I will never forget the tears Sarah shed during my funeral ceremony. Her howls almost made my heart beat again, although I was hoping not to. I could easily recognize her voice as there were not many. I could see nothing, yet I religiously listened to everything. I managed to guess all what was happening around my wooden coffin, which I found more comfortable than the bed I spent my last twenty years laying on. My senses were working more than ever, I could hear the rain falling on the umbrellas, the wind blowing on the trees, the water streaming with a disturbing noise, I could even identify the whispers. From a distance, I heard footsteps approaching me. They were not his, he is much more heavy-footed than that. Some hands lifted my casket, and were taking me somewhere. They were not his hands; he is much gentler than that. The hands finally put me down. I suddenly felt a shiver travelling my whole body. My cold veins got intensely colder. My dead hands started shaking. My bitter skin had goosebumps. The place felt deep, dark, and tight. A tear fell from my eye, but I did not want to lose hope. I know he is going to come.
I no longer had teeth, I no longer heard, I no longer watched tv, I no longer talked. I had not eaten for a year, I could not, not even water. I suffocated from breathing, food or liquid would have taken me directly to grave. I was fed by tubes, and Sarah would put flavors in my
mouth, perhaps to remind me that I was still alive. Was I though? I was neither completely alive, nor completely dead. The world had given up on me twenty years ago and clearly showed me how unwanted I was, yet it did not want to let me go. He was my whole world, he left me alone, old, weak, and sad. The same way his dad left me when I just had him.
While the others would be playing cards or reminiscing on old memories outside, I stayed in my bed, watching from the window the birds flying in a V shape, the clouds forming animal figures, the trees dancing on the evening breeze rhythm. This window with the broken glass and the old frame was the only remedy to my escapism, although I would still imagine him sometimes walking, in his plaid red shirt, denim jacket, and his black pants towards the nursing home. Did he still own that shirt? It was my favorite. The cold room constantly reminded me of death, made me obsessed with it. The bed sheets I was using smelled like a rotting flesh. The walls were crème white, almost entirely scratched. They did not have any paintings I could distract myself with, not even a clock. On my left, there was a brown chair that I never used, and a table that was probably as old as I was. Unlike the others, I never received any visitors, not even on Christmas, not even on my birthday, never. I was alone, completely. While bathing me, I could see Sara pitying me and staring at the caesarean scar crossing my belly, and with the compassionate look on her face, and the confusion in her eyes, I knew exactly what she was asking herself. I was asking myself the same questions. For twenty years, I could not find answers. Why did he leave me? What did I possibly do wrong?
I was doing everything to give him the life he deserved. I starved to feed him, I froze to keep him warm, I stayed up all night to make sure he was resting well. I did everything to make ends meet, but we were happy, weren’t we? I was strong back then. I take a trip down memory lane, and I visualize everything so vividly. The joy we felt that day, and the smile on his face. How could I ever forget that? We lived in a small apartment, just the two of us. He
was sitting in the corner of our living room, face buried in a pile of old books. The room was not inviting in the slightest, the silence was deafening. A drab, lusterless grey wallpaper covered the four walls, with a low ceiling conveying our living standards. Thick coats of dust on top of the rickety, third-rate furniture. As you entered the room you could smell the bitter, musky odor of the books, with the dust in the air burning through your nasal cavities. I called his name. As he stood up, the old wood coating the ground made a squeaky noise. He pushed his books to the side and moved towards me through the room. The grin on his face, the oxytocin rushing through my veins, I remember it like yesterday.
I took my right elbow off the grim and dour wall, rubbing off a layer of dust. as I unveiled it. “Happy birthday, my son.”, I whispered weepy. He rushed at the gift and started opening it.
“Oh my god mom, a violin!”, he screamed with a grin on his face.
“And guess what, tomorrow you will be taking your first class”, I said.
He ran towards me and jumped into my arms, screaming that he loved me. I was happy to see that my savings were not gone in vain.
It did not take him too much time to master the instrument. Every time I heard him play, I realized I succeeded in life. With the way he confidently stood in front of the audience, the way he tickled the cords, the way he enchanted us with his melodies, everyone knew what the future held for him. I wanted him to build his career since his young age, there was no way I was going to let him go through what I had to endure my whole life. Every night, we would stay up late for hours after he was done with his school homework to practice. I had to protect his talent; I did not let him do anything that might have harmed him. I even cut his fruits for him. I could not allow him to play outside either. I knew his friends were jealous of him. He did not know. He was too young to know. It was too dangerous. Sometimes, he would cry in
his room as he did not understand. I was protecting him. I was building his future. He did not need other friends; I was his friend.
I could hear the sand being thrown on my coffin, but I still could not hear him yet. Where is he? As the weight on the box kept getting bigger, my hope started getting smaller, until the last drop. I heard the footsteps going away, the sound of the rain on the umbrellas disappeared, an absolute silence suddenly reigned. And after twenty years, those same questions followed me to grave. Am I ever going to rest in peace?
