what he had done, he called after Gavin, but it was too late. He had just lost what may have been the best business deal his company had in years.  Damien turned to his mother.
"Honey, I-I'm so sorry," Sylvia stuttered. "But there will always be clients. I'm sure you'll find ano—" She paused when she noticed her son's clenched fist. "I understand you're upset," she said.
"No, upset doesn't even begin to describe it," he seethed.
Sylvia shuttered when his heated breath touched her skin. She hadn't realized how close they were.
"How did you know I was here," he demanded.
"I went to the office and asked your assistant. He said you were taking a potential client out to a baseball game. I thought you hated baseball," she said.
"I do. It's an idiot's game. But I thought it would help me get that old bat on my client list" Sylvia wiped the tears from her eyes.
"It's so good to see you. You haven't been returning my calls. I miss you," she admitted. Her eyes lit up as she stared at him. " I almost forgot how handsome you are. You were such a precious baby. And now look at you. A real big shot. I'm so proud of you, my son," she said, admiring everything about him.
"I can't say I feel the same Sylvia." Damien rolled his eyes.
Sylvia reached into her bag and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. She smoothed it out and handed it to him.
"The senior center is having a family luncheon for all the members. I would love it if you came. Your brothers and sisters all said no, but I understand. My children are busy people." Damien scanned the sheet of paper.
"Figures they turned you down," he mumbled.
"So will you come?" Sylvia smiled at him. She looked like a puppy pleading to its owner.
"Honestly Sylvia, I can think of a million things I'd rather do." Damien's words were full of venom, like snake ready to strike its prey.
Sylvia watched as he rolled the paper into a ball and threw it at her feet. She bent down and put it back in her bag. "He probably didn't mean it. Just stressed, that's all," she thought.

“You know what Sylvia, I’m glad you came today. It makes what I’m about to do much easier.” Damien reached into his briefcase and pulled out a glossy pamphlet. “Here,” he gave the paper to his mother.
“Green Oasis Retirement Villa.” Sylvia read the bright blue words off of the sheet. “What is this?” She continued to stare at the front page. There was a circle of large apartment buildings. In the middle lie green fields surrounding a golden fountain. Another picture showed an aged couple strolling through a wooded trail.
“You’re getting old Sylvia, and I don’t think it is fit that you weather away in your small shambled house. How would that reflect on me? Leaving you to die in dirt and grime. But putting you up in a nice resting home will be a win-win for everyone. You can live in peace and luxury, while I’m being praised for ‘taking care of you.’”
Damien began to pace the room, rubbing his hands together like a fly.
“I don’t understand. None of those things matter to me. I’ve spent my whole life in that ‘small shambled house’. My family has lived there for generations before me. You were born in that house. I don’t need to live in some fancy apartment ‘villa’. No one will treat you any different no matter where I choose to live the rest of my life. The world will still carry on, even if I take my final breath in the bed that I’ve slept in for years. How can you even bring yourself to be this cruel? How could you have grown up to be such a harsh man. I’ve always loved you. I was there when that girl broke your heart in the eighth grade. I was the one who took you to everyone of those soccer practices. I didn’t say a thing when you had a guard escort me from your twenty-third birthday party. And now this? You want to abandon me completely despite the support and care I’ve given to you even before you were born?”

Damien had turned his back to watch the game. He didn’t even blink as his mother spoke to him. But in the course of her plea, Sylvia maintained the same loving tone that she always held with him.
“I don’t care Sylvia. I just don’t. I had to put up with you for thirty two years. When I wanted to hang out with my friends, you wanted to have ‘family time’. While everyone in my class got to go home to heated houses, I had to freeze my ass off under ragged sacks sewn into blankets. We never had enough of anything. How do you think I felt being the poor kid? But now, I have everything I could ever want. A nice car, a gigantic mansion to come home to, a high end job. If you're always in the way, popping up at my office, following me to business meetings, I won't have it much longer. I don't need you Sylvia, I never really did. You were always the thing holding me back. You're a drag, and I'm cutting you off." Damien refused to look at her as he spoke.
Every word was a devastating hit, but for Sylvia, it wasn't about what he said, it was how he said it. His words, while harsh, showed no regret. There was no sign of melancholy, just unmistakable apathy. If he had just shown a sliver of amity, maybe what he said wouldn't have hurt as much.
"My son, please don't forget who spent days sewing together those blankets, don't forget that you never stopped complaining when all I wanted was to spend time with the ones I love. You may think that we had nothing, but family....family is the thing that will always keep you plentiful. You can never be poor in the company of the ones you care about. I can't leave you alone, not until I get you to change who you've become," Sylvia approached Damien.
