Mother

The air in the room was close; fluorescent light overhead shone in ostentation, as if taunting in expectation whoever dared enter it. Ominous silence permeated into the corners, brewing, until with a loud bang the door swung open, almost piercing the porcelain air; like prodding into a balloon with a needle, with apprehension, until it bursts. 

“Where is she?” Upon entering, a woman of stocky stature asked, repeated herself importunately, and sighed in frustration as she realized no one was there. She heaved herself down on the chair closest to the entrance, impatiently tapping her feet on the freshly polished white tiles. 

She whipped out her phone, dialing the only number saved in the contacts; after three impatient yet determined rings, a man picked up on the other side. 

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? Why is there no one here? What is happening?” The words came clambering out of her mouth, uncontrollable, and she could feel the embarrassment as she kept on bombarding, antagonizing; she couldn’t stop.

“Please. Just leave us alone.” The man responded tersely; in stark contrast with her abrasive tone, it almost seemed like he was mocking her.

"I told you,” As if catching her breath, she exhaled dramatically while struggling to remain calm. “I will take care of her. She is mine. You know that. You’re not a monster, are you?” She could feel tears welling up, like tumultuous tides of the ocean, any second now, ready to swallow and destroy. 

“Did you send her away?” Her voice was now trembling. 

“Yes, to someone I trust.” His tone remained stolid, unconcerned, void of emotion; through years of practice, one could become crafty in any certain skill.

“You’re a monster. How could you?” The tides are all out in force, the room was now filled with excruciating shrieks and pitiful wailing; pathetic snivels turned into aggravating screams, back and forth, relentless. 

“All right, you can scream and whine all you want, Mother. Just don’t call me, or Sandra, again.” Swiftly the woman was met with silence, even more deafening than her entire fiasco of a performance. Oh, what has become of me, she thought to herself. What has become of this family? 

Determination. That’s what defined the woman. She thought about her own mother; how she always said being determined is halfway to becoming successful, mostly in securing a husband that would provide and rarely complain. See how that worked out for me, Mother.

The need to find her is becoming incessantly unbearable. She felt hot needles inside her stomach whenever she lied down; ants crawling up her legs whenever she tried to sit still. There’s something so abhorrently wrong; she could feel it deep inside. 

“Please God, give me a direction. What do I do now? I can’t just give up.” She looked up into the ceiling, anticipating a sign. Something. Anything. The light was unapologetic, daring, as if to say What will you do? Perhaps that was a sign from God, or just her own delusion. She had been called that before, on numerous occasions. You are delusional. Said with disdain, contempt, like they didn’t even deign to speak to you; like they were doing you a favor by insulting you.

I have to get her back. All those nights of tossing and turning, with a huge content grin on her face, picturing herself holding her, what would her name be? Amara? Something that starts with an A for sure. I have to get her back. She is mine, and she would be nothing without me; lost and unhappy. The thought alone drove her up the wall. She could not bear it, so much so that her heart started to ache, like wringing a dish cloth dry. Only it wasn’t water wrung out, it was her life, her heart, her soul.

She stumbled out of the cold-hearted room, into the open hallway. The air was poisonous, she was almost convinced. At the front desk a young man looked to be in his early 20’s stood inconspicuously, devoid of energy, slouched, innocent, naïve. Words always came flooding into her mind upon seeing people. 

“Tell me,” Startled, he turned wide eyed. He looked frightened like a deer in headlight. “Have you records of a woman named Sandra Han? I believe she was here today, or supposed to be.”

“And who are you?” His eyes started darting around. 

“I’m… her Mother.” Technically that wasn’t a lie. She was her Mother, a byproduct.

“Huh,” He seemed unconvinced but not motivated enough to contest. With a few clicks on the mouse, he looked even more confused. “We don’t have records of someone in this name.”

“Impossible. She had a baby here, didn’t she?” This is the hospital he gave her; she was certain of it. The name and address had been branded into her mind. She even dreamed of it. 

“Not that I know of.” He shrugged nonchalantly. Why are people always so unfocused, unbothered, undetermined? She was in disbelief.

She called him again. This time he only picked up because he couldn’t withstand the rings. He could’ve muted the phone, or declined the call, but he didn’t. He was compelled to answer. 

“She’s never been here.” Before he could mutter a word, she blurted out. It’s always been this way.

