You know the story of my sad childhood by now. My mom was a prostitute. A john cut her up and I found her. I was maybe three, or four. I don’t remember much about that day, but I can still see her tiny hand hanging over the edge of the bed. Cold and blue. There’s some part of my brain permanently transfixed on that tiny blue hand.
After that, the streets of Montmartre became my mother. While most kids sat on their flesh-and-blood mothers’ laps, I cozied up to the steps of Rue Mont Cenis. Those streets nurtured me, taught me all I know about life. Made me the man I am today. Like any good mother should.
Sometimes, though, I try to remember my real mother. Not her shape and form, but the feeling of belonging; the sensation of clinging to someone. The safeness; the closeness. It takes work, real focus, but if I let myself drift into that state between wakefulness and dream, I can almost sense her. It is a rare moment of bliss, of peace. Followed immediately by dread and rage, loss and pain.
There’s a reason I prefer my memories of the street. The street is eternal. It can’t leave you. You can control it, make it stay with you. It doesn’t get sick, it doesn’t weaken, never dies. The street is the constant mother my fickle mortal mother could never be.
Still, what have I missed, who would I have been, if I had had my mother all these years? I may have been softer, more patient, more loving. Maybe had a family by now. I might have been a better man instead of the antisocial miscreant I have become. But then, my mom wasn’t exactly a law-abiding model citizen herself. Maybe I am my mother’s son after all.
My friend Henri has said many times it’s no accident I'm a homicide detective. He says I’m subconsciously trying to avenge my mother’s murder. Maybe that’s so, but given the choice, I’d find a swifter, more effective way to get even with the man who robbed me of the most important woman in my life. And before you judge me, search your soul and ask yourself, if you could save your mother’s life, wouldn’t you do anything? Pay any price? Wouldn’t you?
