A Meeting With Mom
“I heard you playing the other day.”
Cathy took another bite from her cereal, avoiding her mother’s presence, eyes glued to a single spot on the table. The sound of a spoon colliding against a glass as her mother stirred her tea filled the air.
“It’s been how long? Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d even touch that thing after your little fit. It really shows, you know. Didn’t I always tell you your skills fade once you stop practicing? It sounded even more dreadful than the Boston competition, and that’s putting it lightly.” Beatrice put down her spoon and took a sip. “Should’ve gone with a coffee.” She mumbled to herself, setting the cup down carefully.
Beatrice reached to grab the newspaper from behind her as Cathy pushed her chair out to leave. She couldn’t stand being there any longer. “You’re not still sulking about last night are you? Honestly, Catherine, it’s time to grow up. What use is it wallowing about in your room over a petty argument?” Pages flipped as she skimmed the news.
“That’s rich coming from you,” Cathy spat. “I don’t want to hear it from the control freak who ruined my life.”
She was halfway out the door when her mother spoke. “You can’t possibly still think that I ruined your life, do you? I was understanding when the incident was still fresh, but now I’m starting to worry that the therapist I paid for only encouraged you.” Her eyes were still glued to the newspaper. Cathy couldn’t read her expression, but she knew it was as cold and distant as ever.
Cathy almost laughed. “Of course, you’re blaming the therapist. You always want to blame everyone in the room before yourself because you’re a narcissistic control freak who needed to bully her child to gain self-worth.” Cathy’s breathing grew heavy as years of hurt and anger consumed her. “You didn’t care about how many hours I practiced or how many competitions I won. I was perfect, I know I was, and it still wasn’t enough for you. Nothing ever will be. Do you know why—”
“No, Catherine, I don’t. Care to tell me?” Beatrice’s sharp tone cut her off. Their eyes finally met, newspaper now carefully set to the side. A beat passed.
Cathy bitterly hissed out, “Because you had no control over your own life. You were miserable. The maids whispered about it, you know? I knew even back then about Dad’s cheating. I knew you couldn’t leave him, so you took it out on me!”
Her mother only stared at her, jaw tightened. It was more of a glare, really, with the intensity of her gaze that would’ve let twelve-year-old Cathy know that she wouldn’t receive dinner that night. Beatrice finally spoke, her gaze remained unchanged.
“You have no right to speak about things you don’t understand. Don’t think you’re smarter than me just because you’ve got your little degree now.”
Cathy sputtered in disbelief. But then again, how could she have expected anything different? This was her mother. She would never change. Her pride would never allow that.
Mustering the power she had left, Cathy stated, “Whatever, I’m not dealing with this anymore. You can continue your life dissatisfied with everything in your wake. I’ll actually be living it.”
Footsteps continued down the hall until they disappeared up the stairs. Beatrice took another sip of her tea, now cold, on the paper where she left it.
By Anonymous
You Deserve a Smile
Rain soaked her clothes. Lightning struck nearby, timing perfectly with the soft hands that landed on her shoulder. She shivered, both from the cold wind and the touch.
“How did you find me?” Aria asked, tensing up.
“You know, you’re not as mysterious as you think you are,” Cirilla hummed to the younger, sitting next to her.
“Haha, very funny,” she scoffed, burying her face back into her arms, knees pressed against her chest. Her clothes were soaking wet, yet she paid no attention to them.
“I know I’m very humorous,” the older one gleamed. “You take every chance to sit in the rain. Goodness, it’s cold,”
Aria turned her head the other way, peeking at her face so she could at least easily breathe, “What do you want?”
“You really don’t know how to ease up, do you?” Cirilla sighed and moved to gently nudge the other, “Learn how to ask for a shoulder to lean on.”
Aria’s breath hitched, grumbling, “You know me too well, Ciri.”
“Why, of course! You’re the same old Ari I’ve known since kindergarten.”
“Enlighten me with your amazing grace, then,” the sarcasm in Aria’s voice was evident.
“Stop it, will you?”
It was a rare moment for Cirilla to sound frustrated. Guilt overwhelmed Aria, devouring her deep within, “I’m sorry.”
