Hate. People always say it’s a strong word, but just how strong can it be? I used to always say it to my mum as a kid, and it never got me anywhere. I just said it, like it was for the sake of saying it, but one time I really meant it. That’s when it happened. It happened one day after school when I was ten.
I was walking home with my mum on Friday. It was a good hours walk through my old estate and we couldn’t afford a car. Come to think of it, we couldn’t afford anything. Mum was struggling to feed me, let alone herself. It was dark times. Times that could have lasted longer. Being at the age of ten I couldn’t understand why father left. Father was good to me, they were so happy together. What went wrong? Mother just cried and never engaged with me. Looking back with hindsight, I think that whenever she saw me, she saw father.
I wanted to get away. Far away. I would pray that we could be happy again, but it never happened.
I had a letter for a school retreat that I’d waited all year for. Hoping that I could go. I asked mother, but she wouldn’t even read it. I forced it into her hand angrily, but instead she ripped it up in my face. Her voice was louder than ever when she said no. No was the word I dreaded.
All weekend I sat I my room, I felt I had done wrong. Why did she do that? All these strange emotions were boiling in my innocent head. I didn’t understand. Then I caught mother crying again. She was alone, it was just me and her. Wasn’t she happy with me? Stupidity crawled over me and I asked again, “Can I go?”
“No,” she replied sadly, “go and play.”
I didn’t understand what was happening. “Why? Can’t I go?” my emotions started to spill and take control. “WHY!?” I screamed.
Mother’s face screwed up and started to pulsate with anger. “I have said no. No means no. You don’t understand anything, you’re just a child." She looked down on me as if I was a dog. Then I pushed her over the edge.
“Father would let me go. He’d understand.” Tears started to drop down my face like rain. Mother screamed hysterically.
“Well father’s not here is he?” she answered back, I knew I should have let her calm down but it was too late.
“I wish you left, not father!!” I said, the tears were pouring out my eyes now.
Mother raised her hand at me, then slapped my tear soaked face. She left a hot, red handprint on my face, burning with pain. I hated her for it.
“I hate you, I wish you weren’t my mother!” I screamed so loud it hurt my throat. Mother burst out into tears as she started to scream at me. I ran up to my room, slammed my door and clutched my fists and punched the wall as hard as I could. I was so angry, I didn’t notice that I had cut myself.
The next morning I awoke later than usual. I got into my only pair of jeans and headed downstairs to apologize. I couldn’t find her. She was gone. I hunted high and low, running franticly about the house, but she was nowhere in sight. She didn’t pack a bag. She was gone.
After an hour there was a knock on the door. Franticly I shot to the door, thinking it was her. I was mistaken. It was father. There was no hello, he just stood there shaking like a frightened child. Before I could ask if he had seen mother, he said only two words. “They’re coming.” Shocked I stood still and watched him disappear down the road on his bike. Then sirens screamed through the estate. Two fluorescent police cars pulled up outside the house. They ripped me away from my home and took me away.
I’ve been staring at the same four walls for twenty years now. Only bars and a metal door separate me from the rest of the world, but one thing I know. Is that I want my mum back.
Credited to Sam Blake