Lament

I woke up amid the night to sorrowful cries from the room next to mine. It was Mother's room. At the age of twelve, I had now become accustomed to Mother's insatiable late-night torments. In standard procedure, I simply rolled over and tried to wander back into dream. However, on this particular evening, Mother's cries seemed peculiarly unsettling, and were anguishing my realm of compassion more than usual, burning a vigil within my conscience.1

Glass shattered in Mother's room, so I ventured out of bed to pursue the ephemeral clatter. I cracked her door open a minute fraction of a degree, so as not to allow too much light into the room. The smell of alcohol had consumed the atmosphere, reaching well outside the door. I couldn't tell if the stench was from a bottle of spilled rum, or from Mother's own inebriation. The only certainty was the rank odor was dense enough to sting my nostrils and irritate my lachrymal enough to water my vision.2

Once the door was wide enough to peer through, I found Mother hunched over, grieving intensely. The crescendo of each wail pierced through my ears and went beyond the senses of my mind to scathe my very heart. Immediately, I could sense this night was not going to follow the patterns of previous ones.3

Widening the door just enough to peek the rest of my face through the crack, I saw the empty pill bottles on the floor. Just then, a writhing sensation of ambivalence had conjured itself up within my chest and swelled immensely to cease my trepidation of the moment and impulsively surface my most-anxious instinct. I opened the door and hastily entered the room.4

"Moth-Mo-Mother?... Are you okay?" my voice quivered, apprehensively.5

Without a word, she slowly began to turn towards me in a sluggishly struggled manner. My eyes first laid sight upon the broken bottle in her hand and the blood falling from her arm, then commensurately locked themselves within Mother's mournful gaze. Upon contact, I became bombarded with her every frustration and superfluous burden. The tears hit me so hard, my heart and mind both imploded. I saw a reflection of myself shatter into shards and splinters, then explode into tiny grains of silvery dust. I watched my very sameness disappear. I felt my whole universe shift. I witnessed my identity fracture and split my mind. I exploded.6

"Mother!! What are you doing?!" I lunged forward to seize the bottle from her hand, and she quickly snapped, focusing the broken bottle on me.7

"Get the fuck away from me, you ungrateful little shit!" I couldn't believe my senses. I felt so deceived by the betrayal in those words.8

Acutely bemused, I stood there crying like a naive idiot. Then Mother allayed her hostility and held my face with her bloodied hand.9

"I'm sorry, sweetheart... You know Mommy loves you, right?" I just stood there, blubbering. The tears were pouring out from my eyes like a rapid river as I stared into hers. Mother's eyes appeared genuinely sincere, with allusions of sorrow.10

"And you love Mommy, don't you?" I couldn't speak. I was paralyzed. My young-boy-self was too frail and stupid to even utter the slightest incoherent murmur. I couldn't even move. The warm blood in the hand that held my face was like the adhesive used on those sheets to trap mice and other household nuisances. I couldn't even writhe my mouth for a plea. I just screamed senselessly in my head and watched the echoes bounce around in my absent chambers.11

"Well, Mommy needs some rest, sweetheart... Mommy's been tired for quite a while, and it's getting really hard for her to stay awake... Do you understand? Will you let Mommy go to bed, now?... I just... need... some.... rest..." Mother fell backwards onto her bed, and the bottle fell to the floor and shattered.12

Just as I felt the glass shrapnel puncture my bare shins, I screamed. I screamed. I cried loud enough to wake up Big Brother. He ran upstairs to Mother's room and paused in the doorway. I was too busy wailing to turn around and see his initial reaction to the macabre nightmare displayed within the narrow view of Mother's doorway.13

Big Brother quickly called 911, and the ambulance barely arrived in time to save Mother's human-being. She spent a while in the hospital and Big Brother took care of me until she returned, but she never came home. Mother never came home, because she never even made it into the back of that ambulance. Mother died when she collapsed onto her bed. Mother died when the cold stench of the room turned the texture of her blood on my face from warm and sticky, to dry and scabby. Mother died when the crash of the bottle pulled me out of bed. Mother died when I woke up that night. She is but a shell of what she used to be. Sure, others may seem her as fine. Most of the world is completely unaware of her departure. Everybody thinks Mother is still there, but I see it. She's gone. Big Brother feels it. I had to watch it. I had to witness. The question of, "Why?" still screams through my mind. It's been echoing for years. Keeping me awake. I still can't comprehend why she did it.14

Mother once fought for me when my teacher hit me in grade school. Sure, she dropped the charges when the crooked-ass school board threatened to pull strings with Child Protective Services, but I forgave her for that. I understand why she stopped fighting, then. She didn't want to lose me trying to fight a bunch of crooks. I didn't want to lose her, either. But, I still don't understand why she gave up fighting the evening of that nightmare. She's just a shell, these days. Empty. Languid. Inhuman. I miss Mother so much. Big Brother misses her, too. But, we can never forgive her for leaving us that night. Never. If Mother's eyes have even the most subtle fragment of Life in them ever again, I will stare into them with the same inadequate sincerity that she gazed into mine, and tell her how much I hate her for abandoning us that evening. I will tell her how much I hate her for waking me up that night, and never letting me fall back into dream... I'm growing tired.