How my father and my mother met makes for a very interesting story.
How they met again is still more interesting - because I was there when the reunion happened. Or should I say I was not there?
I'm fifteen years old now. Technically, I'm fourteen, but I'll be fifteen after four months and two days.
My mother - my biological mother, I mean - I've never known. I only know they discovered me next to a huge tree outside (the 'they' being a couple of people from the orphanage). At least, that's what they told me.
The only mother I've ever known came to the orphanage for a storybook-reading session. She was going to read us a favorite chapter from one of the books she'd written. True, she was no J. K. Rowling, of course, and frankly, I would've yawned wide and promptly gone to sleep if I'd touched that book even with my pinky, but then, it was she who read it.
She came and went for the next few months. For some reason, she found the orphanage a nice place, and not as depressing as we found it. We wanted homes, and parents, and not a man who told us to eat what we had and not ask for more (OK, he wasn't that bad, but I want to show off that I've read Oliver Twist).
She doesn't look beautiful - she's tall, kinda chubby, and has a loud voice, and a crazy laughter. But when she reads, she looks, well, dreamy. She goes into the story, and she'd look up from the book now and then, and smile at us all, her smile not leaving any of us out, encompassing everyone, including everyone, embracing everyone.
She laughed very often, her crazy laughter echoing in those dim hallways, the stone walls vibrating with that sound. At first it gave me the goosebumps, but soon I'd gotten used to it.
She made me dream of a home, a mother, a warm mug of chocolate, clean sheets on my bed, bedtime stories (her stories weren't that bad, but still, I'd prefer good ol' Hans Christian Andersen or even J. K. Rowling), a goodnight kiss on my forehead, and a dreamless sleep.
She wasn't magic, but she sure was different.
When she first saw me, and discovered I couldn't walk, I expected her to "ooh" and "aah", but she didn't do it. She just nodded in a matter-of-fact manner, said a shy and nervous "Hi", shook my hand and moved on to meet the next kid.
I wouldn't have expected her to be shy or nervous, but she did look both to me. Which is weird, because she's the celeb writer, and all of us, we'd never thought we'd look at her from this close, but she made us feel relaxed, when she herself looked pretty much spooked.
(Later, she admitted to me that seeing so many kids at the same place put her in a sensitive position, and I could understand that perfectly. Why, I never knew what to do when they made me babysit more than four kids at the same time.)
She never went behind my wheelchair. She always stood before me when she spoke to me, or walked by my side. I really appreciate that. I could move on my own, thank you.
All of a sudden, just visiting us all and meeting with us wasn't enough for her. She wanted one of us to go with her. In other words, she wanted to adopt one of us. But she didn't make us all dress up and stand in a straight line, our hair neatly combed, our shirts all ironed and properly buttoned, my wheelchair polished clean, so she could close her eyes and pick out one and break the others' hearts into a million pieces.
No, she wouldn't have any of that.
All she did was say that she'd like someone who wanted to be with her, who liked her.
And everyone knew I got that dreamy look on my face whenever I saw her. Oddly, no one else wanted it as much as I did. Or maybe they were all being too nice.
So I got to travel with her in that posh car and wave to the others through the raised up window.
"So, are you comfortable?" she asked me.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm not 'ma'am.'" She smiled at me, taking her eyes off the road for just a second.
I didn't say anything. There was silence in a while, which both of us didn't seem to mind. We were too busy thinking.
"Have you ever really wanted something?" she asked, suddenly. "I mean, like, really, really wished for something?"
"Something I wished for and got, or something I never got?" I asked.
She seemed to consider that for a moment.
"Both," she answered.
"I've got a home now," I said simply. "I never got to walk or run."
"Alright," was all she said.
That night I had clean sheets, but I wasn't quite sure about the rest of the things. All that will take time, I supposed. She did tuck me in, though. She smiled at me and said, "Goodnight."
Just when she was about to turn off the light, I asked, "What do I call you?"
She paused, her finger on the light switch. "Anything you'd like me to be to you. You know, like, maybe, a sister, a mother, an aunt, or maybe you could just call me by my name, like I'm just a friend... Someone. Anyone." She shrugged, like she was open to anything.
I nodded. I could think about it and call her something the next day.
