Chapter 12 walk

My mother puts on her white tweed coat and moves her shoulders to flatten it.In her later years, she spent her time doing make-up and hair for the elderly lady who had limited mobility and was trapped at home.She went door-to-door to keep them in regular grooming sessions.Today she has three such appointments, she said.I followed her out of the garage, still dizzy. Charlie, would you like to take a walk by the lake?She said: This time of the day is the most comfortable. I nodded, speechless.How long had it been since I lay there on the wet grass, staring at the wreckage of the car?How long will it be before someone finds me?I still had the salty taste of blood in my mouth, and the severe pain hit me like waves. One minute I was fine, and the next minute my whole body ached.Anyway, I was walking on the road near my former residence, carrying my mother's purple plastic cloth handbag, which contained hairdressing supplies.

Mom, I finally said: how do you Baby boy, what's the matter? I clear my throat. Why are you here? I live here.she says. I shake my head. You don't live here anymore.I whispered. She looked up at the sky. You know, it was this kind of weather the day you were born.It's cold, but comfortable.I started hurting towards dusk, remember? (Says like I should say yes, I remember.) What's the doctor's name?Raposo?Yes, Dr. Raposo.He told me I had to give birth by six o'clock because his wife was cooking his favorite dish that night and he didn't want to miss dinner.

I've heard about it. Fried fish fillet.I whispered. Fried fish fillet.Do you want it?Such an easy dish to make.You'd think he was in a hurry to get home for dinner, and he'd have a steak anyway.Forget it, I don't care anyway.Later he also ate his fish fillet. She looked at me mischievously. And I got you. We took a few steps forward.There was a sharp pain in my forehead.I rub my forehead with the inside of my wrist. What's the matter, Charlie?Where do you hurt? This question is so simple that it is almost impossible to answer.Does it hurt?Where do I start?car accident?Jump from a height?Drinking wine for three days and three nights?that wedding?my own marriage?depression?The past eight years of life?When do I feel pain free?

Mom, I'm not having a good time.I said. She walked on, examining the grass. You know, after I married your dad, I wanted to have children for three full years.In the old days, it took three years to try to conceive, which is not a short time.Everyone thinks there is something wrong with me.I also thought I had a problem. She exhaled softly.I can't imagine life without children.At one point, I even waited a bit and we went to have a look. She led me to a big tree around a corner near my house. One night, I couldn't sleep.She rubbed the bark with her hands, as if trying to dig out an ancient treasure from the dirt: oh, it's still there.

I lean forward.The side of the tree is engraved with please.The handwriting is small and crooked.You have to look closely to spot it, but it's there.please. You and Roberta aren't the only ones who can write.she said with a smile. What's this? Words of prayer. Are you begging for a child? She nodded. Are you begging me? Nod again. Are you begging on a tree? Trees look up to God all day long. I made a face. I understand what you mean.She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.You think: Mom, you are so naive. She touched the bark again and let out an audible exhale, as if remembering all the things that had happened in the years since I was born that afternoon.I was wondering if she would make other noises if she knew about my past.

So she puts her hands down: now you know how badly there was a man who wanted you, Charlie.Sometimes, people who are children forget this.They think they are a burden to their parents, not knowing that they are a wish fulfilled. She straightened up and straightened her coat.I want to cry.A wish fulfilled?How long ago was the last time someone said something like that to me?I should really be grateful.I should really be ashamed of myself for turning my back on my life.But I used to be neither grateful nor ashamed, just drinking.I want to go into the darkness of the bar, longing to drink glass by glass under the dim light bulb, and taste the intoxicating taste of alcohol, because I know that as soon as alcohol enters my body, it will take me away quickly. .

