Not Until I'm Fourteen
She guessed—no, knew something was up with her little boy when he came home, holding onto a blue slip of paper, looking dejected and forlorn, like some puppy that had been kicked out too many times.
Her mom senses started tingling, however, only when Sora, with a pout and a glare that she used at her husband countless of times, refused to let her look at the slip of paper. And since the pout of perpetual doom and the glare of righteous anger came from her, she knew that meant Sora was upset—big time.
"Is it from your teacher?" she guessed, carelessly slapping together sandwiches for Sora and herself. "Did you do something wrong?"
Sora answered her with a horrified look that his father used countless of times at her. The ten year old looked like a comic character—legs swinging up and down from the chair he's sitting, hands clutching a glass of half empty (or was it half full?) milk, eyes big and wide and mouth agape. Sora body language for 'How could you even think of that?'
"Is it a love letter then?" she pressed, cutting the crusts off Sora's sandwich because her son hates it and has a tendency of vomiting whatever he hates. "From Kairi maybe?"
Sora's face turned red, his mouth set in a pout that forever graced his features whenever he's upset. Maybe he'll grow out of it…but it's too damn adorable and she hopes he doesn't. "Mom…" he whined, sounding pained and embarrassed. "It's not a love letter."
"Then what is it, Sora?" she questioned, setting his plate of sandwich on the table in front of him and seating herself across her little boy. "What is it that you don't want your mom to look at?"
Sora gave her a despaired look before grabbing the sandwich and taking a big bite out of it. Ah, the don't-talk-with-your-mouth-full trick. A ruse to make mommy give up and leave her Sora alone. A tricky little trick that Sora picked up from either Riku or Tidus. Riku might act like a perfect gentleman in her home when he comes to visit but god knows if the boy was actually a devil in disguise.
But no matter, mommy's not going anywhere.
Sora finished his mouthful, gulped down a little of his milk and took another bite, stalling. She made sure that she was giving him her best I'm-waiting-young-man face and even tapped her foot in impatience for added realism before demanding "Well?" in her best impatient mother voice.
Sora actually gulped before handing over the piece of blue paper in demand at her. "It's a camping trip permission slip." he said guiltily, lowering his head. "The camp's on Saturday."
Ah, so mommy's little boy is waiting for a verdict? Can Sora go or can Sora not go? So little choices, so little time...but don't worry, Judge Mommy had her fill of Sora angst this week and she would definitely want to see him smile that goofy looking smile that her son inherited from her husband.
"You can go, Sora." she said laughingly, relieved to know what had made her Sora look like he was carrying all the troubles of the universe on his back. "Did you think I won't let you?"
Being a mother, she expected to see Sora look up with a toothy grin and an apology in a shaky voice that meant he was relieved and glad. But all she got was Sora meeting her eyes with a desperate look, looking like a trapped animal.
"I don't want to go. I can't."
And she thought she knew her little boy.
An upset Sora was usually her husband's expertise. If it was one thing her husband knew, it was how to handle an upset little boy on the verge of tears. She could handle Sora when he was a baby; maybe it's because Sora rarely cried as a baby, but handling a ten year old just wasn't her thing. Neither was cooking, vacuuming and looking for lost socks at the odd hours of the morning. But a mommy is what Sora needs and her husband isn't home right now.
She tried giving him her I-understand look. "Sora." she started gently. "Why can't you go?"
The ten year old set his mouth in a pout again. "Because I can't." he said with added emphasis on the last word. Mostly anything Sora said these days had an added emphasis somewhere.
"That's not a reason."
"Yes it is."
"Why is that?"
"Because it is."
This was getting her nowhere. As far as she could see, there was nothing worldly or otherwise that's stopping her son from joining the camp. Sora doesn't have a bladder problem, he has her permission and knew that daddy would go along with anything mommy says…except maybe eating dessert first and Sora already went to sleepovers countless of times before so it wasn't separation anxiety.
What is it that mommy's little boy is hiding from her?
"Sora." And Sora winces at his name—no, her tone. It's the tone she used when playtime's over and reality's about to come crashing down without a parachute or a safety helmet on him. It's the tone she used whenever she really did want a serious conversation and one that didn't include silly answers.
It's the tone when she used whenever she stopped being a kid mom and start becoming a grown up mom…a really serious one. Like Riku's.
"I can't go." he repeated, ignoring her hand on his shoulder. "I really can't."
"What's stopping you, Sora?"
"Me."
And she got it. She totally got it.
While Sora did have sleepovers, it was always for one night, it was always at Riku's…or Tidus'. It was always so near to his own house that Sora could walk back home if he wanted to. It was always with Sora getting home in the early morning when mom and dad were just about to start waking up. It was never for days, never so far that Sora couldn't walk home if he left something. It was never where he couldn't see his own house if he looked hard enough.
Sora was having separation anxiety.
He didn't want to leave where he couldn't see his home. Never someplace where he couldn't hear his parents arguing in the far distance of the night about whose damned turn it was to wash the dishes or do the shopping. Sora had never truly gone anywhere so far from home that he wouldn't know where to look in what direction for his house.
Sora was still wrapped under her wing, frozen in ice and unwilling to leave for the world's outside fire.
