Metanoia

Chapter Three

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My concentration was riveted on the blank paperwork that I hadn't filled out in the three hours that I had promised. Instead, I sat here, pencil constantly tapping across my lip. With my laptop on the left, documents on the right, and too many things to accomplish, tiredness creeped up on me gradually but steadily.

"Baby. It's 2 in the morning. What are you doing?"  

My mother's voice from the doorway startled me. The pencil rolled between my teeth as I turned in my seat. Her arms were crossed on her chest while she leaned against the doorway. 

"I'm studying, sort of." My mother's gaze was burning on me, as if she was attempting to brand the skin there.

Mom sighed, "Sweetie." Her tone is gentle and loving. It was difficult to overlook the tiny worry beneath her tone.

"Ma, I have— "  

"Bed in five," Mom softly demanded.

I sucked in my breath as I felt the weight of my observers' gaze. I wiped my face with my hands, taking a deep breath and then huffing. I leaned back, opened my sleepy eyes to see mom standing over me. Her long, black hair brushed against my cheeks as her lips touched me on the forehead.

"You need to stop overworking yourself. You've been awake since Thursday." Mom squished my cheeks together with her warm hands while she giggled. Her hands were warm, and the aroma of the warm vanilla hand wash from Bath & Body Works lingered on them.

It was Saturday morning, I remember. Staying awake two days in a row was nothing compared to staying up for a week on coffee alone. My body feels like a horse chose to lie down on me. My head ached on the right side, which is normally where my headaches begin. Eating wasn't important to me, but I knew my mother would be concerned if I told her I hadn't eaten anything since 12 a.m. the day before. Sigh. Gotta love life.

Knowing that my mom was correct, I rose up and stretched my arms wide. My back popped, and I groaned.  "Come on baby doll," Mom said as she exited the kitchen. I followed her because I was apologetic. I dragged my feet on the wooden floor of our modest flat. Carpet was the best buddy I ever had. I used to rub my socks against the carpet before putting them on my hair to make it stick up. As I went beneath the air conditioner, I was oblivious that it was on, and my skin pricked up with chills.

"Can I sleep in your bedroom?" I asked. Mom rolled her eyes and then turned her head. She entered her bedroom without saying anything and without closing the door. I seized the opportunity to hurry into her room and collapse upon her California king-sized bed. Mom had the most comfortable bed in the house.

I dreaded sleeping alone on days like this. After dad departed, I would remain up all night until mom got home from work; melatonin helped me sleep. That was after Mom sneaked it into my drink at dinner. I was so exhausted one day that I fell asleep on the tablecloth and woke up with the pattern on my face.

"Don't you dare hog it either, young lady, you have work in the morning," Mom admonished as she slid beneath the massive pink blanket. I buried my face in the cloud-like cushion, smelling her vanilla infused case. I hid my face in one of her pillows and held it. My nostrils were filled with the vanilla-scented perfume that my mother normally wore.

"The clinic is closed today; I don't have to work until 3:30," I mumble into my pillow.  My mom was resting on her side, her back to me, when I lifted my face out of the comforter. I slid closer to her, my forehead pressing against her back and my legs settling in behind hers, like if I were a small girl again.