Time is All

Her entire body was contorted in pain... her insides churned and her head throbbed. Her skin was descending into descending into absolute ugliness and despair; so thick, so waxy, so prone to wounds, she could barely do anything anymore. It itched and itched and itched, but she'd wound herself if she scratched it at all.

"Mum, here's your buttermilk," came a deep but innocent voice from the door of her room as a tall, fit young boy walked in, a faltering smile slapped onto his face but genuine eyes full of love and care looked at the woman in question. His brown hair was parted neatly to one side, although its messy edges along with his tired cheeks gave him a dull look, his figure was straight, but there was something afraid about his fingers that grasped the transparent, tall glass.

The boy walked over to his mother, handing the glass gently into her frail, thin hands. She sat up straight, a strong heat surrounding her body that threatened to practically burn her skin. Her brown eyes were sunken and her wrinkled face shivered with effort as they kept up her cheery facade. Yet, the boy received the warmest smile possible from her, smiling stronger than the evening sun that carefully entered the room through the wide window, casting a shadow of light across her face.

"Oooh, it's got some foam! Mhmm, this is good," she said as she took the smallest sip possible, swallowing paining her throat, but her sincere enjoyment brought the boy some comfort.

"You know, if nothing else works, you could open up a drinks stall. All the healthy stuff," She joked, wearing a lopsided grin, earning a chuckled from her soon who also shook his head at her childish behaviour.

"How was college?"

"You know, the usual," he began, "lectures and discussions and so many notes, god. Philosophy is such a huge subject. Then there's also computer science; we're finally moving beyond the basics. We're starting neuronal dynamics! So good. There's a lot of scope for collaboration between it and philosophy.

"The band is great, though. Our bassist and drummer can sometimes rock out for hours, they've got great skills and they're both economics majors. They always invite me to join them but I fall back, although they start teaching me - and argue with each other about what riff or variation will sound better, what weirdos - but yeah, it's great. Our keyboardist is an actual pianist though, so she's obviously great. I mean really great, such great control and articulation and her improvisation is also good and she can play in some infinite styles - oh yikes, I'm rambling."

He blushed as soon as his mother started laughing, the sound light and soft as it couldn't exert too much, but it always brought him immense joy.

"I know, this is just everyday stuff, but what's new?"

He fell into deep thought as he pondered and sat on the bed by his mother's side, a different, shimmering light reflecting in his brown eyes.

"Oh yes! We started Sartre's theory of existentialism, it's very interesting, and it makes one feel independent and responsible. In both comforting and unsettling ways, I guess..."

A glow surrounded the woman's face as she listened with deep interest to her son, remembering her own days of learning, proud of her son's understanding. Generally she would discuss, but that day, she was happy and content in solely listening to him.

She put the empty glass on the bedside table, sighing.

"Remember when you said you will never take up philosophy because I took it?"

The boy wore a shy smile when asked that question, and his mother smirked, causing shoulders to slouch in an awkward fashion and his eyes lowered. He suddenly burst into quiet laughter, and his mother smiled.

"We often end up with the things and qualities we run away from. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, is it? I think it depends on what you're running from and how you are, as an individual."

The boy pursed his lips, nodding slowly. He could still feel the excitement and intrigue as he attended that day's lecture, even remembering the time his mother introduced him to the topic years ago, albeit in layman's terms.

"Yeah."

The boy reached for the bedside drawer, opening it to pull out a strip of metal. He popped the medicine and put it on his mother's outstretched palm, then handing her a glass of water. A look of distaste crossed her eyes as she swallowed it with the help of water, though it disappeared soon after.

The two shared bright smiles and delved into hearty conversations again. He no doubt missed the time when she could still discuss these topics with him, but he was happy to know that she was there to listen, at least.

Not long now, she thought, feeling guilty about being as weak as she was. It'll come soon. Then we'll both be free. We'll be free to explore again.

It'll come soon enough.

- - - - -

"Oi you klutz! Don't drop that glass, you'll hurt yourself," the woman said in a caring tone as she attempted to reach for her son who almost tripped over, shaking her head, but her body resisted her efforts. Her eyes gleamed with delight as he handed over the white drink to her, and she took a small sip to let the taste settle in.

An unfamiliar excitement shook the boy and he sat patiently, looking at his mother with wide eyes. She frowned with a confused smile, but also wore an intrigued expression.

"Hm hm, what's going on?"

"Our band got a gig! It's an outdoor café with a very neat sit-out that centres around the performers for those who want to listen! I think we'll play for an hour in the evening, this Saturday. That's only five days away! We're actually going to try playing indie folk music along with soft rock, so our bassist will keep switching with the bass and the guitar. That should be fun."

