Ah Vous Dirais-Je Maman

He liked stars. He loved the constellations, he loved looking at pictures of the Aurora Borealis online, he even asked to buy a telescope. 

He liked stars. He loved to see them, to watch them, to stare at them.

He liked stars, and I knew nothing. 

If there was one thing that he liked more than stars, it was mama, and it was me. 

That’s it. 

He didn’t always like stars though. My brother used to hate everything about the sky. He feared the unknown. 

But mama, mama would bring books to the dinner table, every single night, talking about stars, the constellations, the galaxies, and even black holes. Every night, we would sit outside on our farm’s hay bales, looking at the twinkling gems in the skies. 

Eventually, my brother learned to love stars. Of course it wasn’t instant, and of course he didn’t love them right away. It took time, it took much of mama’s convincing, and it took a few times where I had to look at him with puppy-dog-eyes, before he one night sighed and asked mama to point out the constellations that we could currently see. 

I was happy, but mama was a whole new level of ecstatic. I could have sworn that her eyes shone so brightly with joy, that they belonged up there in the night sky. 

After all, she loved talking about stars, she loved reading about stars, and most importantly, she loved seeing them. 

Even looking at them, until the last moments of her sight. 

Yes, my mother went blind. 

I knew that she was sick for the longest time, but she had gotten better. 

I knew that she was weak for the longest time, but she had gotten stronger. 

I knew that she was going blind…

But I didn’t expect it to take full course. 

Now, she saw nothing. 

Maybe the sparkle in her eyes realized that they belonged in the sky, and ascended. 

Yes, that was it. That was how I understood it. 

I was seven at the time, and I’m nine now. I’m big enough to make my own understanding of things. 

When mama got sick, there was a change in everything. We basically had to move all our stuff, everything we got, to a place in the city. It was in the city that she could be cared for by doctors. Of course, I didn’t know what happened in the hospital. I was always too scared to go. 

Not going was one of my regrets, for she never got to see me for the last time. She never got to see how tall I had gotten while she had stayed in the hospital, she never got to see my drawings, and she never got to see the paintings I made of the night skies. Only my brother went and visited. Often times, he would speak to her in french, but only knowing one sentence he said, 

“Ah vous dirais-je maman. If only you could see how much she’s grown.”

Ah Vous Dirais-Je Maman. Oh I say to you, mom.

When mama finally got out of the hospital, everything had changed. 

For starters, mama had a cane. 

Only old people have canes.

Mama got a service dog.

I hate dogs.

Things changed, things passed and came, times went by, but one thing hadn’t changed. 

She still talked about the stars, talking as if she could see them, as if she could touch them.

“Why do you like the stars, mama?” I asked one night, while washing dishes. 

“Because they’re not as showy as the moon or sun. They disappear when the sun lights up the sky, but appear when the night needs light.”

“What’s so special about that?”

“It’s like the simple joys in life. You don’t notice them when the sun lights up your skies, but when you’re sad and you need something more than just the moon, the stars will guide you back home.”

It was after she spoke that the door opened. 

“I brought cake, mother.” My brother said as he closed the door behind him. 

“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, dear. We’d have to keep that in the fridge if we want it to last. Won’t it spoil?”

“Nope.”

“Well then, thank you.” My mother said as she told my brother to place the cake down on the table where she sat, holding a book which she once read to us. It was open, it was on her favorite page, (I had turned it for her) and she was stroking it. Stroking that book ever so lovingly. 

I looked at her eyes. 

The eyes that once gleamed with enthusiasm about the stars, lost their shimmer. Instead, they were replaced by eyes that stared off into the distance, without looking at anything specific.

“What would you want for your birthday, mom?” My brother asked, as he took off his shoes. “I’m going into town tomorrow.”

“The cake is enough.” She said, closing the book with a loud thud. 

Silence ensued, before my brother came to us, and kissed us both on the cheek, before heading to his room. 

“Love,” She said, then called my name once my brother ascended up the stairs. 

“Do you know what I really want for my birthday?”

“What is it, mama?” I asked. 

“I want other people to see the stars.” 

I was shocked. Why would she wish for others? Why wouldn’t she wish for herself. 

“Huh? Other people? Don’t you want to see them for yourself, mama?” 

“I’ve already seen them, and going blind is God’s way of telling me that it’s time to share the blessing of seeing the stars’ beauty with others. I want them to see it too. I want them to witness it.”

I was speechless, as my mother let out a yawn. 

“I’m rather tired, dear. I’ll be heading to my room now. Come now, Bailey.” She called the dog, which quickly helped her navigate the house. 

After staying in shock for a while at what she said, I ran to my brother’s room. 

“She wants others to see the stars.” I said, banging his door open. 

“Mom?” He asked.

“Yes, mom.” I said irritated. Who else could I be talking about?

“Are you sure you got that right? You sure she wants others to see it? Not herself?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I said plopping myself down on his bed. 

“But beauty should only be bestowed to those who seek it. Beauty should only be bestowed to those who are worthy of seeing it. This city is full of people. People who are corrupt, people who steal, who fight, who sometimes ruin lives. A girl on T.V. died the other day… you’re too young to understand. Go to bed. Like what mom said earlier, the cake should be enough.”

