- Prologue -
“Mum!” I call from my bedroom.
“Son!” She answers back.
I snort in amusement while I roll my covers off and get out of my bed. I admire the view outside my bedroom window. The vineyard my family has owned ever since I can remember stretches for hundreds of metres down in what I like to call my backyard. Mum always says how lucky we are to have a ‘backyard’ the size of ours, as in 2025, most people live in 50-storey buildings with a flat the size of my room. The grape vines litter our acreage, and I remember, that once I was foolish enough to try and count how many there were.
“Do we have to go into town today, again?”
“Yes sweetheart. I’m sorry, but I can’t let the family starve can I?”
“We can eat the grap-“
“No.”
I hate going into town, and Mum knows it, but she insists that I come with her anyway. I take one last look out the window then walk downstairs, toward the smell of food. I meet Mum in the kitchen.
“Why can’t I stay home?” I ask. “By myself?”
The floorboards are cold, but the air is warm. I walk over to the table and pull out a chair for myself.
“Because-“
“Because you don’t trust me?” I raise my voice a little, and realise I was a bit too harsh.
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed …” She mumbles.
I feel bad, but can’t help feeling frustrated. Mum loves me and I know it, but I am old enough for some responsibility. She’s much too protective of me, as if she’s lost someone and never wants to experience the loss again. In my eyes, she’s just a born pessimist, but there must be a reason for her behaviour!
I then sincerely look her in the eye and whisper, quietly,
“You trust me, right?”
Mum is lost for words. She just looks at the ground, then guiltily looks up. She looks as if she has stolen a biscuit and is now being interrogated.
“I do … ” She says weakly. “I do but … but I just-”
“But you don’t.” I state.
“No!” She says. “No, I just … just don’t want anything to happen to you. I love you more than you could ever imagine. You’re my only child and I’ve had to raise you alone.” She looks at me, her eyes pleading innocence, but I just ignore it, turn my back and start to walk upstairs. I glance back bitterly.
“That’s what you always say.”
I continue walking up the stairs, my feet slightly gripping to the varnished wood. I take one step at a time and ignore my mother’s pleas to come back and join her for breakfast. Not only is my appetite gone, but I want a break from Mum. The smell of food no longer is tempting, but seems to ward me off. I drag my feet up the rest of the stairs and straight toward where my day began. I reach my bed and lazily jump onto it. I roll onto my belly then stare into my pillow, thinking. Just thinking.
When Mum finally coaxes me off my bed, into some clothes and out the door, it’s noon. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, there is not a cloud in the sky but nothing can heal my mental state. My mood hasn’t changed fractionally, still frustrated, still dreading going into town. I think about why I am dreading going into town so much.