But when she had left the room, I murmured, "Goodnight, angel," before drifting into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke up the next day, I got my warm mug of chocolate.
And I called her by her name. She didn't seem to mind.
Maybe, one of these days, I'd call her Mom.
"Could you get ready in half an hour?" she asked me.
"Yes, why? Are we going out somewhere?" I asked her.
"Yep."
I wanted to ask where, but I was going to find out anyway, wasn't I? So I didn't ask.
Somehow, we were both at ease with each other. None of the discomfort I had been worried about. She wasn't exactly outgoing or anything, and I wasn't an extrovert either, but we were happy being silent with each other.
She took me to a hospital that looked squeaky clean and huge, and lots of nurses were walking briskly, and the receptionists were busy dealing with the ringing phones, and the whole place was just buzzing, filled with people. It all looked rich.
Then she opened a door without knocking, and there was a doctor. He did strange things with my legs, got x-rays which he studied very deeply.
I wished she'd told me she was taking me to a doctor. I would've said, no, thank you. I didn't want to hope I was going to be able to walk again, only to have some nerdy looking doctor telling me that I was never going to walk ever again.
"This looks possible to me," he told her. "An operation could make it happen."
He explained some things, but I didn't understand much of medical stuff. Such technical details always went over my head.
She seemed to understand, though. She nodded and said, "hmm" frequently. Or maybe she was just being too polite.
When we were back in the car, I figured I had to thank her.
"Thanks," I said.
She smiled and said, "Thank you."
I didn't know why she said that, but I didn't ask.
"So, you can walk after all," she said after a while.
"I never knew that," I said.
"I'm glad we found out."
The operation was to take place a couple of weeks later.
School wasn't open yet, so I got to watch TV whenever I wanted, and I also got to eat fries all I wanted. She didn't seem to mind having me raid the fridge often, or leave a mess in the kitchen. Whenever I went back into the kitchen, it was clean. I knew there was no servant maid coming in, so it kind of ashamed me, her cleaning up the spilled ketchup and mopping up the pool of milk that I'd spilled trying to leave a bowl for a one-eyed cat that came in through the kitchen window.
Soon I'd learned how to keep the kitchen clean.
She never told me what I should or shouldn't do; it was as if she knew that I would come to know things on my own. I stopped playing music at a loud volume when she was trying to concentrate on her writing, and I left the room and went out into the garden whenever she was speaking on the phone.
I knew she appreciated it all, and I knew she was quite fond of me when she ruffled my hair on her way past me to the door. And when she kissed me on my forehead, wishing me goodnight softly.
My legs were a bit wobbly the first month, but soon I was able to walk. It felt way too weird, but it was a delightful kind of weird. I was able to walk! It was something that I never thought was possible, and she had made it come true, and that made her more of an angel to me.
She helped me at first, held my hand or let me hold on to her arm tight. I knew my fingers were digging into her arm, but never once did she show any expression of pain on her face. She didn't seem to have the time for her writing, because all day she was busy taking care of me. She did all that the physiotherapist asked her to do.
I could now walk on my own, without having to hold on to her or anything. And when I first walked, I looked at her face and thought she was crying, but soon she nodded, in her very own matter-of-fact way, and said, "This is just great."
But she was crying, I discovered, when I caught her quickly push away a tear with her finger.
It felt odd; I've never had anyone cry happy or sad tears for me before.
She dropped me off at school everyday, and picked me up in the evening. She packed lunch for me everyday. She was a tolerable cook. Not gourmet, but I could survive on the food she cooked. She kissed me on my cheek before she drove off, and then I had to face the school crowd alone.
She helped me with my homework, and she playfully gave me a knock on my head if I took too long to understand something she was saying. She never lost her patience with me, considering that I was way too pathetic at math. She was very good with numbers, she was good at integration and differentiation, two things which I especially loathed.
In the evening, once I was done with my homework, I was allowed to do anything that pleased me. I could climb the trees in the garden, and I could climb up the little mound outside the house, from the top of which I could see everything else down, around us, to a certain radius.
Our house was isolated, we lived out of city limits. She had to drive me to school for about twenty minutes or more every morning and back home. The school was at the foot of the mountain, we were a little up, and I heard there were more people living as we moved upwards on the mountain.