He placed a hand upon his shoulder before he slapped it off.
"I said don't touch me," he whispered, finally turning to face her. " I think it's time you left." Damien snapped and not a second later, the security guard was at the door.
"No no, I'll leave myself. No need for your guards.” Sylvia staggered out of the room, refusing to cry.
Instead she held her head up and plastered on a smile. Once she was out of earshot, Damien turned to the guard.
"Next time, keep the trash out." Damien sat back in the chair and enjoyed the rest of the game.

***
The little girl woke up on the dirt floor. Her body ached as she pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes. She focused on the dimly lit walls surrounding her. She stood up and crept toward the door. The lack of light in the room made the girl strain her eyes to see the shadows of objects hidden in black.
Papa must’ve forgotten to pay for the power again.
She stretched out her hands and felt for anything that could guide her. Her fingers traced a beveled length of wood, pricking them slightly. By some miraculous occurrence, she was able to locate a drawer. The girl retrieved a match and a candle. Soon, with the help of a few strikes, she had a source of light. She navigated through the labyrinth of hoarded clutter that had accumulated over the years. Looking out a window on the far end of the room, she was able to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the sun, peeking out from beyond the horizon. The once midnight sky was beginning to paint itself a dark blue, letting the light mix in. The girl looked down to see an empty patch of concrete, a vacant space that often contained her father’s fiery red pickup. At least that's what one would have called it long ago, when both the car and the man were in their primes. Now it was a faded red clunker haphazardly held together with bailing wire and duct tape, running on hopes and dust. The girl turned and began toward her parents’ room. She pushed past the door, cringing as it creaked.
“Mama,” she called out into the darkness. The girl heard the rustling of bed sheets. “Mama, are you there?” The girl raised her voice
“Not now Sylvia. I can’t deal with you right now.” A hoarse, whispered voice answered the girl.
The stale stench of alcohol wafted throughout the room, stinging the girl’s nose
“Please Mama. The power’s out and the sun won’t be in full bloom for a couple of hours. Can I  lay with you,  just for a while?”
“I said not now!” A glass beer bottle flew across the room, hitting the girl in the eye.
She screamed in pain, holding her face in her hand. She ran into her own room and let a single tear fall from her black eye. The small rocks in the dirt cut her feet. On her soles were years of small scars, long since healed. By now, she barely flinched when she walked in that room. The injuries she acquired there were minor compared to the ones she got when she left the room. Sylvia lifted a mattress that sat in the corner. The mattress was torn in many places, covered in questionable stains, and the springs inside were nothing but rust. She turned it over and ran her hand over the surface. Finally, she found a spot without springs.    
Sylvia picked at a flap of material until it peeled back, uncovering a small cardboard box. She reached inside and pulled out an old photograph. It was of a family, perfect in every way. The mother and father shared a longing gaze, staring deep into each other's eyes. On both of their faces were pristine white smiles. Two children sat in front of the parents. The son and daughter played together on the bright green grass. Even with only one toy, the siblings appeared to get along quite well. In the background was a quaint little house. It was a turquoise color, with flower beds filled with healthy buds sitting under every windowsill. The whole lot was surrounded by a white picket fence. Sylvia couldn't remember where she found it, or even when, but she remembered clear as day how she felt when she did. At first, it was just a picture of a perfectly happy family. It was nice, like something you see on the cover of a magazine. Good to look at, though you don’t pay it much mind. Then, it wasn't such a pleasant picture. In fact, she wanted to scream every time she looked at it. She hated the photo, but she hated the family in it even more. She hated it because they were perfectly happy. Why did this family have everything that her’s didn't? What did she do to deserve the life she had. Just thinking about it awoke rage in her that she didn’t believe was possible. The next development was the worst. The picture created a storm that she found herself right in the middle of. There was destruction all around her that she couldn’t escape. And it was quiet, so much so that she was unable to even hear her own cries. Infuriation turned into crippling sadness. She felt like she didn’t deserve to have the life that they had. When she didn’t feel worthless or broken, she felt numb. Most days she laid in the dark, unable to compel herself to get up, or even turn on the light, but no one else seemed to care, no one even asked if she was okay. Eventually, the light did come on. She was able to stand, laugh, and smile. Sylvia stared at that picture and knew that things would get better. It because a symbol of her future, of what kind of family she would have. She would love her children and never leave them, never give up on them, not like her parents had done to her. Whenever things got bad, she looked at the picture and reminded herself of what could be. Now, Sylvia held it in her hand and let it lull her to sleep.
