ALL THAT WAS LEFT BEHIND

A Cover-Up Kind of Life

The morning awakened a morbid sense into the air. Familiar to the previous night’s but felt tighter, like a chain wrapped around my chest. I yawned and straightened myself up into a sitting position on the couch. I was starting to be quite comfortable with this feeling.

            A faint darkness filled the room, with the lovely rays of light timidly crawling into place. Remains of a dream lingered in my brain, but I couldn’t sort them out. It piqued me that much of it was forgotten, even though heavy assessment wouldn’t be necessary.

            I felt worn out from the constant sleep. It clung to me and dragged me deeper into lethargy. My stomach gurgled in an uncontrollable, demanding manner, and I crawled off the couch to pad into the kitchen for some breakfast.

            There wasn’t any bread in the breadbox and no milk in the fridge either- only a box of stale cereal which was high in fibre, but low in ratings for taste. I supposed that there wasn’t much time for Sherry to go grocery shopping. I decided not to linger on the thought any longer, and launched the hunt for a clean bowl.

            The only program worth watching on the TV that morning was the news. It kept my mind busy. The reporters all seemed so professional, and so serious, even when they were talking about absolutely nothing. That really bothered me. There were actual worldwide issues occurring. Yet they insisted on reporting the details of a celebrity’s life.

            I sighed as I popped another bit of cereal in my mouth and crunched on the hard blandness with my teeth.

            They began to show the horrible catastrophes that were occurring in the local citizen’s lives. You will see small reports such as these many times in your life, but will never truly understand the impact it has. Countless robberies, deaths and incidents have been inflicted on real people out there. It’s so distant to feel their level devastation and concern.

            This morning, some people were discussing a house fire which occurred the other night. As scary as people think that would be they never expect to actually experience it. People just naturally think that they are invincible, or immune to such occurrences.

            Realising this, I felt hot tears springing in my eyes, which blurred my vision. I clicked off the television.

            I sunk into the soft world of the blankets once again. I let myself be possessed by awful sobs. It was all too much to contain.

            My mother was dead.

            I understood that this information was true; although it definitely didn’t feel like it was.

            I continued to expect myself to go home and to find her asleep and in her own little world, but that was now impossible.

 Nothing really mattered any more.       

            I was afraid to wonder where she was just then. Was she with me as a spirit or ghost, haunting that very room? Standing right in front of me? Watching me angrily question the life around me? Who was I to question what was set in stone anyways? I pushed those thoughts from my mind, and squirmed around a bit to find a more comfortable position.

            I heard the bowl I had sitting in my lap crash on the floor. I didn’t bother leaping up to pick up the pieces of cereal scattered on the floor. I began to slowly close my eyes again to the comforting state of unconsciousness. No wonder why my mother escaped here so often. There isn’t any confusion or pain in the depths of sleep- only what is and what isn’t.