“Why do you care?”

“Because it’s my granddaughter we’re talking about. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well,” A pause. Silence that entails something more. Something catastrophic.

“What?” Her voice was becoming shaky and shrill.

“You are sick, Mother.” For the first time he had a quiver in his voice, resembling a trace of sentiment. What is it? Pity? Sadness? Frustration?

“Stop saying that.” She cried, sniveled. “Please just tell me where she is.” 

“I’ll come pick you up, Mother.” He let out a sigh of defeat. “Stay where you are.”

Suddenly she felt weak, powerless. Swimming in her head were voices coming from all sorts of places; people she didn’t even recognize. Her Mother was there, glaring at her with those sharp, unforgiving eyes. You are a disappointment. She scoffed. Elusive, aloof, disapproving. A canvas of darkness promptly enveloped her; she was floating, as if gravity had been pulled away from earth. Fluffy, that’s how she felt. Like marshmallow.

As soon as she awakened, the fluorescent light overhead forcefully pierced through her eyelids. She half-heartedly covered her eyes. She felt her brains were mushy as if they were wooden furniture being varnished, flattened, brightened to appear more cheerful. More amicable. More inviting. She didn’t feel like herself. She couldn’t think, or feel anything for that matter.

“Mother,” He entered the room. “How are you feeling?” He looked exhausted; masked as usual. Brows furrowed, there were noticeably more lines on his face

“What happened?” She asked wistfully. “Where is she?”

“It’s time, Mother.” He averted her pleading gaze. “It’s time to go.”

“Let me see her. I want to see her.”

“Please, I cannot take this anymore.”

“Where is she?”

“Do you remember what you did to our son?”

“You never had a son.”

“You killed him.” He started shaking. His face grimaced into a wrinkled paper. His defense was crumbling at this moment. “You

were feeding our son water. You insisted it was good for him.”

“Oh yes, babies need to be hydrated. Water is good for all of us.” She didn’t understand. 

“You killed our fucking son. You killed Jacob. You are a delusional, evil woman. I wish you would just die.” 

“Please, Aron, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I would never forgive you. And you’ll never be able to see our daughter, ever.” His voice was coarse, teeth clenched. He hated this woman, his own Mother.

“Stop being dramatic.” She laughed nervously. “Stop making up stories. You’ve always been the imaginative type.”

He shifted his eyes, now fixated on his Mother’s old sinewy face. Colorless, pale, lifeless almost. He felt the urge to strangle her right then and there.

Her Mother was standing next to him, akimbo, with that slanted smile on her face. Disappointment. You are not a determined woman. She would always say to her. 

I am, Mother, I am. I know what I want, and I’ll do anything to protect it. Protect her. 

“You should get some rest.” He said, coldly. “And I’ve already set up an appointment with the sanatorium. With your record, we’ll probably be able to secure a spot fairly quickly.” 

“I don’t want to go to such a place. It’s for crazy useless people.” She scoffed.

“You’re going. End of discussion.” He turned around to leave. The sight of her was starting to make him nauseous.

“Stay, please.” She realized petulance didn’t seem to soften his attitude. “I just want to talk, about you, about her. How have you been?”

“I’m not in the mood for talking. I’ve got nothing to say to you, Mother.”

“Please.” She pleaded, hanging onto her last thread of hope.

“Goodbye, Mother.” He turned around and walked out the room, stiffly but with determination.

Hope, it’s the most dangerous emotion. It makes people weak-minded, undetermined, frivolous. Her son, at that moment, was hopeless, but determined. His hope had gradually withered away throughout these years.

She lied defeated on the hospital bed. The air still smelled poisonous. It felt like it was seeping into her pores. Is this what it feels like to be dying? She thought to herself. Her Mother would disapprove of that, dying. Dying is for the weak, she would say.

Her Mother stood at the bedside overlooking, casting her shadow on her small frail body. Once she felt cared for, as a child should be; she had been shorn of that motherly love herself. She could only feel pain, a soreness that never went away, all over her body. And she wished she would just drift away, without thoughts and feelings, just drifting, along the roads, the rivers; gravid smell of earth and flowers enveloped her. She wished she could just be nothing. She could be without a Mother, or not be one herself. 

Mother. She uttered at last as she closed her eyes, never to be woken again.