Questions in the Dark
“Mommy?” the mousy voice of
little Hope asked on a mid-Sunday afternoon.
Her mother didn’t answer; instead,
she took another swig of beer while she nuked a tray of mac-n-cheese.
Hope didn’t give up, “Mommy?”
“What the f—?” she exploded.
“Answer the damn brat!” Raven
interrupted as she took another drag from a joint – her source of recovery from
a night of meth.
“I’m not – a, a brat.” Hope
stuttered.
“Don’t talk back to your
Aunt!” Mommy scolded.
Hope muttered under her
breath, “Not my aunt.”
“She’s my dead brother’s
widow,” she cried.
A gunshot down the street rang
out. The TV echoed the latest disasters – the latest war, the latest school
shooting, the latest pandemic, the latest rape, the latest political scandal,
the latest nation to fall victim to anarchy, others to martial law – and the
list drug on. Eventually, her mommy returned to her nuked meal.
The kitchen, where Hope was
coloring, was filled with more tension than smoke – a razorblade was needed to
cut through both.
The scars on mommy’s wrists
from years past released nothing, just more anger. She glared at the lump on
the sofa.
“Get a job bitch!” Mommy scolded Raven which
was received by the bird. Smoke and tension swirled in slow-motion. With the
same speed Mommy returned her face to Hope, “What did you want?”
The innocent mouse retreated,
“Nothing.”
“Well, it must’ve been
something.”
In her cannabis-induced state,
Raven shouted, “Bitches! Shit up!”
Hope laughed.
Mommy shot a glare at Raven,
“Why – why I let you stay here.”
Raven failed to stand, and
fell back down, “Too bad you couldn’t afford the abortion for this one.”
Hoped dropped her head down in
pain. She glanced at her mommy to be rescued but found none. Hope’s sadness
grew. She returned to coloring. Moments later, her creativity along with the
bright yellow Crayon reignited her curiosity. With a quick sniffle, she
regained her courage, “Mommy?”
“What now?” Her mommy’s
patience ran thin like cracked ice on a lake.
It had been years since Hope
had seen a lake with or without ice. Her daddy took her and mommy there once.
It reminded her of the laughter they once shared as a family – their shared
warmth seemed to melt the ice on that spring vacation. But it quickly froze
over when they returned home.
Hope gazed through the smoke
and tension into the indifference of her mother’s eyes. She was about to repeat
her previous cowardice response but relied upon her curiosity instead, “Why is
it so dark?”
“What?” Her mommy cared not nor
dared not engage the thought process to answer.
It was obvious from Hope’s
expression that she had been pondering the question for a long time – at least
for a little girl, it felt like years.
Raven opened her eyes enough
to supply an answer as if delivering it in a zip-loc off the street, “It’s hell
on earth kid—” her words faded at the same speed as her brain cells.
“Huh?” Hope’s confusion grew
like the haze in the air.
By this time, her mommy was
engrossed in her mac-n-cheese; she sighed after each bite, “Same old shit!” But
she continued to shovel the orange and yellow noodles into her chapped face.
Hope started to cry. Not a
full-fledged blubber, but more of a grasp at hope. Her tears were the only
thing to soften the dry indifference of her mommy.
Her mommy shoved her tray
aside, “Okay. What?” She folded her arms.
Raven was completely
incomprehensible when she attempted to repeat her previous response, “It’s hell
… earth.”
They ignored her.
Hope nearly gave up but took a
deep breath and repeated her question, “Why is it so dark?”
Her mommy’s eyes opened in
surprise at the question. For the first time in a long time, Hope saw her mommy
give thought to her interest. Hope followed her mommy’s eyes as they both
looked outside – at the Darkness. It had been dark for years. Her mommy looked at
the TV and Raven passed out through the haze. Mommy’s expression revealed she
knew the answer, but she seemed hesitant.
“Mommy?” Hope reached across
the deserted kitchen table.
Silence joined the smoke. Hope
looked into her mommy’s eyes. Her eyes reached out in one last attempt.
Finally, she answered, “I
don’t know.”
“They left,” Raven mumbled,
“Who cares. I like it!” She wallowed in the torn cushions.
Hope’s face was more perplexed
than before, “Who? I don’t understand.”
“You were little when it
happened—” she muttered.
“Still too little," Mommy
added with a long face.
“What?” Hope pleaded.
The smoke began to subside.
Her mommy inhaled a pocket of air, “They were taken away.”
“Why?”
Her mommy simply and plainly
said, “Because they had the Light.”
“It was the government,” Raven
mumbled.
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| Image by Melody, licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 |
Hope sunk deep into her chair
as if to find more answers. Finally, she got up from her seat and carefully
brought her coloring book to her mommy. She reached over the kitchen table toward
her mommy’s scarred arms, “Look mommy!” She pointed at her Crayon-filled
drawing with a house on top of a hill. She had drawn a black sky with white
clouds and a bright yellow line directed at the house. Yellow streaks shot out
of the windows.
Shocked, “Why did you draw
this?” Mommy grabbed the paper from her tiny hands.
“I saw it,” she squeaked.
Mommy’s eyes widened, “Where?”
“I show you,” she pulled on
her mommy’s hand, out the front door and pointed up the street at the house on
top of the hill. With eyes of a sad kitten, “I’m tired of living in darkness.”
Her mommy fought back a tear
but lost. Not a full-fledged blubber, but more of a grasp at hope. She glanced
back at Raven perched in the doorway – and dropped to her knees. Mommy –
tightly held
her daughter. They gazed at the Light from the house on the hill as Mommy asked,
“But how?”
to make sense
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