Jeremy Crowther stood on the corner, leaned on the stop sign, and looked down Cherry Lane. He looked at his house for the first time in more than a year. His house looked depressingly as it had the last time he had seen it a year earlier when he ran away. The sky blue paint was fading. The rusted gutter sagged under the weight of a month’s accumulation of leaves from the magnolia tree.

Just as he had remembered it.

Jeremy took a deep breath. It was now or never. He shifted his backpack and walked toward the house. The early afternoon sun was bright in the sky. The October air was cool on his face. His heart pounded in his ears as he rehearsed, once again, the words he had practiced a thousand times over the past three days. “Hi, mom. I’m so sorry…”

A moment later he stepped onto the dusty cement porch. The only footprints were probably from the postman. Nobody came in or out this way.

Jeremy removed his pack and set it on the porch. He reached up with his right hand, hesitated, then pushed the doorbell button.

His mouth was dry. He licked his lips. If he were going to change his mind, the time would be now. In another few seconds–

He heard the doorknob turn, and the crack of the door as it freed itself from the too-snug doorjamb.

And there stood his mother, looking at him with blank disinterest. “Yes?” she said.

She doesn’t recognize me. Jeremy thought. Have I changed that much? He opened his mouth to speak, but at first the words didn’t come. At last he said, “Mom, I’m so sorry.”

His mother’s head jerked back as if she had been struck. “What did you call me?”

“Mom, I–”

“What kind of prank is this?” she said, looking toward the street as if to see who else was watching.

Jeremy’s mind went numb. Jesus. She still didn’t know who he was.

“Mom, it’s me. Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s mother glowered at him. “What kind of shit are you trying to pull here, Jeremy.”

“Mom!”

“Stop calling me that.”

My God, thought Jeremy. Panicking, he squeaked, “I’m home, Mom! I’m home.”

His mother stepped back suddenly and her hand flew to her mouth. The color drained from her face and her shoulders slumped. Tears began to form in her eyes. Barely audibly she whispered, “Aaron?”

Jeremy burst into tears. “Not Aaron, Jeremy!” he screamed. “It’s me. I’m your son, Jeremy. Aaron left five years ago. It’s me! Mom, it’s me!”

Jeremy’s mother stood and looked at him for a long moment. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She raised herself back up as if to convince herself of her dignity.

Finally she spoke, her voice a monotone. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, young man, but what you’re doing is very cruel. I don’t know any Jeremy. I don’t know how you know about my son, but this is a cruel game.”

“Please!” Jeremy pleaded. “Mom!”

“You’re a hateful young man, Jeremy, whoever you are,” Jeremy’s mother said. She stepped back quickly and slammed the door.

The tumbler rattled in the lock, and the deadbolt slid gently home.