"Sora." she said again, pulling herself away from her seat and kneeling on one leg, her hand on her son's shoulder, so they would almost be eye level. Just a couple of weeks ago, Sora had been complaining about his height…or the lack of it, anyway. He hated being a little on the short side and had insisted that he had to drink at least five glasses of milk everyday so he 'could be taller than Riku.' But right now, her son's height is not her worry. He hadn't hit his growth spurt yet and Riku will always be a year older and a year faster than Sora anyway.
"Mom." he looked pleading, like Sora didn't have a choice in the matter of whether he should or should not go. "Don't make me go."
"Why don't you want to go?"
"Because I can—" She gave his shoulder a squeeze and Sora clamped his mouth shut. That wasn't the answer.
"Because I don't want to go." Sora finished sullenly. "I don't want to leave."
"Why not?"
"Because…" Sora screwed his eyes, wrinkling his nose, searching for words to express how he felt. "What if something happens?" he demanded. "What if I can't go home anymore?"
"Like what? You won't get to come home?"
"No—o." Sora answered, exasperated. Sora might be frustrated on how slow mommy can get when understanding her little boy but it was only ten years in his life and mommy didn't get much studying done yet in little boy care 101.
She considered what to said, mulling over words to say. It was near impossible, to the point of frustration, for both Sora and her. He wants her to understand without having for himself to say it out loud. She wants him to tell her out loud without having herself resorting to tickling the answer out of him
"Mom." Sora said, breaking eye contact from her. "What if something happens at home when I'm going to camp?"
Realization hit her like an ice cold shower in the morning.
What if there's no home for me to go back to?
Sora wasn't having childish anxiety.
He was afraid.
He was afraid to go forward only to lose what's behind.
He was afraid of finding out that he would suddenly be thrust in a world completely alone. One without a mother or a father to care for him.
Her Sora was afraid of losing her.
Of losing his home.
And suddenly the problem turned from finding-out-what-Sora's-hiding to trying-to-comfort-Sora. And it's impossible.
Because she can't. Comfort him, anyway. Sora was afraid of whatever card the future might be dealing for him might be a bad one. And she couldn't promise otherwise. Because the future only dealt wild cards by random and she didn't even know what cards were waiting on her own deck.
"Promise me nothing bad would happen if I go?" Sora's voice sounded so hopeful.
"I can't."
She watched her son's face crumple. She hated disappointing him. She hated every time whenever his eyes would lit up with hope only to have the light turn off in a snap.
"I can't promise you, Sora." she said carefully. "I can't promise you because I don't know what would happen in the future."
"Then I'm not going." Sora said stubbornly, sounding like he's five and not ten, giving her a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll stay here."
"But you want to go, don't you?"
Sora's grin faltered. "Ye—yeah."
"You want to go but you're afraid that your father and I wouldn't be waiting here when you get back?"
In an even smaller voice, "Yes."
She was never much of a mother. Her husband, meanwhile, was born with paternal instincts that almost seemed maternal. He was ready to scoop Sora up from the nurse's hands while she trembled when they handed Sora to her. Her husband knew which one of Baby Sora's cries meant he was hungry while she was still struggling to even tell if he was happy. She was never much of a mother…
…but she can try.
Sora seemed surprised when she suddenly wrapped her hands around him and hugged him but returned the favor easily. Sora was a boy that gave and took love easily. He trusts and cares almost everything that breathes with maybe the exception of clowns and spiders. He never questioned anyone's loyalty to him and his loyalty to anyone he cares for was anything but questionable.
And he made her proud.
"I might not know what happens in the future." she said, letting him go. "But it doesn't mean I won't wait, Sora."
"What do you mean?"
"It means that even if you go on the longest camping trip ever…I would still be here waiting."
Sora's mouth formed a little 'O' and she was rewarded with a Sora patented goofy grin and a hug (or was it more of a tackle?)
"Thanks, mom."
"You're welcome, Sora."
Sora let her go, still grinning. "So does that mean I can go?"
She stood up and flashed him her own smile. "It sure does."
"Cool. Tidus, Wakka and Riku are going too." Sora was already bouncing on his chair. "It's going to be for three days and we're going to have so much fun."
"Isn't Kairi coming too?"
"Mom."
"Okay, fine…so you'll be only going for three days?"
Sora, who started on his half eaten sandwich again and was eyeing her own untouched sandwich, gave her an energetic nod before swallowing. "Just three days." he grinned toothily. "And I'll come home."
"So does that mean I'll only have to wash the dishes myself for three days?"
Sora rolled his eyes. "You'll only miss me because you'd have to do chores yourself." he said accusingly.
"Yes, Sora." she said in mock seriousness. "Imagine my sadness if you're gone for a whole year."
"I'll never go away for a whole year, mom." Sora laughed, grabbing his plate and glass and dropping them in the sink. "Not until I'm…fourteen."
She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head like a strict school teacher. "That's only four years to go, Sora. Are you seriously planning to leave me that early, young man?"
"Four years is a long time."
"But you are implying that you'll leave me for a whole year when you're fourteen?"
"If I am…" Sora hesitated, frowning for a second. "…you'd still be waiting, right?"
"I'm not promising anything." she warned him, a large grin on her face. For a second, both mother and son looked strikingly familiar. "But if nothing's stopping me. I'll be waiting…even for a whole year."
And she knows she will.
Fin.