The Swings Were Broken
Chapter Four: A Soaked Tablecloth
I've always had a good memory, ever since I was little. My mother said I was like an elephant. Not as in I was fat or anything but because elephants never forget. She had phrases and theories about everything. One of her sayings was 'no point crying over spilt milk'. She would say this whenever someone got upset over a small thing. I'm not exactly sure why she said it but there were some situations where it just simply fit.
"Look Jazzy, look what I can do!" I glanced over at my sister and laughed. She had balanced her spoon on the end of her nose. I was eleven years old and I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast with my mother and sister. A smile flickered over my mother's face before her thoughts swallowed her focus again and left no traces that a smile had ever existed.
"Teach me, teach me" I begged her enthusiastically
"Alright but it'll cost ya." She said grinning
"How much?" I asked cautiously
"Not money. I want to pick our next birthday cake"
I thought about it for a few seconds, I really didn't want to end up with a fairy princess cake but I was desperate to learn her trick that I shrugged it off and agreed.
"Yeah, yeah alright just teach me how to do it!"
"Well first ya gotta rub your spoon on ya shirt. See, like this. Then ya gotta breathe on it. Now, just rest it on the end of ya nose." She explained patiently. She burst out laughing as I pulled a range of stupid facial expressions trying to get the spoon to stay balanced on my nose. I tried over and over again to balance the spoon for about five minutes but I still couldn't do it. In frustration I finally flung the spoon onto the table. It bounced off the hard surface of the table and went flying. It hit the milk carton and caused it to tip over and spread across the table cloth and drip onto the floor. I glanced guiltily at my sister who just sat there staring at the mess with her mouth wide open.
"Oh Mama! I'm so sorry." I leapt up to grab a dishcloth, but my mother got there first.
"Jasper! Why don't you ever pay attention! For god sakes!" she exclaimed angrily as she mopped up the spilt milk "I don't need this right now. I can't take this." She started crying and I knelt down beside her
"Mama, no point crying over spilt milk." I said quietly. She smiled and wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hands. I put my small arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. I had to make her feel better. I felt terrible for making her sad.
"I'm sorry Mama" I said sadly. Rosalie got up from the table and wrapped her arms around my mother as well
"It isn't your fault… I'm sorry I got mad… I just wish… never mind" my mother smiled and shook her head. "Come on, I'll clean this up. Both of you go get ready for school. I'll walk you to the front gate if you get ready quickly" Rosalie and I grinned to each other and then jumped up off the floor and rushed upstairs to finish getting ready.
My mother used to do this a lot when I was younger. Something small would happen and she would break down or just start crying. Rosalie and I tried to help her as much as we could but with no prevail.
Pasts never disappear completely after all. They always catch up with you in the end.
I hardly thought of my father because he wasn't around much when I was younger. He was away at work a lot although I never really knew what he did. He wasn't a very emotional or caring father, not giving much attention to bonding with his children. I don't know why this was and I wish I had had the opportunity to talk to him adult to adult rather than the small child I was when he was around.
One memory I do recall of my father occurred when I was seven. I had found a bird on the road that had been hit by a car…
"Papa! Papa! Look!" I ran past my father to kneel beside the dying bird. Its wings were sticking out in different directions. It was depressingly comical to say the least. "Papa can we take it home? I can help it get better! We'll take it to the hostipal!" I scooped the bird up into my hands and smooth down its feathers. Its chest moved up and down unevenly and its eyes were only half open.
"Put it down Jasper. It could be carrying all manner of diseases. Let's go." My father said in a rough voice.
"But Papa… we can't just leave it here… It's hurt… it needs our help" I said in a whiny voice. My father held up his finger and closed his eyes.
"There is no point crying over that…that thing. Get up and stop acting like a baby, Jasper."
"But it will die if we leave it here" I sobbed, my bottom lip trembling and my eyes welling with tears.
"Everything dies. Leave it now. It's just road kill." He said and he grabbed my arm and started dragging me up off of the ground. The bird fell in a crumpled heap and I tried to bend over to pick it up again but my father dragged me down the side walk in the direction of our home. I pulled against his grip as hard as I could but he was holding my arm tightly.
I had told Rosalie about the bird as soon as I had gotten home and we snuck out of the house in the dead of night with a small shovel and buried the dead bird in our garden. I always remembered what my dad had said. He believed that animals were mere road kill. whereas my mother used to say she was proud of the fact that I had compassion for all living things.
Even when they didn't deserve it in the least.
