Purpose ❆ Benny Rodriguez

20 | mom

12/30/2015

chapter twenty ;
MOM

♡

B E N N Y
point of view.

　

SOFT MORNING LIGHT spilled through my window, and my mind was ripped away from a wonderful dream. The clock beside my bed read 6:01 AM; no matter how long I lay still, eyes closed, though, I could not return to sleep.

　Eventually, sighing, I pushed myself out of bed. The strong aroma of coffee wafted through the cool air, and I trudged downstairs in nothing but boxers, running my fingers through my hair.

　I was surprised to find Elizabeth standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a hand on her forehead, the other gripping a mug of steaming coffee.

　"You're up?"

　Liz glanced up at me; her exhaustion was clear. "Couldn't fall back asleep."

　"Why?" I questioned.

　The girl waved me away. "Personal reasons. Maybe I'll tell you later."

　"All right. I'm going to check on Mom. She's been sick."

　For a moment, Elizabeth stared at me in utter silence. Then she looked down at her coffee mug, pursing her lips. "I know. Bad headaches."

　"I noticed." With that, I made my way into the narrow hall between the living room couch and staircase.

　Rather than barging in – afraid that I would find my mother naked or something – I knocked lightly. Just to be safe. When there was no answer, I knew that she was still asleep.

　Of course she's asleep, I thought to myself. It's six in the morning, and we have nothing to do.

　Initially I planned to leave her alone until she awoke, but something kept me planted in place. She'd fallen asleep peacefully the previous night, and I'd slipped out of her room and went to my own bed. But before that her state was quite worrying.

　Once more I knocked, just to be sure, and softly called, "Ma."

　The next few moments were silent, as they had been, so I pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside. There was an odd smell in the room, and I wrinkled my nose.

　"Momma, what is that?" I approached her and sat at the edge of the bed.

　Mom was still asleep, utterly peaceful. Her dark lashes nearly brushed her cheeks, and her features were soft and gentle. For a forty-year-old woman, she looked young, and very beautiful. But I noticed now the strands of silver hidden among her dark hair.

　I pressed my lips together. Surely she had already noticed the gray hairs; if she hadn't, I knew that she would not be pleased when she did.

　A sigh escaped my lips, and I just watched Mom sleep for a moment. Part of me wanted to let her get her rest, to leave her alone . . . But, at the same time, there was a nagging in my gut. I couldn't identify the feeling, but I just knew that the urge to wake her up was becoming overwhelming.