On typical misty evening tiny droplets of dew began to gather in the creases of the withering plants and in the upper leaves of pine trees all around the small mountain built city of Eidsvåg. Out of any window the spectacular view of the mountainous region was over taken by a thick cloud and thus the only source of direction were shimmering yellow street lights. You could just about make out the rooftops of distant houses. As almost always in Norway it was winter and rain was for most people in the city, a chance to cling to every heating system possible and for a few, a chance to be touched.
On days like this I love to walk in the never ending and moss invaded Forrest that surrounds me. I love it for several reasons a. the weather catches up with my mood, b. it’s cold enough for me to go walking up into the Forrest behind my house and not sweat like a pig and c. the smell of cigarettes tended not to cling to my clothes so that my over protective and obsessive compulsive mother wouldn’t smell the stench of smoke on me and lecture me on how I was bringing myself to an early grave [I should be so lucky]. And so on my arrival home at 5:30pm you can imagine my surprise when my mother takes one look at me and exhales whilst asking:
‘You’ve been smoking haven’t you Aaric?’
It’s not good enough for my mother that she has to name me Aaric which loosely means ‘to rule without mercy’ [which I certainly wouldn’t if I were to rule anything beyond my bedroom doors] but that she constantly has to ask rhetorical questions. It wouldn’t be so bad except that she makes me answer them only to moan that ‘it was a rhetorical question’, as if I hadn’t already gathered. But for her sake I undergo the conversation either way.
‘Aaric, can you at least respond to me when I ask you a question?’
She started to fidget with a hole in her floral knitted jumper as she sat down, still waiting for me to answer her.
‘But it’s rhetorical so there’s no point’
I quickly retorted instantly regretting it and knowing it would lead to her just talking more than usual.
‘Look Aaric, you’re sixteen now, I know you’re going to be experimenting with alcohol, girls possibly boys if that’s the path you choose,’
I exhaled whilst rolling my eyes at her,
‘and of course you’re curious about smoking and it all seems fun at first but it’s not a good habit to keep okay sweetie?’
‘Who smokes thinking it’s a good habit, that’s bullshit Mom. Don’t patronize me.’
‘Aaric, I know you’re going through some rebellious stage and I hate to remind you of this but your father died and the same thing could happen to you too.’
My mother always brings up my father’s death when talking about anything even slightly bad for me and so she attempts to emotionally blackmail me to quit smoking but as expected, there was no convincing me yet. But it still didn’t stop me from having tears in my eyes when she bought up the subject of my late and somewhat great father.
‘Aaric, look maybe bringing up your father’s death was too much but I want you alive and I know these past 7 years have been hard for you but it’s going to be okay, you won’t go back to hospital like before.’
It was exactly at that moment of bringing up the subject that I spent a large majority of my teenage years in a psych ward in hospital that I instinctively got up and headed for my room.
A habit of mine is ignoring any confrontation about my past and for me, approximately 10 months ago is still the past. Let’s say that I ended up in hospital because some bad things happened inside me that made worse things happen outside of me.
YOU ARE READING
The Point Of Life.
Conto"What’s the point in life by the perspective of Alice Hunter."I took in a deep breath and tried to think of what I could say about Alice and as I exhaled I said whatever came to my mind first. "Alice Hunter believes that the point in life is to be...
