Arani
October 7th, 2007, 02:54 AM
Cynthia sat in the cold chair, the hard edge biting into her thighs. She rested her head in her hands as she struggled to hold back 3 years of resentment. The only thing that had kept her in town this long had been Alejandro’s mother, Maria. But now that she had passed on, Cynthia didn’t have a reason to stay.
She leaned back in the seat, letting her long hair trail over the side. “Alejandro,” she thought, “I wish you were here with me now. I need you.” Even three years after his death, she still reached for him when she woke up in the morning. Sometimes she would wake up and realize she had forgotten the sound of his voice, or the color of his eyes. Those mornings she would leap out of bed in a panic, weeping as she ran through the apartment to the drawer where she kept his photographs. It was too painful to have them sitting out, where she had to look at his smiling face every day, but it was even more painful to forget him. She would collapse on the floor, clutching his picture to her chest, and sob as if her very soul was breaking.
“Mrs. Marrano? You can come in now.” A young nurse looked at her hesitantly. Sighing, Cynthia stood, putting the thoughts of her dead husband to the back of her mind. She let the nurse lead her into the room. Her mother looked so small, lying in bed with tubes keeping her alive. She turned to the nurse. “Thank you. I won’t be long.” As the nurse left she sat in the chair by her mother’s bed.
It was hard for Cynthia to look at her mother with compassion. At every opportunity, her mother had consistently failed her. When she was only 6 years old, Cynthia was taken away from her mother and was put in the care of her grandmother. Her grandmother had loved Cynthia and had cared for her like a daughter, but she was never able to replace her mother. Cynthia had believed with all of her heart that her mother would stop drinking and come home to be a family again. But every Christmas that passed without a card, every birthday that passed without a phone call, chipped away at her love for her mother. Cynthia learned the hard way that her mother would never be there for her.
She looked around the room. There were no get-well cards, no flowers. Cynthia was the only person left in her mother’s life, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to waste any money buying things her mother couldn’t see. Her mother had been in a coma for over two years, and the doctors didn’t have hope that she would ever recover. Inside, Cynthia hoped her mother wouldn’t recover. It was easier to deal with her in this state.
She remembered the day of her mother’s accident well. She wished she didn’t. Cynthia had gone to wish her mother a happy birthday. When she got to the house, her mother wasn’t downstairs. She walked up the narrow flight of stairs, thinking to herself that she shouldn’t have come. Her mother was propped up against the wall in the dim hallway, an empty bottle of tequila in her hand. “Cindy!!” her mother had slurred, struggling to stand. “I’m so glad you came over.” Cynthia turned away in disgust. She had expected this, but even after 20 years it didn’t hurt any less to see her mother intoxicated. She started to head back downstairs and she heard her mother stumble across the hallway toward her. “Cindy, baby, don’t go so soon!” As her mother got to the top of the stairs, she tripped over her drunken feet. She came crashing down, and dragged Cynthia down with her.
The only reason she had gone over to the house that day was because she knew Alejandro would have wanted her to go. He had always wanted her to patch things up with her mother. But now that would never happen. She would never be able to forgive her mother for what happened that day. When Cynthia had fallen down the stairs underneath her mother, she was uninjured besides a few minor scrapes and bruises. Her unborn child, however, was not. Her mother caused her to miscarry Alejandro’s baby, the one part of him she had left. When her baby had died, so had any remnants of love for her mother.
“Goodbye.” Cynthia stood up to leave. With any luck she would never look at that woman’s face again. She picked up her purse and walked out of that room, out of that floor, and out of that hospital without looking back. She would leave this town and every painful memory that lingered here.
She leaned back in the seat, letting her long hair trail over the side. “Alejandro,” she thought, “I wish you were here with me now. I need you.” Even three years after his death, she still reached for him when she woke up in the morning. Sometimes she would wake up and realize she had forgotten the sound of his voice, or the color of his eyes. Those mornings she would leap out of bed in a panic, weeping as she ran through the apartment to the drawer where she kept his photographs. It was too painful to have them sitting out, where she had to look at his smiling face every day, but it was even more painful to forget him. She would collapse on the floor, clutching his picture to her chest, and sob as if her very soul was breaking.
“Mrs. Marrano? You can come in now.” A young nurse looked at her hesitantly. Sighing, Cynthia stood, putting the thoughts of her dead husband to the back of her mind. She let the nurse lead her into the room. Her mother looked so small, lying in bed with tubes keeping her alive. She turned to the nurse. “Thank you. I won’t be long.” As the nurse left she sat in the chair by her mother’s bed.
It was hard for Cynthia to look at her mother with compassion. At every opportunity, her mother had consistently failed her. When she was only 6 years old, Cynthia was taken away from her mother and was put in the care of her grandmother. Her grandmother had loved Cynthia and had cared for her like a daughter, but she was never able to replace her mother. Cynthia had believed with all of her heart that her mother would stop drinking and come home to be a family again. But every Christmas that passed without a card, every birthday that passed without a phone call, chipped away at her love for her mother. Cynthia learned the hard way that her mother would never be there for her.
She looked around the room. There were no get-well cards, no flowers. Cynthia was the only person left in her mother’s life, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to waste any money buying things her mother couldn’t see. Her mother had been in a coma for over two years, and the doctors didn’t have hope that she would ever recover. Inside, Cynthia hoped her mother wouldn’t recover. It was easier to deal with her in this state.
She remembered the day of her mother’s accident well. She wished she didn’t. Cynthia had gone to wish her mother a happy birthday. When she got to the house, her mother wasn’t downstairs. She walked up the narrow flight of stairs, thinking to herself that she shouldn’t have come. Her mother was propped up against the wall in the dim hallway, an empty bottle of tequila in her hand. “Cindy!!” her mother had slurred, struggling to stand. “I’m so glad you came over.” Cynthia turned away in disgust. She had expected this, but even after 20 years it didn’t hurt any less to see her mother intoxicated. She started to head back downstairs and she heard her mother stumble across the hallway toward her. “Cindy, baby, don’t go so soon!” As her mother got to the top of the stairs, she tripped over her drunken feet. She came crashing down, and dragged Cynthia down with her.
The only reason she had gone over to the house that day was because she knew Alejandro would have wanted her to go. He had always wanted her to patch things up with her mother. But now that would never happen. She would never be able to forgive her mother for what happened that day. When Cynthia had fallen down the stairs underneath her mother, she was uninjured besides a few minor scrapes and bruises. Her unborn child, however, was not. Her mother caused her to miscarry Alejandro’s baby, the one part of him she had left. When her baby had died, so had any remnants of love for her mother.
“Goodbye.” Cynthia stood up to leave. With any luck she would never look at that woman’s face again. She picked up her purse and walked out of that room, out of that floor, and out of that hospital without looking back. She would leave this town and every painful memory that lingered here.