When Droplets Collide

Two

All I can do is concentrate on the clear droplets splattering onto the glass before me.

At first, each droplet is the embodiment of magnificence, each more transparent than the last until one joins another in its prime to use up its life force, only causing them both to stream down the glass to disappear out of sight. The serene sound accompanying the insignificance of the droplets is just as deceiving as their initial appearance.

This always happens before my very eyes; not touching me, yet still able to affect me like the first single droplet minding its own business before the other ruins whatever serenity it managed to obtain.

An ear-splitting rumble brings me out of my thoughts. My eyes flutter downward to the veined hands gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life. I idly wondered how long they’ve been strained in this position for, a position they were subconsciously forced into against their will, before gently prying my aching fingers off the hard leather. I don't need to glance down at the watch around my wrist to know I've overstayed whatever welcome this temporary safe haven provided.

Another clap of thunder howls in the distance, both reminding me of her eagerness for my arrival and begging me not to go through with what I'm about to do. I glance back at the droplets on my windscreen; the droplets begging me not to do anything to make her end up as insignificant as any of them. I tear myself away from their pleading and thrust open the door to face the howling of the autumn wind.

I focus on the dewy droplets falling from my hair to run down my cheeks. I feel them pool against my bare arms. It's better than reflecting on the ice that’s working its way through my veins.

Looking up at the luminous numbers, my heartbeat becomes unsteady as I wonder what I'll find when they reach my destination. My thoughts run away with the numbers and I barely register coming to a halt. I welcome the distraction of old lady Davie's entrance and her cheerful humming as her bony finger presses the button of her floor.

My eyes dart away from her and refocus on the ascending numbers when she turns around to face me. My heart pounds so loudly in my ears that I miss her polite greeting on the opposite end of this claustrophobic metal container. I cant find it in me to greet her back. She raises an eyebrow at my silence, but when she takes in my dark attire she nods as she concludes the reason for my change in behaviour from the kid who always greeted back months ago.

I want to tell her that I'm not going through a phase, but the words get stuck in my throat for the simple reason that I am going through a phase, that we're going through a phase. If I open my mouth, I might make the mistake of telling her everything—like the real reason I came back. So I choose not to correct the greying Mrs Davie. It's better if she assumes I'm going through a phase.

The less she knows, the easier this'll be.

The metal doors slide open, revealing the reality I’m forced to face. Before the doors close and take Mrs Davie upwards, I turn around to flash her a wave goodbye and the first smile I manage to muster in a long time, but I'm too late. Instead of seeing her kind smile, I'm left staring at the reflection of a more drowned and forlorn version of myself. Seeing this only strengthens my resolve.

I have to do this in order for her to be happy—just like he said.

Crossing the short distance to the door separating her from the rest of the world, I reassure myself once again that I’m doing this for all the right reasons; that underneath the malice lies golden intentions. I convince myself that I'm doing this for all three of us to experience happiness in our individual lives; that if I don't do this, we may never feel any real euphoria again.

But the more I try to convince myself, the more I struggle to believe that I'm doing the duty of any good son for the happiness of both his parents—and not for the selfish satisfaction of a corrupted businessman.

So I stop feeding myself all the lies and raise a trembling hand to undo all the locks bolted to the door. I watch as it creaks forward, shedding light into the darkly lit apartment. The sight is more heart breaking than the act of betrayal I decided to pursue. It causes me to feel more suffocated from the outside looking in than I ever did while on the inside wanting out.

From where I stand, I can see the many single layers of cloth hiding every item of furniture from view—just like how her pain has hidden her from the view of the rest of the world.

As my eyes drift from one blurry furniture item to the next, my mind is bombarded with memories of when the light was allowed into the dark room: when curdled smells of new paint permeated the air as my hand drifted across canvas after canvas to replicate the ocean waves mom adored so much, the citrus scent of mom's hair that accompanied the comforting feel of her warm back hugs that always made me feel safe...

But not even back hugs could prevent our euphoria from festering under the sun.

He made that very clear the day the drinking started.

The bad memories begging to be relived draw me further into the place where it all happened. My feet drag across the carpet. The memories threaten to consume me again. I try to resist against them, but reality gives the extra shove, causing me to stumble into the room as the memories from the early stages in my life replace with memories attacking me from every angle and corner of my mind.

Gone are the familiar scents of paint. In their place lies the lingering scent of alcohol mixed with his breath as he stumbles in late into the night. Gone are the loving citrus scent of mom's hair. In its place lies the scent of a perfume other than hers on his collar. Gone are the hugs from the safe harbour that is my mother. In their place, I find the never ending sight of a boy providing a woman with the support and love her slowly deteriorating spirit craves.

“Kevin,” a weakened voice beckons to me from the shadows. “You came home.”

I was so deep in the past that I hadn't even seen her wander out of her room and into the living room. Pieces of my heart break off with every tentative step she takes. The guilt I feel leaves me paralysed to the spot, only allowing me to observe her frail form making it's haggard way over to me, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders in her attempt to fight off the cold.

“You're soaking wet,” she breathes out, craning her neck to look up into my tormented eyes. “I don’t see you in months and when you finally do appear, you're completely drenched from head to toe.”

She reached out the back of her delicately pale hand towards my forehead, and I'm so grief stricken from reflecting on how our lives ended up this way that I don't move away in time.