I wondered what someone would do if they had a medical emergency up there. They had to drive way down to get to the hospital. It could take hours, even in good weather. Adults were very optimistic sometimes.
She allowed me to trek very often, most weekends. I never knew I had such an aptitude for climbing - all kinds of climbing, tree-climbing, mountain-climbing. Like she said, I'm glad I had a chance to find out.
I wondered if she'd give as much freedom to me, if I'd been her own kid.
But then, did it make a difference? I liked it this way, and though it was a niggling little thought, I never spent much time thinking about it.
It was on one of those trekking trips that I met him.
I had tripped and fallen, spraining my ankle. You know how we pause many times to watch things only when we're forced to - you know, like, I noticed those beautiful bougainvillea vines near my window only when I'd caught that fever and I had to remain in bed and not do anything? That's how I noticed that little cottage on my way up, when I was sitting there not knowing what to do with my swollen ankle.
It was painted a weird kind of blue on the outside. Totally weird. But I kinda liked the effect that the surrounding green and brown produced with it. It was like we would never expect them to go together. I wondered who it was that could have thought the combination up.
I guessed I had to go there and ask for help. When I tried to get up, my foot struck on a rock or something, and I couldn't help squealing like crazy.
And he was out of his house in a moment.
He was tall, probably as old as my mother (the story-telling one, that is). I'm not sure I'd have had a crush on him even if he were lots younger. He was not clean-shaven, he had unruly, messy hair, and he looked kinda nerdy with those spectacles.
"How did you get here?" he asked, his face oddly without any suspicion or doubts. I guessed many people trekked this way everyday.
He had a nice voice. Not a singing kinda voice, just the nice-to-listen-when-he's-speaking sort.
"I was climbing up, to get to the view point from where..."
He nodded abruptly. "Let's get you inside. I should have a look at your foot."
He carried me into his house and put me down carefully.
I looked around. The walls were painted a different kind of blue. The man must be obsessed with the darned color.
"Do you live here?" I asked.
"What do you think?" he asked, without looking at me, without giving it a second's thought.
I nodded. "Do you like blue?"
At that, he looked at me. And he didn't answer. He got back to whatever he was doing - which was, heating up a bowl of water.
Apparently, the man wasn't the type to converse freely. Maybe he had an attitude problem.
Well, I'm not complaining. At least he didn't leave me squealing out there in the cold.
"Where do you live?" he asked from inside the kitchen, where I couldn't see him.
"Down there," I pointed, and then realized he wasn't looking at me. I gave the address.
For a moment, there was silence. He'd stopped all he was doing, he wasn't rattling pans and bowls in the kitchen. All was silent.
"Uh, you there?" I called, trying to peek into the kitchen from the sofa on which I was lying.
After a moment's silence, he came and stood at the kitchen doorway, and said, "Yes. Do you need something?"
"No, nothing." I shook my head to emphasize on that.
"Your... mother will be worried about you, eh? What about your father?"
"Guess so," I said. "And no, no father."
Yes, she'll be worried. It was becoming darker each passing minute. It's odd how darkness falls sooner in hilly regions.
"So how come I've never seen you here before?"
Did I say the man had a problem conversing freely? No, he didn't seem to have any problem asking questions. He only had trouble answering them.
"I'm kinda new here."
He nodded. He went back into the kitchen. If he didn't get the water off the stove, it would have all evaporated by then, I suppose.
He brought hot water and a sponge.
"Are you a doctor?" I asked.
"Do I look like one to you?" he replied.
"Why don't you ever answer a question with an answer?" I asked.
"That's how I'm built, I suppose," he shrugged.
"Gotcha!" I said, almost giggling at the unfunnyness of it all.
He almost smiled, but I could see that he just wasn't the type to admit defeat. Not so soon.
"You might want to talk to your mother," he said.
"You got a phone?"
He gave me his cellphone.
I dialed in her number carefully.
She didn't sound hysterical or anything. She sounded calm. "Where are you?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"I fell down and sprained my ankle."
"Ouch," she said. "And?"
"I'm at this guy's place, he said he'll drop me off at home." I looked at him as I said it, he raised his eyebrows as if to ask me, 'Did I say that?'
I smiled at him, my most angelic smile, and turned my attention back to the call. "So I'll be there."
"Are we talking about your first crush or something?" she asked, her voice showing her smile.
