“But you’re home. That’s the most important thing and that you’re never going back to that criminal gang.”
“Club,” I remind her. “And yeah, Mom. I’m still a brother in the club. That hasn’t changed.”
The look of disappointment and anger mixes in her eyes, a look I’ve seen too many times but after the shit I’ve been through, I’ll sit here and take it.
“But they got you killed! Or we thought they did. You can’t go back to them. They’ll definitely get you killed one day!”
“Mom, please, calm down.”
“Calm down? I have spent months not knowing how I was going to continue because I thought I had lost you. There was a time I tried to… you know what, never mind. But I’ll tell you this, if you go back to that gang, you’re not welcome here. I can’t live worrying you really will end up dead!”
She can’t bring herself to look at me. I didn’t want to argue with her, but I should’ve expected her anger.
“I’ll leave…” She cuts me off, “No! Stay! I only just got you back!”
Her terror of me going has me rooted where I’m stood. She looks me up and down and murmurs, “I’ll cook you your favourite. You’re far too thin.”
She rushes by me and into the kitchen. I take a moment to breathe and then join her.
I sit at the table and watch as she prepares a lasagne with all the trimmings. “What are you going to tell people? What am I going to tell people?”
I lick my lips and say, “I haven’t quite worked that out but something along the lines of, I left town, and it was a case of mistaken identity.”
“Your Uncle Jack will expect me to sue the city for that kind of mess up and what will I tell him? You know him, he won’t let it go.”
“It’ll work itself out, Mom.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” she mutters.
Every so often she stops and stares at me, then goes back to cooking. I keep my mouth shut and wait for her to saysomething. She keeps me waiting until she places our plates on the table and pulls out a chair to sit.
“If I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake up.”
Using her sleeve, she dabs her eyes, and I reach across the table to hold onto her hand.
“Mom…”
“There is nothing you can say that will make me forget having to live believing you were dead. Until you have your own child, you have no idea how powerful a parent’s love is. Unless you’re going to tell me you won’t ever go back to that gang, you keep your mouth shut and eat your food.”
Her shoulders sag when I pick up my fork and dig into my first homecooked meal in months. Dinner is eaten in silence and though I’m content to be around my mom, she constantly flicks her eyes to me, making sure I’m still here. My guilt intensifies and hopefully in time, she will forgive me.
Dawn has broken and I must have fallen asleep on the armchair. My mother is the first sight I see when I open my eyes.
“How long have you been sat there?” I ask.
Perched on the edge of the coffee table, she tells me, “I’ve been here since you fell asleep. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you.”
It must be torture being a parent. The worry and all other emotions that they live with because of another person.
“I kept thinking if I fell asleep, I might wake up and you would’ve been a dream.”
“I’m here, Mom, and I promise, you won’t have to go through this again.”
“You can’t make such promises. Do you know when you were about two or three, you went through a phase of being too scared to sleep in your own bed. You’d only fall asleep after I promised to watch over you. Of course I’d fall asleep soon after, but I always woke before you and you thought I’d stayed up all night. And now I finally kept my word and you’re a grown man.”
I sit forward and take hold of her hands. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through but please, trust me now, you don’t have to worry.”
“I wouldn’t if you left the club.”