I was infuriated. Too young to understand? No. I’m old enough. He just didn’t see it. 

“Why are you so selfish?” I asked, as I sat up on his bed, balling my hands into fists. 

“Everyone deserves to see the beauty of the stars! They were put up there for a reason. Beauty can cause people to turn their ways around, it can cause them to change. Just because they’re bad, doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve to see the beauty that was put there intentionally for all to see! I’m not too young to understand. I was too little when I was seven, but that was two years ago. I’ve changed! Can’t we just grant mom’s wish this once? If we can’t sacrifice our sight for her to see again, can’t we at least sacrifice to achieve her wish?”

“Go to bed,” Then he said my name.

He. Never. Says. My. Name.

“Go to bed.”

I ran to my bedroom. I needn’t be told thrice. 

The next day came faster than the last one left, and I awoke to mama and her service dog at the dining table, with breakfast. I usually cooked. How odd that there were pancakes (slightly burnt ones) on plates with some syrup and whipped cream on the top. 

“Where’s brother? Did he make this?” I asked my mother, as I walked to sit at the table. 

“I made it.” He said from the doorway. “Sit down and have your breakfast.”

The moment I sat though, I heard something crumple. Standing up once more, I looked down on my seat, and there lay a note. The moment I noticed it, I looked at him. He nodded, and looked back at me before opening the door to leave. 

“We will let them see the stars. We will bring them on a journey. Beauty deserves to be shared. You and mom taught me that. 

If I don’t come back tonight, visit me in jail.”

“I heard something, dear. What was that?” My mother asked, tilting her head. 

I lied.

“Just some wrappers from crackers I ate yesterday. I forgot to throw them away.” 

“Well, throw them now.”

“Of course, mama. May I go outside to play?” 

“Of course. Stay safe, and don’t venture to The Lake Of Time. I heard that you’d be captivated by its beauty, that you’ll simply stare for hours. I don’t like people who do nothing but stare.”

“I won’t!”

That was the second lie I told that day, because I intended to follow my brother.

He walked through streets and alleyways that day. My brother practiced and practiced on what to say, as he looked for a shop. 

He looked for THE shop. He sighed and said to himself, 

“Ah Vous Dirais-Je Maman. Ah, if I could tell you mom, perhaps you’d be proud.”

My brother eventually found the quaint little shop. He looked around, and guessed that the folks were right when they said it was by a shop that sold hourglasses. 

An hourglass shop? Weird. He felt as if he had seen it somewhere before. 

After his brief pause, he stepped into the store, looking for a chainsaw. 

“What were you hoping to get today, mate?”

The man behind the counter asked my brother, with a rather thick Australian accent.

“Oh, I’m just a lumberjack and I was hoping to acquire a chainsaw?” 

“Sure thing! Right this way. Any preferences on voltage, length, power type or anything?” The man asked. 

“Just recommend me something.” He said before turning his head. He almost saw me. ALMOST. 

So then, I ran. 

I ran down the roads and alleyways, ran down the streets, and ran back to our little home.

Opening the door slowly, I didn’t expect my mother to still be at the dining table. Sadly, she was and had asked me about why I had been breathing as if I had just run like an athlete in a marathon. 

“There was a wasp outside, and I didn’t want to get stung.”

“As if I’d believe that. Where did you go?”

I couldn’t give away whatever my brother was trying to do, so I lied and got myself in trouble. 

“I went to The Lake Of Time.”

“Up to your room, young lady.”

I followed.

The afternoon turned to night. Brother had not come home yet, and I was starting to get worried. Had something gone wrong? 

Little had I known, that in the distance, a sound of a chainsaw could be heard, cutting down a tree. 

Then, the tree fell. 

It fell on the main powerline. 

Just before the lights went out, I had walked downstairs to find my mother sitting at the dining table. It seemed as if she never moved from her spot there.

“Where is your brother? Will he not be home to celebrate my birthday?”

“He’s getting your gift.” I said, thinking I was lying. 

Little had I known, I had spoken the truth.

I screamed when the lights abruptly turned off, and grabbed the candle off of my mother’s cake. 

“What’s happening?!” She asked, rather alarmed. She opened her mouth to speak more, but stopped midway when she heard me gasp. 

“Oh mama! Mama! The power went out, but the stars! The stars are so beautiful! Oh, I say to you, mom, the stars are so pretty! Ah vous dirais-je maman.” 

We went out and sat on the porch, as I grabbed my mother’s favorite book. 

My brother was arrested later that night. After all, he was the one who cut the tree and caused the power to go out. 

“Ah vous dirais-je maman.” He said, on his way to the police station.

“Ah vous dirais-je maman.” I said as I read my mother’s favorite book. 

Ah vous dirais-je maman les étoiles sont si belles.

And though so many residents were angry, so many residents were mad, there was a little girl in the city who woke her mother, as the power went out. 

“Ah vous dirais-je maman les étoiles sont si belles!”

And when her mother woke to look, her eyes shone like my mother’s did once long ago.

Ah vous dirais-je maman.

Oh, I say to you mama. You’d be so proud.