I laughed. "No, he seems more like your type."
"Ack," she said, laughing.
It was a small little town, and everyone knew everyone, so I guess it just didn't enter her mind to tell me to be careful or anything. Or maybe she would've said such a thing to me, had I been her own daughter.
I handed the phone back to him.
"Once you feel well enough to walk, you're going to get up, leave out the door and never come back."
He was sponging my foot even as he said that, very tenderly, very carefully, as if he didn't want to hurt me. I wanted to squeal just to scare him that he was giving me pain.
No, he never would leave me uncared for. No way.
"Aw, come on," I said. "You're going to drop me off at home and you know it."
I was amazed at how confidently I moved with this stranger. In a way, he was treating me like an adult, not at all like a child, not at all using that patronizing tone most adults had when talking to adolescents, the tone which really got on my nerves.
He was treating me like she did.
This time he really smiled, a pursed lips sort of smile, but he definitely smiled. "Didn't your mother teach you not to trust strangers?"
I smiled. "Guess she thought I must know that already."
He didn't ask me what that meant.
"Your ankle shouldn't take much time to heal. Doesn't look too bad to me." He tried to flex it a little. "Nothing's broken," he said, watching me wince just a little. He had such a calm way of saying things, that I don't think I'd have gotten worked up even if something had been broken.
"Thanks."
"Are you hungry?"
"Nah. I'd rather go home."
He nodded. "Let me bring the car around."
I liked him. A lot.
He just said, "Now, you be a good girl, OK?" before driving away. He didn't come into the house, and mother didn't invite him in.
"He was nice," I said. "He sponged my foot in hot water and checked if anything were broken."
"Oh," she said. She looked a bit pale. She hugged me and said, "Don't get lost like this again, alright?"
"OK," I said. Sweet of her to miss me, I was thinking.
It was kind of weird how the fact that he and she had never looked each other in the face during the grand total of two minutes his car was parked outside our house kept coming back to me again and again.
Odd. It wasn't like her to be uninviting or unwelcoming to strangers.
Or maybe he wasn't a stranger to her.
My favorite part in Pollyanna hadn't been that the girl is, at one point in the book, unable to walk (like I was before), and no, the 'glad game' had never been something I enjoyed playing, had never been my style. It had been when Aunt Polly decides to marry her former lover Dr. Chilton.
Maybe, just maybe, I could try and...
I didn't go to sleep that night before long.
It took three whole days for the swelling to subside. I was back to normal, and so, that weekend, I started off on a trek.
"If you break a leg, don't come running to me," she said, and smiled dryly at her own silly joke.
I smiled right back. "And don't bring strange men home?" I winked.
"And don't bring strange men home," she agreed.
Of course, she couldn't possibly know I wanted to bring only one strange man home.
Before I could lose my courage, I'd knocked on his door.
Surprisingly, he didn't look surprised to see me.
"How's your ankle now?" he said, opening the door for me.
I took a couple of moments to recover. "Fine," I said.
"Coffee?"
"No, I'm not a drug-addict," I said, and winced at my own bad joke.
"Unfortunately, I can't push a day without the caffeine," he said. "Most adults can't, I believe."
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"I was about to pop in a DVD before you came in."
"Not now," I said giggling. "What do you do for a living?"
"I paint."
I looked around the house again. "Everything blue?"
He smiled. "No, I paint landscapes, portraits, sometimes the walls..."
"OK, even if blue is your favorite color, don't you think you're overdoing it a little?"
His smile grew wider. "It's not my favorite color. It was the only color I had the patience to get. So I gave two coatings on the outside and one on the inside. I just didn't have the time to open another bucket."
Somehow, I understood what he was trying to say without judging him. What he said made a lot of sense, and somehow, I wasn't thinking, "He's lazy" or "He didn't care." He said it in a way that made me just accept whatever he was saying. No decisions, no conclusions.
"I've got a pizza," he said.
"Great," I grinned. "What DVD were you going to watch?"
He named some cool Scorsese flick."No Disney animated films, I'm afraid," he said wryly.
I rolled my eyes. "There are only four Disney films I place in high esteem."
"Wait, let me guess. Beauty and the Beast and The Lion King are the top two."
"And Brother Bear and The Princess and The Frog."
