“How did it happen mom?” My little voice shivered. Cameron hitting mom with his gold stool was a new thing. Ominous. He’s never let anyone near the stool, not to talk of using it as a weapon. The stool that was worth millions of dollars. The stool where he ate his meals, and placed his gadgets when he was not eating.
“I resumed painting two days ago. I did it secretly because I wanted to ease myself of some anxiety.
So today, I was so imbalanced at work, I had a runny stomach and the migraines were getting intrusive. I had to take some hours off work, and I came home to relax. But surprisingly, I found him home. I was taking off my clothes when he walked into our bedroom
I tried to avoid him because I was not in a good mood. But he forced me, he.. he had his way again even when I told him I was feeling sick. I had actually been planning to tell him I was pregnant, but he ruined it you know.
When he finally freed me, I called him a bastard, and asked him to go to his whores to please himself and not approach me anymore, and that he should never call me his wife. He got angry and threw the stool at me, and It hit my face” she said.
The scene played out in my head as she spoke with a shaky voice, just as it’d play out in your head as you read this too.
I had a lot to say to that but I asked instead, “What did the doctor say?”
“The doctor called it ‘Orbital Fractures’, and that I was lucky it is not that major. He has been attending to me well, and he says I have to come back to the hospital. It will take three weeks at least to heal.”
“Mom, you can take a leave from work too”
“I have to” she said.
I sighed. I stared at the clock. It was past 9pm. I didn’t realize that we had been talking for that long. “You can sleep here, in my room too. At least until you heal, because I know Cameron will probably have a fit.”
“You can sleep here every night, okay?”
She was silent. I looked into her other naked eye. She was already fast asleep.
I gently placed her head on my bed, and spread her legs comfortably. How I wished I had a larger body than she did, and that I was a man. I’d cuddle this woman lovingly and plant a hundred kisses on her lips and forehead. She deserved the world.
“May you find comfort from all your troubles. May you find a man to take good care of you, mom” I prayed as I watched her sleep. She was even too tired to listen to my own story! It wasn’t her fault at all and I’d not wake her up for anything that moment. Besides, I wasn’t ready to tell her about what I experienced in the room where I was placed.
Not the kidnap. The experience in the room with the tall figure. Even then that I looked at her sleeping body, I knew it’d take me a million years to get over the memory, and a trillion to talk to anyone about it.
Even now, it only lives in my diary. And we haven’t opened to the page yet.
That night, I thought about the baby growing inside mom’s stomach. I was happy I was going to have a sibling but my fear superseded my happiness. I didn’t want him or her to be born in this monster’s house. I was particularly concerned about mom. I hoped sincerely that moment that she’d not miscarry that baby.
The other day, he had punched her so much that she lost so much blood, and the baby. It was painful. The baby was a boy, because I heard mom cry, “my baby boy, oh my baby boy” . That was her third miscarriage. The first happened when I was four. I didn’t know she had been pregnant until she returned from the hospital, looking so sad and dejected. I remember asking her what was wrong but she would not say anything. She guarded me like a little treasure and told me a lot of happy stories. She was always trying her best to be a good mom.
But she had been really depressed. She would talk in bits and walk like a victim of a bad injury
Sometimes I’d hear her crying in the closet whenever Cameron was out, and then coughing continuously. When those times happened, they were usually after she had put me to bed and made sure my eyes were closed. Little did she know that I always faked being asleep; I always wanted to make sure she was fine first, before sleeping.
My childhood would have been a complete nightmare if I didn’t have friends to play with, or at least one kind person to talk to. I had them. The kids in the estate were friendly and so much fun.
As kids, we had a carefree attitude towards life and we were always happy while together. Only thing I worried about was my mom. Mike Tony even made my childhood better, at least before it got worse. You wonder what I mean? Just follow me.
Mike Tony, like I said liked children. He gave us candies and fruits everytime. He was especially keen on having us eat the fruits first if we must have candies. It was a good trick that worked all the time. Most of us children didn’t like to eat fruits and vegetables. So he’d make us eat them by promising to gift us candies after. Of course they were just little pieces of sweet balls, not the usual big candies that we bought during lunch break in school, but what does a child know?
As long as it is candy, we were ready to obey the instructions.
Many parents appreciated Mike Tony for this wonderful idea of his, because it changed us children’s attitude to fruity and vegetable-ish suppers. But one thing was certain- no kid went into Mike Tony’s house even when the door was open and he asked that we could come in. Only me entered his house to listen to stories he read from large, long children books. It was fun because he’d sit me on his thighs and rock me from side to side, and I’d stare back at him with a smile and with candy all over my lips.
He liked touching my long, dark shiny hair particularly. My hair reached my bottom and mom always said it was gorgeous. Mike Tony would also play music, loud enough for us to hear its lyrics and dance with me, but first for me, while I watched. His dance usually made me laugh heartily and jump excitedly because he danced like a pro. He danced with measured steps and his movements aligned with the music.
When I asked him if that was what he did for a living, he replied in the affirmative. I wished other children would come into the house to watch him dance. We’d hail him and cheer him on together and also try his dance steps. I didn’t have that luxury moment at home. No one rocked me on their thighs and read bedtime stories to me. No one especially called me ‘pretty’. No one danced for me, or with me. Not mom. She was always too tired to do anything completely satisfactory. But I loved her. I still love her. She’s my mirror and everything. She’s perfect for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother.
“Ariana?” I heard her turn on my bed. She was awake now, not totally but her eyes were open.
“Mommy, did I wake you?”
“I’m sorry for sleeping off. We were having a critical conversation”
And that was how we started conversing again. I told her about the kidnap but not the other part. Of course she reacted like a caring mother would. In fact I told her fragments about it. I related the story to her like it wasn’t actually a kidnap.
“Mom, we need a car. Can’t you tell Cameron to get you one?” I asked, after we had had a long talk into the night, a long talk that had ended in cuddles and prayers. Mom needed a car because it’d save her the stress of waiting for a taxi that’d transport her to my school every afternoon and then transport us back home. She was the wife of a very rich man, so she deserved a car.
“I’ll ask him again” she replied. “Now let’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll be better”
The way she said it brought hope to me.
Tomorrow, we’ll be better.