By now, Mrs. Billis had worked herself into a state of furious indignation. This unleashed a full convolution of organic trauma, but her anger was greater than fear. She swung Matthew’s door shut with her lambskin slipper and stalked into the kitchen with his breakfast tray. “Lazy-ass son of a bitch! He’s worthless! Forty years old and useless! I’ve had it. I’ll kill him!”

She stabbed at the fried-egg mess on her china plate with a soap sponge. The eggs were harder than rocks. She wondered why she cared. Soon she would be six feet under. Then what would he do? Then what “road” would he find? She whirled around and in another moment she was back wresting the blankets away from him. Matthew had already dropped off to sleep again and clung to the blankets desperately. She backed away and turned to his closet. “I’m going to take all of this shit, throw it out on the lawn, and have the locks changed! I can’t take anymore. I’m the one who’s sick! You can just get the hell out!” She screamed as she began ripping Matthew’s clothing out of the closet. Matthew leaped from the Slumber King and forced her out into the hallway. During the struggle he snagged his baby toenail on the dresser, half ripping it off. “Goddamm it,” he screamed. “You’re totally nuts! Just leave me the fuck alone. You’re a maniac!”

Mrs. Billis pushed at the door but Matthew had the full weight of his body pressed against it. “If you aren’t out of here in one hour, I’m calling the police!” she screamed. “I am sick of waiting on you, picking up after you, and paying your bills. I want you out!” She sounded like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

Although his mother weighed scarcely a hundred pounds and was dying of cancer, Matthew had to use every ounce of his strength to hold her off. It felt like Lucifer bucking the other side of the door. As soon as the pushing stopped, he clicked the lock shut and returned to bed. His pulse was racing and he felt short of breath.