Cirilla took a deep breath, calming herself. She didn’t want to sound mad at Aria. She cared for her too much. Her concern was out of care, “I’m sorry, Ari. I’m just really worried, ok? I worry for you because I care. Care comes from worry, and I want to make sure that you’re alright,”
Aria looked over and saw Cirilla’s eyes full of genuine care. She didn’t respond. Cirilla sighed, eyes softening, and moved to embrace her, “You deserve to wear a smile.”
Aria silently hugged back and closed her eyes, seeking warmth, “What would I do without you?
Cirilla grinned, “Well, let’s see, you’ll need to make more friends, find someone just as humorous as me, and—”
“Why do I even bother asking?” Aria groaned.
Laughter bubbled up in Cirilla’s throat, “You ask because—”
Aria lightly hit her arm, and they giggled, “Your jokes are horrid.”
“I know you’re fond of them, Ari. Don’t even deny it,” Cirilla loosened her arms from the hug.
Aira mumbled with a small smile, looking away, “You’re not wrong…”
“What’s that?”
“I— nothing!”
Yet it was too late when Aria turned back around. Cirilla already had her phone out and was recording, “Hey!”
Cirilla laughed wildly, “Finally admitted it, and I caught it on video!”
Aria grumbled and moved to snatch her phone, but Cirilla moved out of the way. “This video is my treasure, and it’s not going anywhere.”
Giving up, Ari slumped back, a slight pout on her face, “You’re never going to change, are you?”
Cirilla smiled gently, “You’ll always have me as I am.”
“And I’m glad to do so,” Aria smiled genuinely.
They both looked down at the cityscape, and the heavy rain from earlier turned into a soft drizzle. It was a moment of peace, at least until—
“Hey!”
Cirilla laughed and moved the phone out of reach from Aria. A picture of the older smiling and staring at the city was displayed on the screen. “Too slow today, Ari.”
Later that evening, Aria’s phone buzzed. Upon picking up and opening the text from Cirilla, she smiled, “You do know how to cheer me up.”
The photo was of Aria smiling on the rooftop, with the caption: “You deserve a smile.”
“Maybe I do, Ciri, but it’s all thanks to you,” Aria mumbled.
On the other side of the screen, Cirilla’s eyes softened at Aria’s heart emoji reaction to her image.
“You deserve it all the way, Ari.”
By Zainab
Too Late
ACT ONE
Scene 1
A dimly lit living room. It’s night. The glow of a phone illuminates LIVIA’s face. Five missed calls from “MUMMY”. She sits, hunched over, transfixed. A grandfather clock ticks softly in the background. MATTEO sits at the other end of the room on an old armchair, pinching his brow.
MATTEO
You saw all the calls. Every single one
LIVIA stares at the screen as if it could somehow erase everything, the guilt, the hurt gnawing inside her. A long silence echoes through the room
MATTEO
I know you saw them.
A floorboard creaks as Matteo shifts in his chair, the sound brittle in the heavy silence.
LIVIA
I-
MATTEO
(Louder)
You ignored them. Let them ring. Ten times. From Mum. In a hospital bed. Dying for crying out loud!
LIVIA
I didn’t know (pause)
MATTEO
(voice straining)
Don’t you dare say that. You chose to ignore your family, like you always do.
LIVIA
I didn’t know it was serious.
MATTEO
And if you had? What then? You would’ve picked up? Left your busy city life to come back here, to the people who were always holding you back?
LIVIA’s breath hitches. Her fingers curl tightly around the phone, like crushing it might end the moment.
LIVIA
I was busy. Work was hectic. I had deadlines, meetings –
MATTEO
(coldy)( pauses) Oh yeah. Another groundbreaking deal. You couldn’t even spare five minutes
The grandfather clock chimes on in the background, speeding up. Like time was moving quicker.
LIVIA
(Raising her voice) You think it’s that simple? That I have the liberty of time like you? That I ignored those calls for fun?
MATTEO
(shaking his head) I don’t even know what goes through your head anymore
LIVIA shakes her head in frustration.
LIVIA
I had people depending on me that day – investors –
MATTEO
Mummy was depending on you! Your own mother was dying, and you chose a cabinet of investors.
(voice trembling)
You’ve really changed.
