Written by: Suravi Niraula - 24083, Grade XII
Posted on: 14 March, 2024
Every second passed: tick-tock, tick-tock … the sound of the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room seemed to grow tremendously louder, as did the sound of Maria’s husband taking long, slow sips of whiskey; he sunk comfortably into the voluminous armchair with his reading glasses just above the bridge of his nose as he flicked through the newspaper. The plain white linen curtains behind him were drawn closed; it was just the dim floor lamp beside him that was still lightening the room.
James, their son, was hunched over the end of a low wooden table, sitting on the ground in the space between where his parents sat on opposite sofas. He kept on scribbling carelessly in his sketchbook but occasionally looked up to the incessant tapping of his mother’s feet against the floor. Her pearl necklace was tight against her neck, heaving up and down with every ragged breath she took. She had her hair in a neat bun, and her red apron on, covering the polka dotted pattern of her quilted dress.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Would you stop that?” snapped Jim, eyes briefly lifting from his newspaper to give his wife an accusing stare. This was his time of relaxation, the top buttons of his pristine white shirt unbuttoned and his tie loosened- having only to just come back from work.
Maria’s feet froze. She was now intrigued by her son and the number of color pencils and crayons sprawled out across the table. Then, she stared at the white curtains, devoid of any marks or dust. She looked at the fresh, red roses in glass vases on the side-tables of both ends of her sofa. The rug on which James sat was spotlessly clean, as was the wooden floor: her day’s work.
She sat upright and rigid on the sofa, her mind racing- how was she ever going to bring this up? It wasn’t ideal for her to find her seven-year-old son digging through the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer and when noticing her incredulous gaze, smiling innocently, “Dad said I could have some.” It only now made sense to Maria. With the sound of whiskey pouring into his father’s flask within seconds of it being empty and the dainty crystalline wineglass a permanent fixture in his mother’s hands, it was inevitable that James would have a yearning curiosity for alcohol.
She could even recall an uncle offering more than an innocent sip to James, or an aunt asking him to fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar. And now, she was left here, wondering, ‘How could I have been so foolish?’
Maria’s gaze now fleeted to her husband, speaking up just as he turned over a page of the newspaper, “Darling…?” Jim didn’t speak a word, but looked up. Maria continued, “I had something to talk to you about. This afternoon… I found James with a bottle of beer. Claimed that you told him you could have some,” she nervously chuckled, “It’s not true, is it?”
Jim nodded, his eyes averting back to his newspaper, “It is.”
“It’s just… he’s a child. You shouldn’t be giving him permissi-”
Jim cut her off, “Maria, I don’t have the patience for this. I’ve had a long day of work. I don’t expect you would understand.”
Maria went quiet, but after a few moments, spoke again, “But you shouldn’t do tha-'' Jim folded the newspaper, putting it down on his lap, “How about you make yourself useful? I’m sure there’s work to be done in the kitchen.”
Maria, flustered and nervous, stood up, and straightened out her apron and knee-length dress. “You’re right,” she nodded, “Would you like dinner, perhaps?”
“Yes, steak, mashed potato-”
James looked up, glancing between his mother and father before interrupting, “Mummy? Do you want to see my drawing? I drew you!” He sat down with a red-colored pencil, holding up his sketchbook. Maria smiled, but politely declined, “Not now, sweetie. Your father’s speaking.”
James nodded, stared down at his artwork and just as his father was about to continue his list of suggestions, he asked again, “How about now? Can you look at my artwork now?” Jim stared at him, sternly commanding, "James! Be quiet. Your mother and I are talking.” James ignored his father, pleading to his mother, "Mummy! Please!" Without as much as sparing a glance to James’ artwork, Maria smiled in faux surprise, "Wow, James! That's incredible!"
James persisted, "You didn't even look at it! Mummy, please!” Fists clenched and his veins protruding against his neck, Jim stood up from his seat, sending the newspaper flying to the ground. His harsh footsteps echoed throughout the room as he neared James. He towered over his son, grabbing the small boy’s neck tightly. He yanked James up from the floor and grabbed harshly at his neck.
Ignoring Maria’s cries of "Jim! Jim, let him go!" he seethed, "Do you have any manners? What’s wrong with you, you insolent brat?" Jim’s teeth were barred as he continued the assault on his son – cold and calloused hands, capable of such unsightly violence. Maria’s cries were drowned out completely. James had fought and tried to pry away his father’s hand but Jim persisted.
It wasn’t until Maria grabbed the vase from the side-table to her left, that James held the upper hand. She needed to do something, anything. Within seconds, she had crept behind her husband, and without as much as a second thought, she swung the glass vase to the back of her husband’s head. Jim collapsed on the ground with a loud thud. Although the vase remained intact, the rose petals fell out gracefully, gathering on the floor where his body laid motionless.
Although he laid peacefully, Maria knew that the second he regained consciousness, she would be in his cold and aggressive hands. She could already envision the new purple marks that would blossom over her legs and ribs the next morning. She could feel his hand coming down on her face and body, the searing pain spreading throughout her body. His knuckles coming down to meet her jawline. Squirming under his grasp, and maybe, just maybe, she could leave someday. But she had a son to take care of– a blond headed, blue-eyed giggly boy. For now, her mind replayed that one moment over and over again. The violence of the crash, the impact she had made as she swung the vase in the air and towards his head - boom!
That was enough for her.
