Around the Fire

Chapter forty-one

Clink. The sound was acute as the blade hit the ground, spattering droplets of blood. Maybe I shouldn't have hit my mother's hand so harshly but the blade scared me. I wanted it as far away from my mom as possible. Stomping on it, I slid it with all my might out of the room. My mom, on the other hand, had yet to rouse from her frozen state. Her eyes seemed shocked and confused as if she couldn't process the fact that her secret had been unearthed. We both stared for a while, unsure of how to react any further. Then, she collapsed onto the ground and my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. Had she really lost that much blood? She had looked rather pallid when I had forced my way in but not to the point that she would faint. I rushed to where she lay in a heap, landing heavily on my knees. I turned her over, my heart in my throat...

... to discover that she was still conscient. Thank God! She was in tears, only in tears.

I didn't try to do anything about it. I wasn't going to wipe them off and tell her that everything was going to be ok. It would be arrogant of me to even assume that I knew what was ahead anyway. I never understood why society jammed into our heads the idea that crying was bad. On the contrary, everyone knew, deep in their hearts, that it was good to let out your tears, a necessity even. So, I didn't try to stymie my mother's tears. I simply cradled her in my arms and let her weep her sorrow.

Time had been jettisoned from this room from the moment I had knocked the blade out of my mom's grip and she had dissolved into tears. Outside, the seconds would keep on ticking away as people chased after them, but in here, they were impotent. Hence, no time had passed when the well in my mother's eyes had dried up. Lifting her, I set her down on the toilet. I then fetched the necessary to tend to her wounds. Kneeling down, I gently took her hand and brought forth her wrist. The skin I found was pale but completely spotless. I looked up at her, a question in my eyes.

'Higher, love,' she said a little hoarsely.

Nodding gravely, I slowly rolled up her sleeve till the gashy skin was bare. I began to disinfect them, holding the silence. It didn't feel like it was mine to tear apart.

'You must take me for a craven,' she said as I started upon her other arm.

'A craven?' I asked.

'A coward,' she explained.

'Then no, mom. I don't. Why would I even think that?'

'Because it's easier for me to forget than to face my problems.'

'The fact that you cut yourself doesn't make you into a coward. You're just looking for relief, mom, like every other human would when they're in pain.'

'So you condone this?' she asked quizzically.

'Well obviously,' I said, sardonic, as I put a bandage around her arm. 'That's why I slapped the razor blade out of your hand. Seriously though,' I continued, ' there's nothing wrong with trying to put an end to your pain, you just shouldn't do it this way. There are other ways to deal with it all. Talking to me for example. I'm here for you, no matter what.'

Giving me an "it's adorable how optimistic you are" type look, she placed a hand on my face. I stopped my work and looked up at her.

'Mom, I'm not joking around. Look, let me tell you something.'

Here, in this bathroom, unaffected by space and time, it felt right to talk about it.

'So—um—you know, I sort of disappear on Friday nights,' I said awkwardly, unsure of how to begin.

My mom nodded.

'Well, I've been sort of meeting up with a group of complete strangers that I met at the intertown forest cleanup earlier this year. We've been grouping in the forest around a fire that I'm in charge of preparing and we've just been confiding in each other.'

Everything had come out awkwardly.

'Why strangers?' she asked.

'Because they can't do anything with the information. We all took on pseudonyms and we're all from different towns.' I decided that this wasn't the time to mention the whole Ana situation. 'And if we have no issue to submit then we simply mess around for a few hours.'

'Then those are not strangers, love. They're friends.'

I smiled longingly.

'I guess they are,' I said. 'And to those friends, mom, I told the story of our household. About how father treats both of us. I told them about what a prick he is and how much we hate him. It felt really good to tell them. I felt weak and shaky after it but it was a good sensation. So please mom, tell me what's pushing you to this.'

'I don't hate him,' she said.

That didn't surprise me. Deep down, I had known.