"Not bad," he said, nodding approvingly. "And don't you like The Jungle Book? Hercules?"
"They aren't real. I've read the book by Rudyard Kipling, and I've read Bulfinch's Mythology."
"The real ending is a bit violent, don't you think? Killing a tiger with a buffalo herd when all you have to do is tie a simple wooden branch on fire to the tiger's tail?"
"Come on, kids watch things scarier than that without flinching."
"OK, most girls like Cinderella."
"You must be kidding me!" I said, aghast. "Girls do not have such bad taste."
He chuckled. "What did poor Cinderella do?"
"She didn't do anything," I said, shaking my head. "The mice did everything. Including tying the sashes and satin ribbons."
I got up from the sofa. "If I don't leave now, you'll have to drop me off at home."
"I'll drop you off at home," he said without hesitating.
My, he must be really lonely, I thought.
He dropped me off at home.
We watched that Scorsese film, had fries, some chips, we shared the pizza, and he graciously let me have more cheese, and some Diet Coke. After the film ended, we discussed it for a while, arguing why it was a great film, why it wasn't.
Mom looked kinda annoyed, I had no idea why, but she'd recovered by the time we sat down together for dinner.
"What were you doing all day?" she asked.
It wasn't like her to question my activities. It was obvious she was letting him worry her.
Mostly, she's cool, detached, like she doesn't give a damn about what I do or where I go. I've come to accept her that way, because that's how she is. Whenever I wonder if she's way too cold, too numb, almost unfeeling, I remembered the tears in her eyes when I started walking without any help from her. And I knew this was all a facade.
Adults have no idea how much we "kids" understand. I'm sure she has no idea that I know she was freaky scared; freaky scared of getting hurt.
I've been there, Mom, I wanted to say. But I never got the chance to say it, because she'd never showed me that side which would listen to such things from me, which would be receptive to such philosophies.
Someday she would, I thought. I hoped.
"So, what kind of pictures do you paint?"
"Want to see?" he asked, handing me a can of Coke.
"Of course."
He showed me several of his paintings.
"Very beautiful," I said.
"Thank you," he said.
There was a painting of a table with a very pretty lace tablecloth, a fruit bowl...
"Is it a rule that all artists have to paint this thing at least once?"
He grinned.
"Still life," he said.
"But where's the life?" I asked. I'd always wanted to know.
"Life isn't only about moving, living things," came his prompt reply.
I liked the reply. So I didn't ask any more questions.
"That fruit bowl has only my favorite fruits in it," he said.
"You like apples?"
"Yes. They could make anyone hungry."
"Not me, never liked them. Mum puts one into my bag everyday, in case I get hungry during the day. Hardly touch it."
"What do you like, then?"
"I like mangoes."
"I like red, juicy apples. Especially the ones that give that sharp sound when I bite into them."
"That crunchy sound? Maybe that's why I don't like apples, because I don't like that sound. Mangoes are soft, they don't make any noise when I bite into them."
"Probably a sloppy sound, depending on how you eat them."
"I eat like a clumsy kid, the juice of the mango all around my lips, making me look a bit jaundiced."
He laughed at that.
"Have you ever drawn women?" I asked.
"Nude?" he winked.
"Nude, clothed, half-naked," I shrugged.
"Yes, many."
He showed me the painting showing the back of a woman who was sitting on the bank of a river, her fingers playing in the water.
She had dark hair, she was a bit chubby.
"Mother," I murmured.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"Do you know my mother already?" The question popped out of my mouth before I could control it. Dang it, I was hoping to find an opportune time to pop that question at him. Now it felt rushed.
"I do," he said."Don't tell me you haven't guessed."
"Like how? I mean, how did you meet her? How did you come to know her?"
"At a party."
"What were you to her? A friend?"
He considered that for a moment. "I guess you could say that," he said rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
I was kinda disappointed. I was hoping he'd be an ex-flame or something dramatic. Now I'd have to start from scratch.
"Don't tell me you're trying your matchmaking skills on us," he said, with a dry grin.
I laughed. "Now, that wouldn't be so bad an idea, would it?"
"Nope, don't think so. But I guess we're a lost cause. Your mother might be thinking that way too. Not sure if she would have me a second time."
My hopes flared. "Wow, a second time! You mean you guys went out together before?" I couldn't help feeling excited.