LIVIA
(tears starting to run down her face)
Do you think I don’t feel guilty? That I don’t hate myself for this? That I feel okay knowing I NEVER SAID GOODBYE TO MY DYING MOTHER?!
LIVIA breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably.
MATTEO
Good. Because you should. Drown in self-pity for all I care. ( drily laughs)
The clock chimes once. A cold reminder that time has passed. That time is still passing.
LIVIA
(shocked) You think this is funny? A joke? That I’m a joke, Matteo?
MATTEO
No. I think it’s pathetic.
LIVIA
You just don’t understand.
MATTEO
(scoffing) Of course I don’t. Because I would never do that. I would never stoop down to your level.
LIVIA
(sobbing) I didn’t know, Matteo (pauses)
MATTEO
(yelling) STOP saying that! You knew she was sick. You knew she was dying. But you still convinced yourself that you had more time.
LIVIA
Stop it!
MATTEO
You can’t run from everything that scares you, Livia.
LIVIA
I didn’t run away. I wanted a better life, okay? I never ran away. I built something. I worked like a dog every single day – so I wouldn’t rot in this town like the rest of you.
MATTEO
No one’s rotting here. We live our lives here. Mummy lived.
(pauses, softening) Something you’d understand if you weren’t so quick to leave.
LIVIA
(bitter) And look where that got her.
MATTEO
Don’t you dare.
LIVIA
(pleading) You think I didn’t love her? Everyone just thinks I’m some selfish daughter. That I go around doing as I please without a care about anyone I love.
MATTEO
Love means showing up. Or at the very least, answering the damn phone.
(voice softer) Now’s not the time to play the victim. Maybe it’s time you stopped hurting the people who actually care about you.
LIVIA swallows hard. Her voice is barely a whisper.
LIVIA
Wh-what… did she say? (She swallows) Did she say anything about ( pauses) m-me?
MATTEO exhales slowly, rubbing a hand through his hair.
MATTEO
(quietly)She asked for you.
A shiver runs through LIVIA. The room suddenly feels too big. Too quiet. And for the first time in a long time, she has nothing to say. The grandfather clock lets out one final tick before stopping with a heavy thud.
By Anonymous
‘Light’ – Short Story Extension
Rational
I followed through with writing an extension of one of my personal favorite short stories, Light. The extension mirrors a similar writing style as conveyed by Lesley Nneka Arimah and utilizes figurative language while maintaining the same characters. I added an extension seen through the perspective of the demanding mother and her documentation of attempting to mold her daughter into a model adult while being blind to the detrimental effects of her berating and missing out on the valuable points of the girl’s childhood. This extension jumps around the timeline and ends with the daughter coming to stay with her despite the reaction it provokes from the father. The same themes and ideas regarding family and familial complications, stress, misunderstanding, loss, hardships of the real world, expectations, and their ups and downs are underscored in the extension.
This extension works with the idea that society, the circumstances of the girl’s family life, and parental differences tear the family and the girl apart. Particularly, the natural presence and varying expectations and ideals set for the girl by the contradicting parents result in an unfavorable outcome for the once-happy family. The mother wants order in the girl, and the dad wants her personality to flourish.
Task
When Fatima Okwara first arrived in America for her Master’s in Business Administration, she had no idea how critical her presence back home was and predicted none of her little girl’s misguided and motherless behavior. No prediction she could make at this time lined up with the immense misbehavior of her girl, her wild flame desperate to be controlled and contained. Nothing could prepare Fatima for the lack of her husband’s intervention with the eccentric and improper nature of the girl who, if guided correctly, had potential to grow into a model adult.
Since Fatima’s departure to the United States, the girl and husband have persevered and overcome challenges in the wake of their absent mother. She has studied all while preoccupied and concerned with her beloved and distant family, she could manage with the occasional warmth of a call, but the circumstances barred her from monitoring and adjusting the key growth points of her flowering bud of a daughter. This flower she wanted to be beautiful and accomplished and not subject to the quirks developed in their respective distance. Fatima survived the endless hum of lengthy lectures. She survived pages and pages of coursework and sleepless nights. She had survived the tiresome waves of exhaustion persisting up and down the ocean of Business Administration. Even through her findings and breakthroughs of achievement, her mind dwelled with her dear family so far overseas. She heard the stories recalling the major components of girlhood, and felt guilty that she had to miss those moments she once transcended when she sat in the poor girl’s spot. Pondering this thought, she regretfully imagined her husband’s clueless efforts in dealing with all the insightful talks and learning areas. Trusting that he was hopefully doing a half-decent job, Fatima sighed before turning to the next page of her case study.