His mother smiled at his ebullient energy as he went on to describe their program. It was yet another thing he took after her - music, that is - although she used to play western classical music on the piano. She dearly missed the thrill, adventure and overwhelming emotions that came with playing the instrument, but she was long past it all. It was okay.

Time took everything away, just as it once brought them

"You will be able to come, won't you? I'll take you, of course. We'll be very careful."

His mother blinked, hesitant, afraid to disappoint him. She glanced at her weakened hand, almost trembling, but a surge of determination overcame her. It was coming soon, anyway, so she could do all that she wanted to do.

"I'd never miss it."

He smiled, and so did she.

- - - - -

"Hello mum. Do you think you can sit up?"

His mother lay on the bed, frail and motionless, her eyes open but as dull as possible. Somehow, as she whimpered, she sat up. Her gaze seemed to peer beyond the veil of reality as she drank the white liquid weakly and as quick as possible.

He wished he could suspend her in air, keeping her away from any physical contact and let her be free. No, he wished he could take her awful disease and make her true free, but it was then that he realised that no living thing could be free.

We are bound by nature.

"Would you like to listen to me read Being and Nothingness? You always love to ponder on the matters discussed in it, don't you?"

She was in absolutely no state to listen, to do anything. Still, he continued.

Nothingness... what a concept. How can there be something out of nothing? What did it mean to be, to exist? The words he read barely registered in his mind, now, and perhaps did not reach his mother either. Words in the atmosphere, somewhere unconsciously instilling thoughts.

He wondered how - why - his mother chose to live like this, but he admired her courage and strength. Only a little while till it would come, anyway. Then she'd finally be free of all the pain, the disabilities.

As the third chapter came to a close, he decided it was time for something different. Something for absolute comfort rather than thoughts. He stood up silently, going to his room, returning with a polished black instrument adorned with golden-coloured strings. He plucked them to check the tuning, satisfied to see them in good shape.

A gentle sound filled the atmosphere. Simple fingering. Simple finger style pattern. Simple plucking. Simple chords. But they brought a smile on his mother's face, however small, and that was enough for him.

- - - - - 

He glanced through the half-open door, his heart swelling with guilt and sorrow at the trembling fingers resting atop his mother's chest. She could breathe only with difficulty, she was in the most acute pain possible... but she wore no expression on her face. A peace that came with concentrating on the bigger things, perhaps.

Nevertheless, the boy knew it was coming. Not long, now.

He entered the room silently, sitting by his mother's side in that odd, horrible, scary and bitter atmosphere... full of meaning. His mind became the fundamental of chaos, he wished he could cry and stay by his mother's side until the end of his time and just be, he only concentrated on her...

And forty minutes had passed and she went, just like that. And it felt like... nothing.

He wished he could just wait forever.

- - - - -

Where did she go? Where did she go?

A month had passed, but the boy simply couldn’t figure it out. Was she in some heaven? In some... hell? Of course not, that was impossible. Did her soul join some almighty being? Was she roaming the cosmos like a free soul, learning the secrets of the universe? She'd quite like that, wouldn't she? She probably didn't have any likes or dislikes anymore, though. Would she even remember her? Did something like a soul even exist?

Or perhaps... was she around him? He wanted to look for her so badly, but for the time being, he had to focus on his life. And he would look for her... in his own way.

He sat in the wooden chair, the cushion beneath him bringing him immediate comfort as the boy sighed. The glass of buttermilk was cold in his hand, cold with bereavement, nostalgia and... melancholy. He stared at the thin layer of foam resting on the top of the drink and a small smile came to his face.

He stared at the empty chair across him, the light in his eyes falling, although something new shone as he stared at the book sitting on the round, glass table. He picked up the black book, its smooth cover bringing him some peace amidst the chaos of cognition, its slightly broken spine reminding him of the smile of the woman who sat across him, reading her book in the kindest voice, explaining her thoughts with great passion, listening to his own with deep intrigue and even... pride.

The soft rustle of a page reverberated around his calm atmosphere, the page wrinkled with signs of age, but its words were as bright as ever. Perhaps even more so.

To my son: my light, my life, my peace.

Always remember that no matter where I am, you are always with me, and I am always with you.

Of course, thought the man, a small smile coming to his face as he closed his eyes and leaned on his chair. The gentle breeze played with his air while another sip of his drink ignited far, but precious memories.

Hello, mum. I can't wait until we meet again.