The Right Words At The Right Time

It was a dark stormy night.

Well, actually, it wasn’t really so. Yet, metaphorically speaking, the dark storm was raging on inside me.

It’s strange how too much of information has the ability to cripple you mentally. It’s the closest I’d felt to a zombie. I didn’t like it.

I think it all happened with that broken stair at home. The same one that my mother had fallen down twice. It killed her the second time, instantly. That’s what the doctors told us later.

It had started out as quite a normal day. Let me make it a little better. Imagine the perfect family scene, if you will. Father, son and daughter sitting at the dining table enjoying a nice breakfast of toast and corn flakes.

Father (to son): You’re done with the paper there kid?

Son (to father): Here’s the business section for you, Pa. I’m reading the sports bit. Wait a bit, read that in the meantime.

The young daughter, in the meantime, is playing with her toast, and waiting for Mummy to come downstairs. She seems to need her mother’s help in having her breakfast.

Daughter (to father): Pa, what’s taking Mummy so long?

Father: She’ll be down real soon, honey. (to son) Why don’t you go check on her, see how much time she’d actually take.

Son (walking to the foot of the staircase and bellowing to his mother on the upper floor): Ma, breakfast’s getting cold! Come down, we’re waiting for you!

Mummy (shouting from the first floor): Coming, sweetheart.

The conversation ends there. For, as Mummy was coming down from the staircase, her foot caught in the crack on one of the stairs.

She fell.

***

“Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy unto himself the soul of our dearest sister, daughter, and mother, here departed; we therefore commit her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body that it may be like to his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things himself.”

The priest finished. The earth was thrown back into the dark grave with the dark coffin that held the body of our Mummy.

I had wanted to dig the grave for her myself, but I wasn’t allowed to do that. I had to make do with writing everything that the priest had said at the funeral by hand. My little tribute.

***

I knew I had to go into my parent’s room the moment we got back. It got the chills running down my spine, like a many legged creature running back and forth on my backbone. I remember standing a full minute in front of the door to their room, steeling myself to go in. Second by second, the minute was up, and I had to go in.

The room looked different, somehow. It’s been a day since she’d entered here. It knew, somehow, that one of the persons who used to live in that room wouldn’t come back again. The room knew.

The closet, the place I was most afraid of looking through the most. You see, I was close to my mother the way a son is supposed to be, but still, most of her life had been a mystery to me. Until now. I knew that the moment I opened that closet, at least some of those mysteries would come out.

This time, I didn’t want to wait the way I did outside the door. There was no real point in delaying this, I’d learnt it from experience. I went to the closet, and opened the door. Her clothes, her bags, her scent – it was all there.

So was her diary.

As I held that little black book in my hand, I realized that in here was all that there was to know of my mother. In that little black book were parts of her life that I’d never known. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the diary.

It was blank, all except for two things. A few torn pages at the start of the diary, and a quote: “It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.”

I began the hunt for the missing pages.

***

Two hours later, after looking through almost the entire room for the missing pages, I finally found them, hidden in one of her old shoes. I unfolded the pages, and read the entries.

The first date on the diary was about 18 years ago.

“Dear Diary,

John’s in a bad mood right now, all because I told him to get the stair fixed. I don’t know how the stair got broken… just because I stay at home all the time doesn’t mean that I would know all about what goes on in the house all the time! I mean, it just isn’t fair, is it?

I know I shouldn’t cry. I know this is something very silly to be so upset about. Still, I sometimes wish that John would be a little more understanding. It’s as if he doesn’t realize that I know how hard he’s working.

I better go, I shouldn’t let John catch me like this. It’s been a while since I’ve acted like a silly schoolgirl, and I feel stupid about it already. I know John loves me, I know we’ll work this fight out. I love him too, after all.”

“Dear Diary,

It’s been a while now, and the stair still hasn’t been fixed. I don’t know what’s up with John lately, he keeps forgetting that I’ve told him to get that stair fixed so many times. I just don’t know what to do with him. I almost fell down today when I stumbled. Good thing Marco was there to catch me as I fell.

I wonder when I’ll be able to tell John how important it is to get that stair fixed. He doesn’t seem to understand, especially now that Marco’s around. Sure, they’re best buddies and all, but does that really mean you’ll forget your wife, your house, everything?”

“Dear Diary,

The stair still hasn’t been fixed, and John and I fought again over it. I know it seems silly to fight over something as insignificant as a stair, but… really, sometimes John can get me all riled up. It’s just so -

Had to go away for a bit there. Marco came up to say goodnight, see if I’m fine. John’s out on the porch with his whisky and his cigar, while his wife waits patiently for him to come back.

I don’t know if John sent Marco up or not, but all he did was tell me what an awesome guy John is. Yeah, as if I couldn’t see that myself. But Marco was all about how cool John used to be as a kid, and how much fun those two used to have. He kept on and on about giving John another chance, that he was actually sorry about what happened. He even said he’ll talk to John, see if that’ll get him to fix up the stair.

I don’t even know why I’m listening to Marco so much. I mean, I don’t really know that guy all that well…”

“Dear Diary,

It’s been a week since Marco’s been around, and I don’t think I’ve been this happy. Not since I married John, at least. I know it doesn’t sound right, but I like Marco. As a friend of course, which is just fine. He’s like one of the best friends I’ve had my whole life, and I can feel that he really understands me too.

Things have been a lot smoother with John as well, all thanks to Marco. I told you, he’s an amazing guy!”

“Dear Diary,

I think I’m falling in love with Marco. Call me crazy, but I think he knows about it. Call me crazier, but I think he’s falling in love with me too.

Someone’s here. I gotta go.”

“Dear Diary,

I’m a horrible woman. I wish I could just erase the last two hours of my life. I’m a bad person, really bad. I’m married, to John! Marco’s best friend!

How could I let this happen? With Marco? I’m a horrible woman – “

“Dear Diary,

Marco left today, because of me. I’m pregnant, with his child. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to say. I know John would be happy, he won’t suspect anything.

It’ll just be me, who is going to have to live with that terrible secret, all my life.”

I was numb till the time I reached here. There was one last entry, but this one was folded into half. Just like that, half of my mind wanted to open that last sheet of paper, while the other half just wanted to let it be. With shaking hands, I opened the piece of paper.

 

“It’s been nine months since Marco left us and disappeared. Even John doesn’t know where he is. It’s been so long since we’ve heard from him.

He probably doesn’t know why I want to meet him so badly right now. My son was born today, and his eyes are just like Marco’s. The rest of him, thankfully, is all me. I don’t think John noticed it.

I wanted to name him Marco, or something similar. Like Marcus. Only, I couldn’t.

We named him Matthew. Maybe, someday, he will be able to forgive me for what I have done.

The stair still hasn’t been fixed. I’ve stopped telling John to get it fixed. Still, it’s not fair on my part to put the blame of my sins to the broken staircase.”

The small piece of paper slipped from my hands, and fluttered to the floor. I made no attempt to catch it. There was no real point to it anymore.

***

I had to get out of the stifling house. The same house that had seen it all happen. Who was I? Where did I come from, really? The man I called my father all these years, who was he? Where was my real father? I felt lost and confused. I had no idea who I was, much less where I was going.

I walked right into a smelly, drunk man.

“Watch where you’re going, you blind bastard!” he slurred, as he stumbled on the road.

I don’t think he had any idea how close to the truth he was. My truth, my real identity.