More than anything, she wanted to guard her creation and deep down only trusted herself with the proper development of the girl. Fatima wanted her to be a flourishing embodiment of an exemplary adult. This desire was responsible for Fatima’s relation of parenting to her studies, and her mind circulated in and out of the two worlds sporadically and intensely. She held a formidable passion to guide her smaller counterpart like the successful businesses she learned so much about orienting. Fatima is the epitome of management and although passionate about her dreams of business, nothing could compare to the vision she had in mind for her daughter, the mini-her.
When news rolls around detailing the girl’s overly friendly messages deliberately passed to a boy, Fatima immediately calls the father. She reiterates the indecency of the daughter’s action and pleads with the dad to talk some sense into her and meet with the school’s headmaster. When the same offense is committed again, Fatima demands the same of the father but this time more harshly. Just as Fatima is convinced the love letters are no more, the note-passing comes up again and even the headmaster is showing some impatience, Fatima does not condone it. Would not condone it. And when she heard no more of the inappropriate letter-writing behaviors, she assumed the transgressions were over and resumed her extensive studies. Little did she know, divided by miles and miles of land and water, the girl had stayed the same and maybe even improved the secrecy of her letter passing. Fatima would never know or come to understand why the continuous offenses were hidden from her or the vast knowledge the dad had about her misconduct.
Routine calls turned to occasional chats, and subconsciously the girl and the mother drifted to more of the status of a girl and her distant loving relative. Calling felt like a chore for the girl and more of a check-up for Fatima. She simply did not have the time to designate hours to catch up and reconcile, she only had openings for quick recommendations and opinions to throw at her daughter, and the frequency of her unwanted mentions of wrongdoing diluted her influence.
Fatima recalls the convenient Christmas Break when she traveled back to be with her family taking lots of love with her. Fatima regarded the visit as a refreshing break from her studies, and most importantly, the kindling of her connection with her girl had been reinstated from when she first left months prior, allowing the potential for her to nurture the girl into her flame of choice with just as much motherly advice and control. In what felt like a really, really, really short time, Fatima had grown so attached to being physically present and so attached to being a mother and wife again that she had lost track of her educational goals and dreaded the thought of returning to America, or at least without her girl.
But the husband begged to stay with the child, arguing that she was the only parent capable of living without their shared treasure. He felt stranded without her presence; as a dad without his daughter, he was a fish out of water. Fatima knew he was right. Fatima also knew she could fight, but this fight hurt her. She had a strong need to be with her family, and each moment and ripple of fatigue faded the contents of her character and enhanced her desperation to enforce her idea of helping her daughter grow coupled with skepticism of her husband’s parenting. Boarding that flight to America was the first mistake, and Fatima knew it now. If only she had finished off her studies in Nigeria, everything would have changed. After that flight, time flew by. The girl had ascended into a teen of fourteen years.
Fatima could not see anything but errors present within her girl and, becoming aware of how close she was and looked to being grown-up, could not help but speak up: Fatima commented on everything from her loud laughter and chewing, her inability to cook and clean, her hair, and gossiping with the housecleaner. Fatima was furious with the father’s counters to each and every one of her statements, and each time he said things like talk is just talk, or I will not have her dimmed. This continued until, of course, Fatima threatened him which was her only logical course of action in the corner she found herself pushed up against. Each dialogue of his highlighted his incompetence and prioritization of the girl’s personality over the way she carries herself, outrageous Fatima thought. She found the girl’s dismissive behavior more profoundly illogical, and Fatima became aware that she was getting further and further away from her daughter and husband, even further than she was—crammed in a small dorm in America, daydreaming of business and household administration.
One day everything added up, two strangers fought, two who used to be husband and wife, then dad and mom, and finally, compassionless people with diverging wants tearing one another apart.
