It Began at the Ocean

IBATO - part 1

"Could you pass me the salt, please." My mother asks, an underlying anger in her tone. I could tell she was still angry with me.

Passing her the salt, I tried to hold eye contact with her, but to no avail. She wouldn't even look me in the eyes.

"Mom," Silence filled the air, a tension that was so thick you could take a pair of kiddy scissors and cut it on the first try. "Mom. Mom, would you please listen to me? You're being childish."

"Childish? The only one here being childish is you."

"Oh, mama. Please. Its not like I'm going to be gone forever. Dad insists that I go to his wedding, and i figure I might as well give him that much so he quits bothering me. You want him to quit bothering me, dont you?"

I look at her doing her best to not look at me. She's hurt. I can tell because of the way she touches her collarbones every now and then. She's always done that when she was hurt, ever since I was little and she will probably do it until the end of her time.

I stand to gather our plates and go to wash them in the kitchen. She didn't even eat the chicken that she needed the salt from me. But today was a good day, food wise. She ate all of her green beans and even a full biscuit. Though, I would've liked her to eat at least a fraction of her chicken, Im glad she ate something. She doesn't always let herself give in like that. Anorexia usually isn't so lenient to the anxieties.

I come back after putting our dishes in the sink and find her still in her chair, touching her collarbones. I sit down and look at her, resting me head on my chin, only to find a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"Oh, mama. Please dont cry." Getting up and hugging her from behind, I hold back my tears. Being the rock of the family isn't always so easy. Sometimes I want to cry, but I know I can't. Taking care of my mom is first priority, and that means her having someone emotionally stable around. I have to be that person.

That is until I leave for my fathers wedding.

She stands up and holds me back, crying and shaking. I try not to hold her too tight, the fear of hurting her frail body is too overwhelming. But that doesn't stop her from holding me as tight as she possibly can.

"I just dont want him to hurt you like he did before. He was so awful and I had no idea, baby. Im not as angry as I am afraid," My mom whispers, breaking the hug to hold my face. "I love you too much to see you get hurt like you were hurt by that man before. You dont need to go, sweetheart. No matter how much he claims to be sober, you dont need to go. Don't let him pressure you into this."

"Ill be fine, mama," I grasp her hands that are holding my face. "No need to worry about me. Just worry about your recovery. Thats all that matters."

"I will always worry, love. No matter how sick I am, you will always be first priority. "

I look at her, needing to say "It shouldn't be that way." But instead I clean up her ted stained face and ask if she took her meds.

"No, not quite. Ive forgotten again."

"Alright, I'll be back."

I go into the kitchen and quickly go through the medicine cabinet, searching for the little see-through yellow bottle labeled Sarafem. I quickly take two out and get a glass of water (though with a hint of lemon juice in it, mom could never stand the taste of plain water) and find her in her bed, on the pullout living room couch (she sleeps there because it quickly became hard for her to get up the stairs, and so we had to resort to the couch.)

"You're too good for me," she stated, taking her pills and drinking her water.

"No, no. You're too good for me," I gave her a kiss on the forehead and turned off the light. "Sweet dreams, mama."

"Sweet dreams, my love."