Mara
Even after days since she came come, I still find bloody bandages lying around. Mother is able to stand up on her own. She's in the kitchen as I sit in the armchair in living room, doing nothing but watching Roman throw a ball at the walls. Droplets of water raced down the window. The rain is like music to my ears. I love the sound of water falling on the plants and the ground. Everything is perfect today. I can smell the bread being heated up in the kitchen. That burnt smell—... Wait. Heating up bread isn't supposed to produce a smell like this. I start hearing a beeping sound, which makes me get up and walk over to the kitchen. I stay near the fire extinquisher just in case something has been lit on fire.
I peek inside, but see no fire. Just a fully black piece of bread. Before I can fully go in, I hear the cable getting unplucked followed by my mother cursing. Soon, a black toast is taken out of the microwave and thrown out of the kitchen window straight into a puddle. Mother tried to cook again. She has burned five meals in the span of three days, which is a lot. Somehow her awareness of time has been starting to slip. I don't know why it's happening to her, but it can't be because of old age. She's just 39. But well, the positive thing is that her critical thinking works well. She didn't throw the burned toast into the trash can when it's still hot. It could have lit the whole house on fire. I watch as she picks up a bottle of water, trying to remove the cap, but failing to grab it well enough to do so. She curses under her breath again, but finally notices me at the enterance.
She looks at me. "Can you," she asks, but stops talking to look down to her hands. "They're just not working right," she admits as a way to reassure me. God, I want to believe her, but I'd be lying to myself if I said I did. I can't just tell myself everything is fine after everything I've seen after she returned from the hospital. I wonder what Rowan thinks. He hasn't asked question or helped with anything. Maybe he hasn't even noticed anything strange. Maybe he's living in a delusion.. Or maybe I am the one living in a delusion. Yet again I find myself zoning out to overanalyze the situation. This happens way too much and I've started to not even notice it happening. My brain is way too overstimated with all this. Get yourself together, Mara! I think when I snap myself back to reality.
"Are you okay?" I ask her as I take the bottle in my hands and remove the cap with ease. My eyes are on her, and I notice how her hands are still shaking even after she stopped wearing the bandages on her arms. Something healed, but it seems there's still more to heal.
"I'm fine," she answered way too quickly for my liking. It's a defense mechanism everyone has. It could mean she's hiding something from me. "Just tired," she continued. She doesn't make eyes contact with me at all. That's also a possible sign of lying. Is my own mother lying to me? Yes, obviously. She's clearly not okay.
I need a break. Maybe going out for a walk would help relieve my stress. I walk back to the living room. That untouched bottle of Quickhelper pills looks really tempting today. I've never taken them, and do not want to. I just feel a sudden urge to take them every now and then. Stress is inevitable. Especially starting from teenage years. Those pills could solve my problem. I reach for the bottle, but hesitate. Do I want to? Yes. Should I? No, according to my mother's condition right now. She has been taking them. A lot of them. I can't bring myself to do it. Even if she just experiences work fatigue or stress and that's why she acts like that. This works like the foods I ate when I had a stomach bug as a little kid. I ate it, puked it out. I have never eaten the same kind of food again, and seing my mother's symptoms is making me feel the same kind of hatred towards those pills, even if they aren't closely related to them.
I withdraw my hand and head back to my room. Right, the walk. I need to clear my mind and forget those damn pills. I open my closet door and look through the variety of clothes. I dig into the pile of my most random clothes and find a thin, black jacket. Oh, it would be easier to keep these in the entryway. I always forget that option. I slip the jacket over my shirt and walk to the door. It's finally time for the walk everyone has recommended me to take every single day. I won't, though. Walking to school on a slightly rainy day is enough outside for me. But now? I'm trying. I take a final deep breath before turning the door handle. I'm welcomed with the scent of the neighbor's dog taking a fresh dump in the yard. I scrunch my nose a little, but chooce to pay it no more attention. I walk the other way down the street, trying to ignore the spreading scent of dog bowel in the air.
I get to the park where I remember I had played when I was a kid. Those were the happiest times of my life. Getting to spend time with my mother, father and brother. I wish dad was here to see us growing up. He died too early. If he was alive, life would be perfect. I can't just start thinking of the memories I made with him, because I don't want to cry in public. I sit in the swing. It was my favorite thing. Him pushing me on the swing and pretending I'm in a space rocket and he's the captain. I swing my legs, giving the swing more power each swing. Soon I was flying high every time. I try to make it feel the same, but it never does, so I give up and jump out of the swing, feeling the wind brush through my hair as I fly through the air.
Well, I don't fly for long. Soon I land on my feet. All I can think of is the praise I would have gotten for finally landing on anything but my butt or knees if my father was here. The support would have been unconditional. I don't know why I need to find myself here all by myself. Sometimes I wonder how it feels to have lots of friends to hang out with. I did make one buddy in preschool, but he moved away when I had just turned eight. Well, he was the one who approached me first. I cried when he left me by myself, and after that I never made a new friend. Now I still have none.