“You’re letting your judgy opinion and insane ideologies outshine our girl’s spectacular authentic self. The subjective attacks must stop. Please, Fatima. Please.” begged her husband.
Unlike their standard call, this was not a Facetime. The couple could not bear to look at each other in the heated moment. But still, Fatima could feel her meaningless husband’s disapproving and clueless look when she countered, “Insane? I am the one who is crazy? I want what is best for our daughter’s future and our family, I am working hard to secure what we have always wanted, and you are sabotaging the whole operation.”
A long pause echoed after Fatima’s insight. Fatima could hear the orderly footsteps outside of her apartment before her peaceful silence was interrupted by a scoff and an outburst, “It is only an operation to you. I cannot believe that you do not see how you’re tearing this family apart, how you are taking away my girl who is so much more than an ‘operation.’ Her happiness, comfort, and experience are my priority, I want her to shape herself, not you.”
Fatima ended the call with, “She’s my girl too, and she will be my woman the same. Her behavior is a representation of us and I did not set out to raise a defect.”
The mother-daughter relationship hurdled into the same echelon as a failing business, a business whose value was a plummeting line, a mother whose control fell over a variable of time, and a daughter whose potential was an exponential deterioration. The girl and Fatima no longer speak; it is the same story with her husband.
In one final call with the girl, the girl opens up about the boy. The same boy that Fatima remembered causing all of the note-passing catastrophes. Fatima, who is oblivious to the meaning of the girl’s trust, impulsively critiques the exposed feelings of the girl. Fatima felt no remorse at the moment, but the eventual guilt hit her with the weight and stress of owning one million failed corporations. This guilt was not for the girl’s emotions but rather for the possibly lost potential that her girl could become an ideal woman. Fatima relentlessly desired to recover the possibility of her perfect child and perfect woman dreams. But even afterward, she had not the faintest idea how she had just dimmed the light of her child and permanently imprinted the realization on the girl that she is not living up to expectations.
But now, as she looks down at the contact on her phone of her not-so-little girl with teary eyes, she knows her daughter is completely slipping away, and so are her dreams for her. Clouded by the stress and frustration of it all, school and family, Fatima snaps again. Eager to teach her unhelpful husband a lesson and eager to transform the girl into an embodiment of formality, careless of objections. She makes a decision. The girl is coming to America. The same America that will beat the girl into perfection thinks Fatima. But what Fatima does not recognize is that mold does not fit her girl or her family, the only hint at which are the calls she has received from her sobbing and devastated husband who heard the news. But Fatima had to go through the pain of distance and figured it was his turn for a change. She hangs up, disregarding the struggles of what feels like the man who ruined her plans and sided with the girl’s dislike towards her.
Fatima had gotten a job with her hard work, but celebration felt irrelevant, and the reward was not even worth a fraction of the sacrifices and tolls the circumstances took on her family. Before all of this, the mom perceived a family life with a helpful, smart, and successful girl capable of providing, growing, and managing her magnificent household. Before all of this, she imagined a better life for everyone and infinite love for her husband. Before all of this, was a woman aspiring toward her goals and set to make it far in life. Before all of this, there was balance, proximity, and communication in her life. Before all of this, there was a collaborative parenting effort. Before all of this, there was laughter and light, and now:
Now the girl, with a sullen look on her face, somehow torn away from the ruins of her dad, who has shattered like a broken plate, walks up the stairs to the doorstep of her unfamiliar mother. Fatima is delighted to see the girl and opens the door, smiling, confident that she will be the one to fix the problems and teach the girl how to live happily and like a correct adult. If only Fatima knew how much her distance and pestering had caused uncertainty and how much her studies and looming expectations had interfered with her comprehension of motherhood, then maybe she could see how the embrace she gave extinguished the girl’s natural light and fire and welcomed her into a new world of a broken mothering touch. A touch that understands business administration better than the girl, a touch that comments on the girl’s improper outfit before saying how good it is to see her, a touch that places function and procedure over unique flare, a touch that Fatima’s husband in Nigeria would be crippled to see.
Fatima finally feels security alongside her new job and soon-to-be new daughter. She confidently smirks as the girl walks inside, confident that despite her struggles she made the right choice for the sake of family.
By Nicolas
Elements Magazine 