***

Sylvia stood in front of an old wooden door. The frame around it was broken and warped. She considered entering,something she hadn’t done for a long time. It was once her parents’ room, but ever since they passed, a warm body has not inhabited it. Sylvia never touched the furniture. The bed sheets hadn’t been washed, the lampshade undusted. There was still a gaping hole in the wall from one of her mother’s drunken tirades. Sylvia considered entering, cleaning it up for another person, but every time she did so, she could never force herself beyond the door. She was pulled away from her thoughts by a knock at the front door. Sylvia opened it, and a wide grin spread across her face at the sight of her son standing on the porch.
“Damien, what are you doing here?” Sylvia looked at him in awe. She could hardly remember the last time he stood at her door. Before letting him answer, Sylvia moved aside and gestured him inside. “Please, don’t stand out there, you’ll catch a cold.”
Damien walked past Sylvia and stopped in the center of the room. He looked around, cringing at every aspect. The paint on the walls chipped in many places, the once white color now a sickening beige. The bulb of the ceiling light was covered in dust, dimming the radiance underneath. He shivered at the thought of even touching the grey sofa. Sitting on it were bright pillows, all different colors. There were seven of them, all bearing a different name. Scott, Jared, Maisie, Astrid, Walden. Daphne, Damien. There was a small wooden table that had an uneven leg. He glanced down to see that the leg was evened out by an old children’s book. Atop the table was glass vase, chipped at the edges. Inside of the vase was a paltry bouquet of wildflowers. Their beautiful violet petals were the most captivating thing in such a dingy space.  
“Hello,” Damien hesitated, “mother.” He turned to her. She stepped towards him and opened her arms for embrace. Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around her, barely grazing her tattered blouse. He quickly pulled away, wiping his hands on his pants.
“I want to take you out, it’s a nice day and I’d like to spend time with you.” he shrilled, failing to keep his voice low.
“Really,” Sylvia chirped. She grinned ear to ear.
“That’s what I heard myself say,” Damien mumbled. “Come one, the car’s waiting out front.”
Sylvia walked outside and spotted a black limo parked in her driveway. She turned to Damien.
“Oh son! You didn’t need to do all of this.”
“No no. It’s my pleasure Sy- mother.” Damien opened the door and let Sylvia step in.
He walked to the other side and sighed before getting in. After an hour, the car drove past an electric gate to a beautiful lot. Sylvia exited the car and recognized her location immediately. The apartment buildings, the fountain, the wooded trail, it was all from the front of the brochure. Only, it was empty, unusual for the middle of the day, even at a retirement home. Also, the bright colors on the glossy page were dim in the real setting.
“Damien, what are we doing here?” Sylvia felt ill, like something was about to turn sour soon.
“I thought you might like a tour, get used to the place before moving in.”
“But I told you I didn’t want to live here.”
Damien took a deep breath. “You’re not right mother. You’re getting older and your mind isn’t what it used to be. Come, you’ll love this place one way or another.”
Damien took Sylvia’s arms and pulled her towards one of the building. She shivered, letting a single tear fall. She put on a smile so fake it could have been plastic. Damien led her into a housing office. Once inside, whatever expectations Sylvia had when she first arrived were gone. They approached the front desk and rang the bell. A woman came from a door behind the desk. She waddled a few steps and sat in the chair. It moaned under her weight. The fluorescent lighting illuminated her buxom figure. Highlighting a particular mole on her cheek.
“What can I do for you two?” Her voice was low and raspy. She let out a hacking cough, saliva flying in all directions. Damien turned his nose up and doused his hands in sanitizer.
“We’d like a tour of the facility,” he said.
“And I’d like to be on a beach in Mexico with Esai Morales, so I guess neither of us are going to get what we want,” the woman snapped
“But I called earlier and scheduled a tour.”
“Listen, this is a retirement home, not a museum. We don't need stuck up little boys like you coming in and gawking at our residents. It's called resting in peace for a reason.”
Damien clench his fist and came closer to the woman's face. He spoke in a low growl.
“You have five seconds to get your ass up and give us a tour before I put in a call to my company, who happens to be one of your biggest donors, and get this place shut down, which means you get to go back to the wretched place you came from.” His stare was boring holes into her skull, and after a second or two, the woman stood up.
“Right this way.” Her voice shook as she led them down a corridor.
Sylvia, who had not heard Damien’s threat, looked up at him.
“How did you—”
“Don't underestimate the power of coercion mother.” Damien didn't look her in the eyes as he said it. Sylvia nodded and continued walking, afraid to question him further.