"Uh, we did more than that."
"Like what?"
He looked straight at me. "Like getting married."
There have been very few things in my life which have put me in a completely shocked state. This one surely qualified.
"Just what do you guys talk for so long?"
Her curiosity was interesting to watch. I'd never seen her curious. She wasn't nervous or anything. She was just uninterestedly curious.
"Oh, this and that. He showed me his paintings today."
"And?" she said, looking at me with a frown.
"And I saw a very beautiful painting of a woman."
"Oh, that's nice. Go wash up, dinner's ready."
I liked it that she wasn't all that comfortable about discussing that painting with me. It gave me hope. My mother, who was detached and uncaring about most things, was reacting strangely. Lovely.
"So what was the orphanage like?"
"If I'm allowed to be dramatic, I'd say it was like the one in Oliver Twist, but I'm going to be truthful and say it was OK."
He smiled wryly.
"Don't you have parents?" I asked.
"No."
"Why did you and Mum separate?"
"Irreconcilable differences," he said.
"That's the reason film stars give. Give me yours," I said, turning to him.
We were lying on our backs on the open terrace, staring at the sky. The sun was setting, and I had to leave for home, and I just had to ask before I left for home.
It was as if I came here everyday just so I could get a new little slice of Mum from this guy I was beginning to know so much about.
"I have to draw you someday," he said, irrelevantly.
I was distracted for a while. "Really?" I said. "Why?"
"I don't know, maybe I wanted to capture at least one of those million expressions dancing on your face."
"You know, I'm not really surprised Mum divorced you, if you kept throwing such lines at her all the time you both were together."
He laughed. "Quite like your mother, aren't you?"
"What do you think of my mother?" I asked softly.
"I think she deserves a better life."
I was silent for a couple of moments. And then I said, "Can you give it to her?"
He stared at the sky for a long while, I thought he hadn't heard me. His gaze was focused on the pale evening moon.
"Depends, you know," he said at last. "Maybe if she trusts me enough."
"So the differences aren't irreconcilable, after all, are they?" I said slowly.
"Guess not, but then, maybe you have to ask her that."
"Why did you both separate?" I asked again.
He shrugged. "I don't know. It was just one of those things. We drifted apart."
"Artistic people can be temperamental," I said, sounding wise.
"Yes, that too," he admitted.
"But what made you decide that the differences were irreconcilable?" I asked.
"I made a dreadful mistake."
"Everyone does. You made just one?"
"That was the biggest one."
"You cheated on her?" I asked him, my eyes wide.
"God, no!" he almost laughed at that. "Never."
"What did you do, then?"
"I said I didn't want kids - yet."
I hadn't realized I was holding up my breath. I let it out, all the air was exhaled in a quick swoosh.
"That's all?" I said. Looks like my mother just didn't do overreacting. Any overreacting involved all came from his side. "But that's not wrong."
"That's not, but I also said she shouldn't adopt a kid either."
"Whoa," I said. If this had been one of those dreadfully melodramatic romantic stories, I should be walking out of the place by now, but this isn't, and I didn't.
"Hope you aren't feeling the same way now," I said.
He looked sort of relieved when I said that. "What do you think?" he asked softly.
I smiled. "Good. But I don't think that was all."
"OK, I called your mom an unfeeling bitch."
"Ouch." I winced. "That was harsh."
"But she just wouldn't let go. She never was herself with me, never uninhibited, never free. She was always having a conscious hold on herself."
Oddly, I understood what he was saying. Still odd, he was saying it all to me, and I'm not even an adult. I liked that about him.
I patted him on his arm. "But Mum's built that way."
"But back then, it really annoyed me that I couldn't make her react to anything. She couldn't feel anything for me. She wouldn't cry for me or worry about me or get jealous of any other woman or anything."
At that moment, I remember how she cried when I walked. "That's not fair," I said quickly.
He looked at me questioningly.
"She's a scared person," I said.
"I know. But I was tired of it back then, and I don't think I can take another dose of that."
"But you can't say that!" I said, distressed. "I'm sure Mum has come a long way since then."
He sighed, and got up quickly into a sitting position. "Come on, I'll drop you off at home."
I followed him silently to the car.
Wow, but that was deep.
"Have you ever been really afraid of anything?" he asked, in the car.
