Her coughing echoed throughout our small house again. I let out another sigh as I got up from my comfortable bed to check on her. I love my mum dearly, but I could no longer stand the sight of her being sick so much. The medicine alone was getting more and more expensive and I have yet to have a decent night sleep. I know I shouldn't be complaining, but it's hard not to be mad. She was all I have left; I couldn't loose her, especially at the young age of sixteen.
You see, my dad left long before my mum could tell him she was carrying his child. All I knew about the man that he was a drunk and a pirate. It's a bit weird to picture my mum and pirate together, but according to her diaries, it was true. My mum's a writer, but since she is a woman, not at lot of people will buy her books. We used to run a small shop catering to anything anyone would need for a ship, but I run it alone now since mum's sick.
She says I have his personality. Always getting into trouble or searching for adventure. I'm fascinated by the sea and she hates it. I think that she thinks that I'll leave her just like my father did. I could never do that to her, especially now. She needed me more than ever now.
I grabbed the small bottle of medicine. Ugh. Almost out again. I poured what was left and rushed to her side. She smiled weakly at me, like she always does. She hates for me to see her like this just as much as I do. She used to be so lively, always cracking jokes, but once the flu caught onto her, it's been slowly sucking the life out of her.
I felt her forehead, it had gotten hotter. "Oh don't you worry dear," she said softly, bringing her hand up to my face, still smiling weakly. "In this light, you look so much like your father. God bless that mans soul."
I can longer count how many times I've heard her say that this past week.
"If only I knew what the man looked like," I replied curtly.
She let out another blustering cough and took a moment to catch her breath before pointing over to one of the large shelves that stood in the room.
"Up there, there's a tin, the black one, get it down for me."
I nodded and got up to receive the tin. It was a rather peculiar tin. Dents were all around it and the black chipping off in places. It just had this old essence to it.
I handed it to her; she was now sitting up against the headboard of her bed, coughing into her hand again. She looked even sicker than a moment ago. God, I hoped she got better soon.
With another cough she opened the tin and slowly looked through its contents. She pulled out a small painting, on a piece of dirty cloth. It was a picture of a man, a slight smirk placed upon his smooth face. A red bandana was wrapped around his head covering his dark haired dreadlocks. We had the same features, except I had my mother's eyes.
"That's you father," she said quietly breaking my thoughts. "His name is Jack."
I looked at her curiously, "Why didn't you ever show me this?" It kind of angered me. I mean, why tell me stories of the man, but not let me see what he looked liked. I didn't understand.
She shrugged lightly, coughed, and then replied. "Sweetheart, I was waiting for the right time. This is it?"
"Right time?" I scoffed, "What's that even mean?"
"I'm dying and I just have a feeling that once I'm gone, you'll go off to find him. You're too much like your father not too."
"Mum, you're not
going to die. Y-you can't." I shook my head; I could feel the
tears welling up.
She laughed softly before bringing her hand up
to my face, rubbing it softly. "I am, dear. I am."
"You just need rest." I got up from the side of the bed to put her back to bed, but she grabbed my arm pulling me back down.
"Melody, I want you to take the contents of this tin with you when you leave. It tells you where you'll need to go to find your father. It's all there."
"Mum," I shook my head again, the tears were now spilling from my eyes, and "I'm not leaving. I'm going to stay here and take care of you until you get better!"
"Goodness child. I'm
not too sure how long I have left, Savvy?" Oh god, she was using
her tone, she meant business.
I nodded slowly and helped her back
to bed, kissing her forehead before grabbing the tin, and leaving the
room. I stopped at the door and looked back at her. Her breath was a
bit uneven, like it had been for days, yet her sick state; her
features were soft, and the wrinkles she complained about most
smoothed. She had a small smile on her face, like she was finally
relieved of something.
"Goodnight, mother." I murmured to myself before returning to my room.
As I lay back in bed, I couldn't help but thank about what my mother would be smiling about. Perhaps, she was thinking about the good old' days. Her adventures with whomever she took them at the moment. Possibly, thoughts about my father.
She never did hate him for leaving. He was a pirate she said. It was in his blood not to be held down on land and she couldn't possibly raise me around all those "bloody pirates." She knew that the moment she first interested in him. The sad thing about it was she still seemed to be holding on to him. She still loved him, though she wouldn't admit it.
I fell into a soft sleep as I continued to think about what my mother wanted to do: to find my father. I'm not sure exactly what I should do, but I knew that this was goodbye for my mother and I. The feeling was there, floating around in the air.
My thoughts lead back to the small painting. I took it out of the tin and looked at it. He looked loving enough, but if she did leave would he welcome her with open arms or would he shoo her off. He'd probably had kids up to him before claiming that he was their father, after all he was a pirate.
But I needed to do this for my mother. It would have made her happy and after being sick for so long, she deserved that, even if she wouldn't be alive to witness it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe this wouldn't go horribly wrong like I think.
That was my only little grasp of hope I had.
