THE CHILDREN IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD WHO DON'T ACTUALLY EXIST WILL KILL YOU WITHOUT THINKING TWICE ABOUT IT

My parents live on Friendship Court. It's like living on Happy Street, but without all of the Jews. Friendship Court consists of about eight homes. It is a small street. It ends in a cul-de-sac. My parents home is the last house on the left before the circle turns back into a straightaway. After making the left turn onto Friendship Court I circled around the cul-de-sac and parked along the curb lining the front of my parents near perfect pre-fab house. They both came running out of the painted red door and up to my passenger window. My mother seemed exasperated.
"No! No! You have to pull into the driveway," she screamed at me.
I looked around. Confused.
"Why?" I innocently asked.
"The kids," my mother pleaded. "They will trash your car! They will throw balls at it!"
I turned around and saw this:

Not a single goddamn kid to be seen. After four days here, I started to lose my mind and started to believe that this whole development was nothing more than a Hollywood backdrop. Set up so no one would ever have to deal with the two bat shit crazy people I call my parents.
Nevertheless, I pulled into the driveway. And I started to unload my car. The laptop and camera were brought in. Then I went out and grabbed a bag of laundry and my guitar. The front door was locked. I tried the handle again. Locked. I rang the bell.
"Who is it?" my mother asked.
"It's your son!"I yelled.
She unlocked the two locks. Two locks! and then let me in.
"What's up with the locks?" I ask.
"These damn kids. You just can't trust them." mother replied.
I dropped off my gear and headed out for the next load. The other bag of laundry was next. I came to the front door and went to open it. It was locked. I rang the fucking bell.
"Who is it?" my mother asked.
"It's your goddamn son!" I yelled. "And if you lock this fucking door on me again I am going to fucking drive off!"
My mother opened the door and seemed surprised.
"So what's your problem?"
"My problem?" I said.
"You keep locking the door every time I go fifteen feet to the car,"
"There's a lot of home invasions going on in this country."
"Yeah, maybe in Detroit, Ma, but not here. I mean seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you two?"
Mom looked disgusted.
'Oh you are just too trustworthy."
Mother left the door unlocked for my last load but she stayed right next to it waiting to close it at a moments notice."

*****

Mother has cancer. As a result, she has a shitload of drugs. The cancer is mild, or so they tell me. Who knows with these two. She could have Lou Gehrig's disease and they would tell me she was drinking. I never would really know. Regardless, I couldn't sleep one night. I was restless. So mother came to me with a handful of pills.
"You need to go to bed so take one of these."
"What are they?" I asked.
She went through the assortment.
"This is Ambien, this is percocet, this is oxycodone."
"Well, Mom," I started. "I have problems with sleepwalking, and oxycodone is a little hardcore, so I'll take the percocet."
Mother hands me two.
"Take two, cause you're big."
"Okay."
I take the two pills and I swallow them with a swish of water.
Hours pass, and I am typing on the computer. Soon enough, I start tipping over. Years ago, I tried heroin. It was in Rochester. A one time gig. All I remember is coming home and scratching my body like I had worms crawling in and out. I felt that same way. I pulled  a pair of scissors out of this cup my mother had that was filled with pens and scissors, which is weird. And I started scraping my skin with this scissor. I was doped up. And it was not fun. I had a half pint of jack in the trunk which I had brought upstairs earlier in the day. I cracked it open and started drinking. I was on the second floor. My parents were on the first. The feeling was shit. Not exciting. You felt drowsy but you were awake. I remember thinking "thank god I don't have a broken leg cause this pill really sucks." but I needed to smoke. so I went into the second floor bathroom and lit one up. I turned the exhaust on. and when I finished, I closed the door. About ten minutes later, I heard my parents downstairs, mumbling. Then a swooshing sound. I came out of the room.
"What's up?" I asked the two psychopaths downstairs.
"Rob, I think the house is on fire!"
"The house is not on fire," I reassured them.
"But it smells like smoke in here!"
"I smoked a cigarette up here," I confessed.
My father didn't buy it.
"No, Rob, this is different. The House is on fire."
"No, it's not. I smoked a cigarette. I'm sorry. I smoked it in the bathroom because you set the goddamn alarm and I could not go outside, so I smoked it in the bathroom."
My father looked surprised.
"Rob, you could have told me and I would have shut the alarm off for you."
"Dad, you were asleep. I didn't think it was that big a deal." I held my composure. "Listen, just give me the code to the alarm and I will smoke outside."
My parents gave me this look like I just asked them to let me take nude photos that I was then going to display in the fucking MOMA.
"Rob, we don't need to be giving out that code. Just get some rest. We'll see you in the morning."
I laid down on my inflatable bed, and with the scissor, I scratched every fucking surface of my body until the worms finally went away.