"Lizards," I answered quickly, without thinking.
He smiled. "Spiders?"
"Nope, I'm not afraid of insects. I can squish them in two seconds flat, can't I?"
"Your mother is afraid of spiders. Has always been," he said softly.
I wanted to say, "Aw," right then, but wasn't sure he'd appreciate that, so I didn't.
"What are you afraid of?" I asked.
He seemed to think about it. "Nothing, I believe."
"Losing your loved ones? Loved ones dying?"
"Everyone has to die sometime."
That was wise.
I nodded.
When I entered home, Mum was her silent self.
"He dropped you off?"
"Yes," I said, removing my watch and placing it on the table."Maybe one of these days I'll invite him in."
She gave me a look that said, 'Don't you dare,' for a moment. But then her face was composed, and she said softly, "Do as you please."
"Uh, he told me all about you, Mum."
Her face didn't change. "Oh."
"And he said that... the differences between you both aren't irreconcilable."
"I see."
"Mum, say something."
"What have I to say? Looks like you both had a nice time discussing me, of all the things in the world."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. It felt as if I was talking to a wall.
For the first time, I really understood - I mean, really - how frustrated he must have felt, doing that everyday.
"He said he thinks you deserve a better life."
"Tell him not to waste time that he could spend painting thinking about me."
I didn't know what to say to that. Much as I loved her, I had to admit she really was trying my patience.
"But Mum, I know why you both separated. He has changed. He's very fond of me. He likes kids."
"That wasn't the problem at all," she said, her face expressionless.
"What -"
"I understand that you'd like to have a father, dear, but I'm really very, very sorry I can't give you one."
"But Mum - "
At my protesting tone, something in her seemed to break. "I know you really want to convince me about this, but please, let it go. You've got your own life to do anything you please with. Please don't meddle in mine."
And that just broke my patience in two.
"I doubt you'd have said that to your own daughter," I said, and went out of the house, slamming the door behind me.
OK, it was something that had been biting into the insides of me for really long.
I'd always wondered what she'd treat her own daughter like.
It was after I'd said that to her, and run out of the house, and walked up to the little mound outside the house, that I realized that she'd have said the very same thing to me even if I'd been her own flesh and blood.
Now, sitting atop the mound and staring at the little lights glowing in the windows of all those faraway houses, I regretted saying those words to her.
I knew how she was, I knew what she was like.
I sighed.
I looked down at our house. The lights were still on, and no one was coming out to look for me. Maybe she'd decided I would return no matter what. And the only place I'd go to, if I were going anywhere, would be his.
The sky was pitch black, and if it hadn't been for the stars and the moon that somehow seemed bigger and closer, and all those little lights from the houses, I wouldn't have been able to see anything.
Suddenly, I felt like talking to him. Maybe I could stay there for the night. He'd let me have the sofa.
Or he'd even let me have the bed and take the sofa himself. I smiled. He'd do that.
All of a sudden, the door to our house opened, and my mother was out, looking this way and that.
She was looking for me.
Something warmed me inside, and I just watched her.
In the light coming from inside the house, I could see her face clearly - her eyes were wide, and she looked worried - really, genuinely worried. She was biting down on her lower lip, and her eyebrows were knotted in worry.
And I knew where she'd look next. She'd look for me atop this mound.
I didn't want to be found out just yet. I quickly scrambled down and went running in the direction of his house.
I'd almost reached there, when I saw her car pulling up outside his house. I hid behind a tree.
She walked quickly to the door and knocked. The door opened.
"Is she here?" she asked aloud. I was able to hear it clearly.
There was a low reply, and then her face went pale.
And then she went into the house.
Now I definitely had to know what was happening inside.
I tiptoed to the window and peeked into it. Thankfully, the curtains were drawn aside, and the windows were open.
"She's been missing for a while," she was saying.
"And you started searching just now?" he asked accusingly.
"I thought she'd come back," she said, her tone almost wailing.
My mother? Wailing? I almost wanted to jump for joy.
Even he looked surprised. "We'll find her, don't worry. You better calm down."
"Do you care?" she asked.
He didn't answer that for a while. And then he said, "Today she asked me if I was afraid of anything. I said I wasn't, but now I know."
"What?" she asked, kind of confused.
