The Recital of Terrance Reed

Chapter Nine

Father picked me up from the house the following day, my birthday day, while Lina and the babysitter stayed behind. I felt terrible for Father when I looked at him. I could visually see that he had no sleep in him. His eyes looked shucked and swollen like a blueberry. It was like a living zombie. But he smiled and hugged me.

"Come on. Let's go see your Mother."

And then we rode toward the hospital.

"So, it's your birthday, Son, eh?" He softly said, and then he started yawning.

"Yeah. I am eighteen."

"Shit, son. You're a young adult."

I looked at him, and he looked at me. He gave me a faint smile before looking back at the road. Father was another person who was not big on birthdays; maybe it was where I got the hating holiday. But he was still happy to celebrate. But he was a doctor. He always explained to me why Birthday's scared him. It was because it was telling everyone was growing up. The inevitable truth of life takes a toll and settles in the deep thoughts of life and death. He was scared of death, whence why he was up all night with Mother? He is scared to lose her. I don't blame him because he worked with many patients, and many of them always reminded him that the day we die is coming. Never know when.

The most frightening aspect was its unpredictability. The when, how, by whom, or what remains unknown, causing me to sometimes dwell on it. This may be another reason I am not too fond of birthdays. Nonetheless, there are numerous other reasons, the primary one being that dedicating a day to me feels excessive. I desire it to be just another day, allowing each passing year to do so without any special recognition.

"I am sorry this all happened to you on your birthday weekend," Father broke the silence of the passing traffic and wind.

"Naw, don't worry."

"But Terrance, this must mean a lot to you--"

"I said don't worry!" I snapped.

I never snapped like that, but I could not take his pity anymore. I just sighed deeply and looked out the window. Staring at the passing cars, wondering where they were all going. I could see Father's hand come into view of the reflection. But he stopped and dropped his hand. I heard him sigh deeply. I frowned because I snapped at him, which was rare, but I did not want to deal with the day. So, I stayed fixated on the traffic.

When we got to the hospital, I went straight to see Mother. It was probably the worst present I had ever gotten. She was looking progressively worse than I had last seen her. She was still unable to move. I know she was quadriplegic, but I was still hoping for a miracle deep inside. Father told me everything is under control, or at least I hope, though they are still monitoring her to see if she can still get seizures. There were a lot of medical terms I did not understand.

I went up to her bed, hurting at the horrific sight of Mother. She was strapped to wires, tubes, and a large bandage around her head. She looked so sad and not like my mother. She was becoming skinnier ever so fast. She looked like she had aged faster than anyone I had seen. She was still able to move her eyes. Her skin became pale and blue like she was in ice for a long time. Even her hair had seemed to become grey. She looked at me and started murmuring something under her breath. I went closer to her mouth, and she was still muttering, but I was yet to understand.

"Curr Nee," she muttered.

"Sorry, Mother," I whispered. "I can't understand you,"

"Curr Ne," she muttered louder.

"Sorry?" I leaned closer to her mouth. "Say that again?"

This time she screamed the exact words again, but over and over. Her fingertips moved slightly, and her toes wiggled, but she could not move anything else but her head, toes, and feet. I covered my mouth and watched her shake silently in bed. Father stepped in and told me to go. I ran out of the room as fast as I could.