Feature
Mama is a Four Letter Word
by Chris Sumberg
Illustration by David Cooper

Excerpted from: Goodbye, Mother: From Shadow to Darkfall
(The Untold Story of the Sunnydale One)

[Forthcoming from This So-Called Playground Press, LLC]

Ray Toomie (Age 13):
I knew her. All the kids did. She was a real hard-ass. I mean, Ralph had me over one time, we were about nine. We started eating cookies from this totally innocuous jar-with pictures of Disney characters on it, you know? Very obviously innocent. And bang, out of nowhere, she shows up: "What do you think you're doing? It's only an hour till dinnertime; you know that." What could we say? She was always asking embarrassing questions-What do you think you're doing? Where are you going? What do you mean "Out"? She seemed to get pleasure from putting kids on the spot.

Linda Squentin (Age 14):
I think she found me threatening, as a woman-although I was only seven or eight when I was "closest" to her. She once said to me I should put the top half of my bikini back on, that I would have to someday anyway. She couldn't handle displays of femininity, sexuality. Looking back on it, I can see she was clinically repressed. She was uncomfortable with my body, with Ralph's body, with her own body. Never once in all the years I knew them did I stumble into a room to find either of them nude.

Anthony Vlep (Age 15):
I had what you might call a "business relationship" with the deceased. I mowed her lawn. I did this because of the well-known tension between her and her son Ralph. His only outlet for aggression, since he was a minor, was to refuse to do chores. Although she still paid him an allowance, she was just controlling him with money, because she was pretty tight with the dinero. I remember finishing her lawn on a lot of occasions. She would squint at it-as if looking for screw-ups to pick at-saying all the while, "What a fine job you do, Tony," in that fake-sincere voice of hers. Then she'd pay me, counting out each dollar into my hand. It was like challenging me to say, "Hey! That's only four; I thought we agreed to five!"... She never did gyp me, but I kept an eye on her. That was the idea. She had to be the center of attention.

Jack Ripland (Age 16):
She had a weird-like "occult"-flare for sudden appearances. One day we were smoking, Ralph and I, behind the shed out back of his parents' house. Just two kids being kids, you know?, very innocent. I'd just taken a long drag and was puking onto a heap of lawn ornaments-when suddenly she appears. All she says to Ralph is, "I'd like to talk to you, young man." Very quiet, very rational. Like that guy in Silence Of The Lambs. Ralph went with her. I didn't see him for the rest of the day. Who knows what went on in there? Anyway, after that day I received clear signals from her, that I was persona non grata at Ralph's. She gave out these signals, nothing you could pin down, just this Norman Bates-type thing. Even if she wasn't that crazy-and I'm no expert-she was two-faced, a real hypocrite. She never said, "Get lost, Jack, you bad influence." Nope, she kept inviting me over to Ralph's birthday parties, his personal jewelry outings to the malls, the whole nine yards. She never told my folks either. It was very subtle. And, for a child, kind of scary. She was a real power-tripper all right.

Mary Plecker (Age 14):
I first met Ralph when we were 10 or so. He had that subtle "hunted" look that really grabbed me. I wanted to mother him-more than his mother ever did. It was a scandal. Yes, everyone knew about it, her little moods. Sometimes, although he was just a child of fifteen, she would leave him alone for one, two, sometimes even two and a half hours at a time. He covered the rejection with sociability. He always threw money around - his parents' money. I guess it was passive-aggressive, but, God forgive me, I think it was justified. I mean, what did they ever do for Ralph anyway? The flip-side of their rejection was a sort of "false interest," you know? Ralph would come home from school, and his mom would serve him cookies and milk. She'd ask him inane things, which nobody could have any interest in: "How was your day?" "Learn anything interesting?" "Did you like that surprise I put in your lunch?" ("Surprise"? Ha! Usually just some hard-boiled eggs. Ralph hated hard-boiled eggs, but was too frightened of his mother to say so. In fact, he even ate the eggs, although they gave him terrible gas attacks. I believe he had Crohn's Syndrome, although there was no name for it then.) The questions would go on forever, sometimes even extending to "Ralph's Circle" as we thought of ourselves. (His father called us Ralph's "gang of friends"-Can you believe that?)..."You're the Plecker's little girl, aren't you?" she asked me once, that Joan Crawford smile stuck on her face like a decal. She'd put you in your place-"little girl"-like: "I'm the adult, little girl, don't forget that!" Hell, I was twelve already!...God only knows what went on when there were no "witnesses" around.