"I'm afraid something's happened to her."
When he said that, my eyes stung. I love you too, I wanted to say. But I was too busy to cry, watching how my mother reacted.
At that, her face crinkled, and she began to cry. Really, really cry. Cry hard. She put her face into her hands, and her shoulders shook hard.
For a moment, he looked perplexed. I bet he'd never seen her crying before.
He walked to her and hugged her close.
"We'll find her, I promise," he said in a soothing voice.
"I helped her get her legs back and all she's done with them is find you and run away!" she was rambling on.
What did you expect, Mom? I wanted to ask. Long jump? I couldn't help grinning at the thought.
"I'm glad she found me," he said slowly.
"Me too," she sniffed.
After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Why did she run away?"
"I told her things I shouldn't have told her."
"But you've never done anything without thinking."
Please don't ruin things, I wanted to tell him. Things were going smooth, and he was going jeopardize things if he kept reminding her of her misgivings.
"So I did this time," she said, and she moved away from him.
Ack.
"I searched on the mound. And now here. I couldn't find her," she said, her voice almost broken.
He didn't say anything. He seemed to be deep in thought.
And then there were a few streaks of lightning, and a loud clap of thunder, and I thought, Oh, great, so now I have to go through this as well.
Her distress seemed to have increased. "Oh dear, she must be lost now! There's going to be rain, and probably spiders..."
"She's not afraid of spiders," he said absently.
There was a moment's silence.
"I didn't know that," she said, looking thoughtfully at him.
"Now you do," he said. "OK, now I'm going to call up all her friends and ask them if she's with one of them."
"But she never visits with anyone but you," she said.
"It's worth a try."
Before he took up his cellphone, though, he said, "Promise me you'll be yourself at least with her."
Mum seemed to understand. She nodded.
He had just begun to dial the first number, when I slipped from the rock I was balancing myself on to reach up to the window.
And then there was this huge, fat lizard on the wall, coming toward me.
I screamed.
I was sitting with my head hung down.
"How could you!" Mum said.
He didn't say anything, he was just sitting opposite me, looking at me with an enigmatic face.
She was pacing from corner to corner in the room.
I'd never seen Mum looking so worked up before. In fact, I hadn't even dreamed she was capable of such emotions.
He seemed to have gotten comfortable with the change in her by then.
"I'm sorry, Mum," I said.
She came to me and sat down beside me. "I'm sorry too," she said softly.
"Coffee, anyone?" he arose quickly.
Mum looked grateful that he was giving us some alone time, and that he was offering some much-needed coffee too.
I wanted to beam with happiness. There they were, slowly coming back together, and guess who made that happen!
My bum was feeling miserable and achy from the rough fall I had, but I didn't seem to mind that in the least.
He ruffled my hair fondly as he walked past me to the kitchen.
Her eyes followed him to the kitchen.
"He has changed," she said softly, almost to herself.
"He has, Mum," I said, unable to control the smile any longer.
"You know, I knew he was living just a short distance from here, and I bumped into him quite often at the supermarket, at the fueling station, at the traffic signal, but knowing that you were with him everyday, seeing him drop you off at home everyday... It made everything completely different, gave me a whole new perspective on things," she said slowly.
Her arm was around me, hugging me close. "I've always wanted to unwind, you know. Every time I tried to, though, I was scared. And I remembered what he told me before we separated. He said I was unfeeling."
Unfeeling bitch, if I remember right, I thought to myself looking up at her.
"I was content talking to you this way, being just friends with you, with him. I didn't want anything else. I was happy."
"You wanted kids, Mum."
"I did. I wanted a child who'd love me no matter what, unconditionally, with my failings."
"I love you, you know," I said simply.
She smiled at that. Her arm tightened slightly around me. "Thank you. I'm glad I've got you."
That was a big thing, coming from her, I knew.
There were tears in her eyes, but I knew it will be long before she could cry freely before us, to express her emotions as she felt them, to just let go of the firm grip she had on herself. We can't expect changes overnight, can we? She had always been this way, and she will take some time.
I invited him in one day the following week.
I knew Mum was happy to see him. Not that she showed it on her face, though.
And then he began to drop in two days a week.
And then almost everyday.
And then even when I wasn't home.
And now, I have to go; there's a wedding to go to.
