Quirkee.com - The Runaway

You are here: Home

Quirkee Voices

World-Colored Glasses

The Runaway

Written by Ed Lamaze

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

He ran, fast. He had pushed me and I stumbled, otherwise he'd not have made it ten yards before I overtook him. I wasn't all that fast, but he was horribly slow. He made it through the Hancock's yard, the Rogers' and around the corner before I tackled him.

"You've got to come home. Come back!"

I assumed that my mom had followed us when he ran out of the house and would be there any second. He was going to be in big trouble. BIG.

My mother spanked. Hard. She never used a belt or paddle. She didn't have to. I told everyone that her hands were just like leather but they hurt worse. Old school. Pants down, lying across her lap. Legs kicking and me screaming as she wailed away on my lilly-white ass. God, it stings just to write about it. Chris was about to bear witness to the stinging reality of my mother's leathery palm.

As I held him he looked up at me and then started choking himself. Really. He put his hands around his own throat and began to choke himself, coughing and gagging. I freaked. I panicked and let him go and as soon as my grip was loosed. He was off and running again. This time, I did not follow. I turned around fully expecting to see my mother, but she was no where in sight. I retraced our steps heading back towards home. She was no where. When I got back to the house I went inside to find my mother sitting calmly in her chair, hands folded in her lap watching television.

"He started choking himself! I had him but he started choking himself so I let go."

"You should have just let him."

"What??"

"Sure, just let him."

"Mom, he was choking himself!"

"If he actually did choke himself he would pass out before he could die then you could have just drug him back home."

How could she be so callus? Wasn't she worried? My God, He was only 8 years old!

"So what do we do now? Should we go back and look for him?"

"Sit down. Relax. He'll be back."

She knew. She had a way. Certainly things upset her, but we never knew about it. There was little hint of emotion, save the good ones. There was no time for sorrow or pity, emotions that got in the way. Besides, Maude was about to come on and my mom seldom missed an episode. I didn't get it.

She loved that show. My brother and I would be playing in our room and her laughter would fill the house. Deep, happy laughter that comes from enjoying a moment of respite having left cares of the day precisely where they were, behind.

And so it was that my mother and I sat together and watched an episode of Maude. She laughed heartily at jokes and conversations that I did not understand. I sat, silent. Nervous. Worried.

When the show was over my mom looked at me still smiling at having enjoyed a moment and said, "Let's go let your brother back in."

I raced to the door and opened it to reveal my brother standing in the shadows of the garage just three feet from the back door. She knew. He tentatively stepped from the shadows and into a hug. No words or punishment this evening. It was bedtime and more important things needed tending.

(I'm missing my mom who passed this summer. This was her birthday month and I guess I've been thinking about her a bit more than normal. She was a strong woman, very wise and happy to the core. I hope to be like her some day--not a woman, mind you but the strong and happy part. I still don't think I'll ever understand Maude, though.)