I walked up to my mother and put my hand on her shoulder.I slightly expected that as soon as my hand fell on her shoulder, it would pass through her body, like the plot in a horror movie.But things are not as I thought.With my hands on her shoulders, I feel her narrow bones under the dress. you are dead.I blurted out. Suddenly a breeze blew away the fallen leaves. You are too imaginative.she says. Percy.Bernato was very talkative, everyone said; yet she was different from many talkative people because she was also a good listener.In the hospital, she listened to the patients; on a beach chair on a hot summer day, she listened to the neighbors.She likes to hear jokes.As long as someone talks to make her laugh, she will push the other person's shoulder with her hand.She is charming.That's how everyone saw her: Charming Percy.

That's obviously how people looked at her when my father's big hands were still around her.Once she was divorced and out of his grasp, other women would not want this charm to approach their husbands. As a result, my mother lost all her friends.She might as well have caught the plague, the situation might not be so bad.She and my dad used to play poker with the neighbors a lot, now?it's over.What about invitations to birthday celebrations?there is none left.On the Fourth of July National Day holiday, we could smell the charcoal of barbecue everywhere but no one invited us to the barbecue party.During the Christmas season, you will see many cars parked in front of every house, looking into the house through the glass windows, you can see the adults chatting happily.But my mother kneaded the dough for cookies in our own kitchen.

Are you not going to that party?we asked her. This is where we meet.she says. She made us feel like it was her choice.Just the three of us.For a long time I thought of New Year's Eve as a family holiday that meant ice cream drizzled in chocolate syrup and a boisterous party crowd on TV.I later learned that my teenage friends would drink up the liquor cabinets at home on New Year's Eve because their parents were all dressed up and out at eight o'clock at night. You mean, you got stuck with your mom on New Year's Eve?they asked. right.I lamented. However, the person who was trapped was my charming mother.

◆◆◆ When I didn't stand up for my mother By the time my dad left, I didn't believe there was such a thing as Santa Claus, but my sister Roberta was six years old, and she went about her routine: put a few cookies, write a note, tiptoe to the By the window, point to the stars and ask: Is that a reindeer? For our first December on our own without Dad, Mom wanted to do something special.She found a complete Santa Claus costume: red jacket, red trousers, boots, and a fake beard.On Christmas Eve, she wanted Roberta to be in bed at nine-thirty, and she could do anything but come into the living room at ten o'clock sharp, of course, after she had said that, that Roberta would be at nine-five Fifteen will surely slip out of bed and wait like an eagle.

I followed behind my sister with a flashlight.We sit on the stairs.The room suddenly went dark.We heard rustling.My sister was panting nervously.I turn on the flashlight.Roberta said in a low voice, Don't open it, Cheek!So I turned off the torch.However, since I was that age, I turned on the flashlight again and saw my mother in a Santa suit, holding a pillowcase.She turned around and tried to let out a deep laugh: Ha!Ah!Ah!Who is there?My sister ducked back, but for some reason I kept shining the flashlight on my mother, aiming at her bearded face so she had to cover her eyes with her free hand. ha!ha!she said again. Roberta curled up and lay on her stomach like a bug.From time to time she peeked out between her fingers.She whispered: Chick, turn off the flashlight.You will scare him away!But I just think this scene is ridiculous, I see that from now on we will pretend to be the same in everything: pretending that everyone is seated at the table and eating dinner together; a Santa Claus pretending to be a woman, Pretend our family is still a whole family instead of three quarters. It was my mother.My tone is flat. ha!ha!ha!mother said. no!Roberta said. That's just what Mommy did, you idiot.Santa Claus is not a woman.You are stupid. I continued to shine the flashlight on my mother.I saw her posture change, her head thrown back, her shoulders slumped, like a runaway Santa being caught by the police.Roberta cried.I could tell my mother wanted to yell at me, but she couldn't do that or she would be unidentified, so she stared at me from between her Santa hat and cotton beard.I felt my father's absence in every corner of the house.In the end, Mama threw the pillow case full of small gifts on the floor without saying ha!ha!ha!Just walked out the door.The younger sister climbed into bed and wailed loudly.It was just me on the stairs with a flashlight, shining it on an empty room and a Christmas tree.