chapter four

cahpter four hopefully done

     The following dawn brought with it the miraculous return of my mother. I awoke to sounds so familiar that it took me a moment to realize that thier presence was notable. The sound of my mothers shoes on our scrubbed bare kitchen floor and the cling of plates being laid on the table which before my fathers death were the background noise to our mornings now stilled my heart. As the events of the previous night flooded back to me the once mouthwatering smell of biscuit ham in the pan caused my stomche to churn.

While I lay there trying to gather myself, my sister stirred and my heart sank as I heard her whisper breathlessly " Mama"

 

     As she hurried from the room my heart sank knowing that now facing my growing fear was inevitable. The sound of thier light voices chattering caused me to sit up. listening to thier casual conversation of wether we have milk for gravy caused me to question wether any of the recent events, daddy's death, mamas strange behavior or any of it had even happened. I allowed myself for a moment to believe maybe this could be true that possibly everythinng could have been a horrible dream.

 

     Slipping my feet from under my quilt I stepped slowly into the kitchen. As I entered my mother turned from her work at the stove, her face aglow with a smile I hadn't seen in weeks our eyes met and as her gaze held mine knowingly my fantasies of stepping back in time vanished.

 

     Desperate to get away I hurried to the cabniets for glasses, hiding behind its open door to collect my thoughts, my mind whirling in circles making me sway slightly as I reached for the glasses. I remember the day my father gave these glasses along with four porcelian plates to my mother. As I watched my mother lift the first one delicatly from the box I thought to myself what a flop my father had made of this birthday he usually had a wonderful talent for even on a miniscule budget to produce some wished for item, a muched loved sweet treat, or some other small luxury to aknowledge the fact that though his girls led a modest and sometimes even meager existence to him they were still the queen and princesses of his realm and made sure as often as possible to make sure we treated as such.

 

     But in my youthful mind as I saw the practical gift of dinnerware taken from its paper wrappings though I was sure of its extravagant expense I could'nt help but wonder why he would spent his money so foolishly. Looking to my mother as she reached again into the box I expected to see the pleasant smile any of us would have given this man we loved so much even if he had given a dissappointing gift I was not prepared for the look of rapture on her face. Her eyes were not directed at my father or any of us for that matter this was no false exclamation of joy for the benefit of loving family. Her attention was so focused on the objects in front of her I don't think she even knew we were in the room. Her hands trembling as they gently traced the rim of one of the glasses. Then as she lifted her eyes to my fathers the look she gave him was one of wonder. As though she could'nt comprehend how this could be and his returning smile was one such pride as if he had provided a secret hearts desire.

 

     My inability to understand this exchange troubled me greatly leaveing me sleepless that night wondering if there was something I had missed or if possibly there was some greater magical meaning hidden in four glasses and four plates that only adults could understand or worse what if I was just unaware of my mothers mundane nature.

 

     Though I didn't understand her love of her gift I was aware of it and presumed these would be added to her few treasures only brought out on the occasions worth the risk of something happening to them but from everyday after all our meals were eaten with them. Our common tin plates and cups were placed away. At first we all ate with trepidation, terrified that we could possibly be the unlucky person to drop one of them shattering our mothers heart along with the glass. This caused only our best manners to be brought to our table, backs were straighter, elbows safley tucked away, smaller bites were lifted gently from our plates and more refined sips were taken from our glasses. We ate every common sometimes pitiful meals on our table as if it were a royal banquet. I see now that my father didn't bring my mother glassses and plates but the ability to give her children an experience of something she thought was lost to them and her as well. The feel of the delicate glass against a soft lip the small ringing clink of a fork against the porcelian earased any feeling of inferiority the lacking meals might have instilled in them. In his wisdom he knew my mothers worst fear for us was to lose the value she placed on us in the hard work and strife of our lives. And though she had no control of the hardships that were an unescapable reality of our lives mealtimes were her domain and he had given her the tools to reclaim from fate some of her power to influence what we became.

 

     Pulling the glasses from the cabinet was only a brief respite from facing the morning and her. As I turned to place them on our table she was watching me, her eyes holding my mine with a soft but relentless stare. Her aproach to the table with the silverware matched mine. As we bothed moved forward her movements and her eyes seemed to chant inside my head " watch, watch, watch." and even with her eyes steady never falterinng I realized that mine were starting to do just that. To watch her to see truely what was happening. My view of the woman in front of me expanding from her face, spreading to encompass her movements as she performed her mundane task. And suddenly I could see but I wasn't sure what I was looking at.

 

     My mind begin to whirl, the way it does when you can't think of a word you need. Clicking and spinning through everything I knew about the common picture infront of me. Trying it's best to place a name on the diffrence my eyes were seeing but my mind could'nt register. Then suddenly it was clear.

      It was her hands, and as my mind made the contection her eyes lit slightly as if as she was staring into my face she was watching the actual workings of my mind. And as I continued to watch her hands to try and pinpoint their importance I could almost hear her. " Yes, see, see." There it was again, it wasn't the hands themself it was the movement, something was off with the movement. Even though her hands moved with the steady deliberation of a routine task if you watched closely you could see the movement was too fast, the glide of her hand from point A to B cut too sharply. As I watched this the corner of her of her mouth turned slightly upward with the smallest smirk of pride.

      I moved my eyes back up to hers as she laid the last piece of flatware and mixed with the unmistakeable pride she gazed back at me with a look of understanding, the kind your mama gives you when she pities you but can't do anything to help you.