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 Created on 2-5-08
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 Story Rating G
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"If that woman has her way, you’ll have no family, so I can’t really say that who you love and care about will be in your life for long. Why put you through that kind of pain? She’ll have her way with you eventually, I’m sure, so I might as well bow at now. Thank you but no thank you, boy. I’m no family of yours." No more tears, no more sputtering. Just conviction. I wanted to hold onto her.
Cook may not have known it, but as far back as I could remember, she had always been someone I admired. She WAS apart of my family. Wasn’t she? Didn’t I get to decide whom I loved? I put my hand on her shoulder, but frightened for no reason, drew it away. She looked up at me. "Go now. You shouldn’t be in here." She smiled, a warm, loving smile. I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. "Go." She turned away from me and continued to put her mother’s plates in boxes, those white porcelain plates with the flowers on them; the plates from my childhood. I felt a sudden pang of remorse. Why hadn’t I made Cook a closer part of my life? I stood in the kitchen, remembering so many good times, staring at those plates as they disappeared from sight as Cook placed each one carefully on top of one another, wrapped up in cellophane.
As I stood there, I could here hysterical shrieks coming up the back garden path, and Jessica’s stern voice to try and calm the free falling cries.
"It’s up to you, boy. Either stay, or leave now." As you can imagine, I ran from the kitchen and tried to race up the stairs to my room. As a young man, it is impolite to cry in front of company. A male figure has to be the strongest, for, in society, he is the provider and must provide for his wife and children. Crying is a sign of weakness, given to the woman as a trademark. I am certain this is unfair, and thankfully it is not as followed now, but just as I was about to collapse into my room, I heard the unfamiliar, but hurtfully charming voice.
"What brings you up the stairs in such a hurry?" My mother’s door was open as she was picking up her small bags that had been placed in front of it, ready for her to take them up whenever it pleased her. I turned to face her, holding back my screams. I remember thinking to myself, This is your fault! My family wouldn’t be ruined if you’d just stay away! We are all happy without you, you awful woman! Can you blame me? I sucked in hard through my nose so as not to gasp through my mouth. "Hmmm? Answer me, boy!" I stood stiff, holding back everything I wanted to say. If anything I had learned, it was that if you have strong feelings about something, to keep it locked inside, never to let it out, and to say what was expected of you. In this area, I excelled, but only to my own disappointment.
"I’m sorry, mother. Jessica told me to come upstairs and study my reading, and I was just being foolish." Exactly what she thought of me, a foolish boy.
"Just as I thought. Well, go then. Study your reading. Perhaps I’ll have you read to me later."
"Yes, mother." She shut her door. I was standing alone in the upstairs hallway. I faced my door, opened it, looked at the white washed walls, the clean white sheets, the bronze wood furniture, and the double door closet. I walked in, leaving the door open, and collapsed on my bed. It smelt of fresh spring flowers. It was Jessica’s favorite scent. I let it wash over me. The tears came as my eyes closed, squeezing over the eyelids and down my saddened face. Why?
Exhausted, I let myself dream of far off distances that seemed so much a mystery. Why was I kept away from my mother’s life? Why was she so cold and cruel? It pained me to know that she was my mother. I had always imagined her as something more pristine and welcoming, but alas, each visit my hopes of a changed woman were crushed.
In sleep we often find ourselves confronting our deepest fears. I have always longed for a close-knit family, as anyone of my caliber could imagine. I never fully understood that Cook and Jessica were closer to me than my own mother. Mother would send me postcards, gifts, small letters. I thought the world of these. Jessica was always so overjoyed to give them to me, watching my face light up in anticipation. I kept them all in a memory box that I kept in the back of my closet. It wasn’t until I grew older that I realized mother was using these things as bribes to keep my mind off of what really mattered most to me. Why wasn’t she with me?
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