Returning

Mom did come home. It had been 2 months and already I was packing a bag to go looking. She stumbled through the door limping and clutching her stomach. She told me she saw dad over my shoulder, and she clawed past me to get to him and ended up following the illusion of him toward the cold room. I started the cooking fire and guided her to it. She fought me harshly. She didn’t seem to recognize me at all. I helped her eat some roasted rats and drink some clean water. She slept after that for a whole day. When she woke she only wept.  

I’m glad she was home, safe, but she didn’t seem to recognize our home or anything in it. It would have taken a week or more for her to improve. I wrote in my journal, fifty words or more for my 17th birthday. I celebrated alone. Once I was sure mom was asleep again I snuck away.  

For 2 months the guilt of losing my mother, my whole family, ate me alive. I spent every day silent and alone in that building. Never once setting foot outside. Well, today I did. I stepped out and breathed in the fresh cool night air. I looked out at the purple dust floating along under the moonlight. I cried. I sobbed, I wept, I wailed. I swung myself back against the wall of the building and slid down its surface. My knees couldn’t support my weight anymore. I pulled them to my chest and let out all the feelings inside until I was gagging and gasping. If I recall correctly I believe I threw up once or twice. Then, when the sobs and hiccups subsided, I was just tired. I went inside and slept until my body hurt.  

Moms condition gradually improved in the weeks to come but due to her experience, I was not allowed outside. We played games inside to pass the time. Once, and only once, I asked her what she ran into out there. She stared at the wall behind me silently. Her eyes darted wildly and she began to shake. I thought she might pass out or throw up so I decided never to ask again and offered her a sip of the whiskey I stole. She drank half the bottle and took a nap.