Chapter 14
1010 Words
Push me to the floor…🎶
Don’t give up until I’m begging you for more…🎶
I’ll be thinking of the time…🎶
I felt inspired…🎶
I don’t know how many times I’ve snoozed the alarm.
The Parlotones have been on repeat since 6 a.m. It’s now 8 a.m. My mom gave up on me at 7 a.m. She should’ve known that it was a losing battle. She knows better, I don’t even know why she tries.
Inspired.
That’s the only part of the song that inspires me.
It’s quite ironic given the fact that I’ve renounced painting. But the urges are still there. My hands are itching for the paintbrushes and my body yearns for the paint. My nostrils miss the scent and my eyes are in need of a canvas. My brain cells want to paint, but me? I want to lay here in bed just like the lead singer when he’s being pushed to the floor.
However, he still sings nonetheless. That’s because he is still alive. His brain is still functional. That’s why I also want to paint. It’s been encoded in my DNA and as long as my brain is wide awake , that’s what I’ll do.
What I need right now is for my brain to be quiet. I need to shut it down. I don’t want to see, hear, taste, touch and most importantly, I don’t want to feel. Feelings cloud my judgement.
I’m always overthinking. I just want everything to be quiet.
I fail.
By the end of the day I have painted myself. My hands have been moving as quickly as my mind approves. Everything moving with the same rhythm.
The Parlotones on repeat.
The result is a huge mural painting and I’m the subject. Lying on the seabed as if I’ve been pushed to the floor.
Blue all around me.
My face impassive. My eyes lifeless. I have done it. I have shut down my brain and yet the sea, it calls out to me. I can see it. I can hear it. I can smell it, and I can feel it. It’s inside of my head and yet I feel like it’s all around me. I have no way of escaping it. It’s going to drown me if I stay.
***
I’m cold.
I’m cold.
I’m cold.
“I know honey. But I’ll get you all warmed up very soon. I just need to turn on the AC.”
I look at my mother as if she’s a ghost. Well she kind of feels like one.
She only materialised before my eyes when she spoke and everything else followed thereafter.
It is only now that I realise that my hair is damp and I’m covered with a huge blanket whilst sitting on the couch. SpongeBob is being goofy on the television.
“Baby…” She says whilst sitting next to me. “…you know I respect your art and your whole process but a cold shower after turning off the AC isn’t the way to go?”
I’m still in shock and feeling quite cold.
“So what is the way to go then?” My words aren’t as sharp as I intended them to be as I’m shaking quite vigorously and my teeth are chattering.
“I don’t know but that’s one way to freeze to death.”
I can feel her hand, through the thick blanket as she caresses my back.
“Maybe that’s what I deserve.” I smile at her. It’s a wry smile.
“No. You don’t deserve that.”
“Oh come on mom. We both know you wish it was me instead of him.”
“That’s not true.” Her hand freezes on my back.
“What is true then?”
“He was strangled by the umbilical cord, not you.”
“Whose umbilical cord?”
“Yours.”
Silence.
“But I do not blame you.” She adds on after a while.
“You can lie to me ma, but you can’t lie to yourself.”
“I was angry. Yes but I wanted the both of you to survive…”
“But you got served the bad egg instead.”
“It’s not like that…”
“How is it like then, mother?” I’m warmer now but I’m still dishevelled.
“Yeah, maybe I do think that Michael would’ve handled the situation better…”
“Better?!” I’m unable to let her finish.
“All of you make these decisions on my behalf and I’m expect to react ‘better’. There’s nothing better. It just gets worse than it was before. It always feels like I shouldn’t get comfortable. With friends and people in general. I don’t know how to trust. I don’t know who to trust. It’s all too much.”
A pause.
“I. I didn’t know. I didn’t know you felt like that. I’m sorry.”
“How could you know mom? You live in a bubble where everything is about you. Even Dad is building a relationship with me for you. To make you feel better about being a horrible parent.”
A pause.
Then realisation.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a bad parent. You feed me. You keep me warm and clothed. I have a roof over my head and that’s so much more than a lot of people have. You have your short comings, yes, but that doesn’t make you entirely bad. I’m sorry.”
We’re both shocked by my apology. We both don’t know what to do or what to say so we both lean in for a hug. We fall asleep in each other’s arms which is something we haven’t done in a while.
It’s something we haven’t done in forever actually. We’re both quite warm and neither one is eager to let go. The warmth is comforting. It’s calm and my mind is quiet. The warmth is a beacon of hope but as we all know hope is quite capable of both, killing and keeping one alive.
- Writer
