Before stepping into the vibrant club, he felt compelled to call his mother. At least, hear her voice.
He fished out a coin, inserted it into the payphone, and dialed her number, particularly their home landline, hoping for a comforting voice on the other end.
After a few rings, the phone was answered, but it wasn't his mother's familiar tone that greeted him.
"Hello?" Billy's smooth, buttery voice sounded hesitant.
Huh? Why does it sound like Billy? Maybe it's just hallucinations. "Hey, Momma?" Tommy questioned, momentarily confused at the point. It sounded so much like Billy.
"Uh, Tommy, it's not your moms. It's Billy," came the reply, tinged with an awkwardness Tommy couldn't ignore.
"B..Billy? Why you picking up Momma's phone?" Tommy asked, his heart sinking with a mix of curiosity and unease.
With Billy he couldn't dare personalize his Mom. His mother, whether a taboo or not, took Billy as a good son.
