Mom fixes that stare on me. The unblinking,
penetrating stare that in a split second torpedoes all the strength you have
inside, making you lost for words.
Mom asks again, “Did you
do it or not?”
Her voice is calm, but
the effect it has on me is utterly the opposite. I feel a storm rampaging
through my mind.
I surrender helplessly
and let out the truth, “Yes, mom.”
***
My insides burn as I face
it again. The feebleness. The wrecking of the mind’s defenses. The fear of the
truth.
I know I have to answer
straightaway if I want to sound convincing. Still, nothing passes my lips.
And before I can control
myself, the words sprang out, “No. I-I didn’t do it today.”
Mom deepens her stare, as
if inspecting my inner self through her eyes. My stomach quivers.
“Are you sure? Don’t lie
to mom.” Her voice is rumbling.
I regret for the lie. But
there’s no turning back now. I reply, “I’m perfectly sure.”
A slight furrow appears
in her brows. She has her stare on me for another moment, and then turns away.
My head feels light,
being able to see the storm off.
But the relief fades away
soon, and something else takes its place. Something strange.
***
I stare back at mom and
say, “No, I didn’t do it today.” The confidence in my voice satisfies me.
I expect mom to furrow
her brows. But she doesn’t. She gives me a tiring look, her eyes no longer the
fierce, penetrating pair of fireballs. She turns away, a sigh escaping her
nostrils.
Euphoria fills my mind, and
soon disappears. And yet again I have that strange, foreign feeling.
***
I take a sidelong gaze at
mom to my right. She has her hand on her purse’s side-pocket, where she keeps
her money. Her eyes are glinting with suspicion.
My heart thuds
frightfully. I prepare to encounter that
stare.
But mom doesn’t even call
me; she just sighs in a familiar way.
The strange sensation
reigns in my mind again, and for the first time, I understand what’s causing it.
I miss that stare.
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