The Wait

 

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script>
<!– taw-responsive –>
<ins class=”adsbygoogle”
     style=”display:block”
     data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″
     data-ad-slot=”1428227755
     data-ad-format=”auto”></ins>
<script>
(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});
</script>

The chill of the January evening welcomes me as I stroll on the paved path. The trees seem to shiver in the assault of the cold wind which ruffles my hair. I can no longer sense my limbs which are exhausted from consistent quivering. Impatiently, I keep on waiting.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, I see him make way into the park. Kissing my right cheek, he greets me and sits beside me. After six years, he is back in town now but he had to meet some delegates, then his friends and now, finally he gets the time to see me. I don’t complain, though.

 

 

“So, when do you leave?” I ask dismissing the silence.

 

 

“Tomorrow,” he says.

 

 

“How has the stay been?”

 

 

“Fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to stay at your home, I feel suffocated around so many people,” he blabbers.

 

 

“Our home,” I assert. “Family, they are your uncles and aunts and cousins, not people.”

 

 

“Whatever, you know that crowd irritates me.”

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script>
<!– taw_display2 –>
<ins class=”adsbygoogle”
     style=”display:block”
     data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″
     data-ad-slot=”7509420951
     data-ad-format=”auto”></ins>
<script>
(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});
</script>

 

“Your mom’s crowd, too, I suppose.”

 

 

“Please, mom. I didn’t mean that,” he says holding my hand, “Come, let’s go for a dinner somewhere.”

 

 

I look at him, trying to remember the last time I had my meal peacefully. His whereabouts give me constant worries, albeit he seems ignorant. When he was younger, I could hug him and tell I love him but now that he’s a grown up lad, he thinks his mom is just an old lady who’s over dramatic.

 

 

As he’d be leaving tomorrow, all I have is tonight; I wish I could cook his favourite meal and feed him myself. But I guess he has forgotten what his mom’s dishes taste like, or perhaps he likes the other stuff now or maybe he doesn’t want to bother me as he cares too much. I’d like to believe the latter.

 

 

I try getting up, the bench is too low for my weak knees. I look at him, apparently he is too busy smiling into the screen of his Iphone. It’s a delight to see him smile. Anyway, I can get up myself, after all I do it all the time when he is not around.

 

 

He notices me and says,”Uh, sorry mom, I have to go urgently, an acquaintance wants to see me before I leave,” he continues, “I’ll drop you home and will see you in the morning before departure, is it okay?”

 

 

“Sure,” I smile. “We can sit and eat together the next time you come. Because I’m a mother, I’ve waited for years, and I still would, without complaints.”

 

 

Our silences talk further…

 

 


Image Courtesy: www.pixabay.com


<script src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js” async=””></script>
 <ins class=”adsbygoogle” style=”display: block;” data-ad-format=”autorelaxed” data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″ data-ad-slot=”1246221352“></ins>
<script>// <![CDATA[
     (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});
// ]]></script>

 

Share With Friends