Tad Tooner (Age 15):
She was a bad seed all right. And Ralph's father was no help. He had this way of faking exhaustion, the "very busy day" routine. He stayed out of it, no matter what. Like one time, I guess we were about six or seven, and I was sleeping over. (What a joke-no one ever "slept" in that house. I was always afraid to shut my eyes, and would lie, shaking in my bed for hours. The only reason I went over there was because Ralph was my buddy, and I felt bad for him. I think I'll bypass Hell just for what I went through then. Like one time, she comes in, it must be nine o'clock at night, we're just turning in, and she just appears-and she says, "You kids need a glass of water before you go to bed?" ... I mean the face, the face was all sweetness and light. I get goose bumps just thinking about it.) Anyway, we're at the kitchen table, and Ralph asks for a simple bowl of ice cream. His mom, she was always keen to destroy a weaker person's, a child's, pleasure says no, he's already had three bowls. So he slams his fists on the table and screams at his Dad, who is reading the newspaper (he was always ignoring us kids, a real dirt-bag) can he have a fourth bowl of ice cream. I think any rational person would have said, "What is a simple bowl of ice cream?" Ralph's father just says: "Do as your mother asks you." It was like that "Peace in our time" line, you know? Play the little diplomat. Meanwhile, the female Hitler's running all over, going crazy.

Wendy Bitts (Age 15):
I feel weird saying this, my being a female and all, but there was a strong anti-male atmosphere at Ralph's. His father was just about castrated, if you ask me-always hunched up with that newspaper of his. It was a sort of wall. Ralph's mother, she called the shots, and she didn't like anything spontaneous. Like one time Ralph slammed shut the door to the oven, I guess he was about 10 or so. Anyway, a cake that was in there fell, a cake his mother claimed was for a dying old lady at her church. She put the guilt trip on him. She asked him if he could help her make a new cake. I mean, she did everything but put a dress and training bra on him. She had this oh-so-reasonable speech about this so-called lonely, so-called dying, so-called old, so-called lady, and how the cake would make her feel needed, and anyway, she said she and Ralph didn't get to spend enough time together anymore, blah, blah, blah. I mean, it was a freak's guilt-trip. Sugar is bad for the elderly. The woman was half-baked in my opinion.

John Pothley (Age 16):
The cake thing got around. You didn't need to be a genius to see the humiliation. This was our buddy, we hurt for him. Of course, I guess now everybody can see the tie-in to his so-called "antisocial behavior." I mean, the whole kernel for everything. I see it centered on the oven. I have this image of Ralph staring into the oven, his eyes dilating. I think that something snapped, or began to fracture inside. Although I wasn't there, I can sense that happening. That cake was like Ralph's life-a flat, brown, crumbly-assed disc.

Tanya Ebersol (Age 15):
I think you have to define subjective terms like "sociopath", "third-degree murder," "third-degree burn," "premeditated", "push", "oven". What do these words mean if we disregard Ralph? And what do they mean if we disregard his mother? There are other words that we all agree on, however. Words like "neglect" and "motherhood". These words are ancient, carved in stone. So far, no one has dared to ask why this alleged "Sunnydale social pillar" was home baking cakes on a Sunday-a mother, a housewife, a middle-aged woman with leisure time on a Holy Day. I think things are structured in this society so that no one, and that includes judge and jury, will ask those hard questions.