Never let go
Disclaimer:This is a work of fiction, not written for profit. I claim no connection with any member of Good Charlotte, their families or friends.The events hereby narrated are absolutely false and are not meant to reflect the person's private life. No harm, misrepresentation, libel, malice or copyright infringement is intended. At no time is this meant to be construed as reality.
The woman had short, light brown hair.
Her face, lined with worries, still retained a fragile beauty in the full mouth, on the elegant bridge of her upturned nose.
She stood in front of the kitchen window, checking the driveway and the cars on the poor lit street, a little girl, was half asleep in her arms, the child’s little hands fisted in the fabric of her blouse.
With a last glance toward the window the woman turned her back, holding up the child and walked softly into the cluttered living room. In there, a boy with the same light brown hair, was curled on the dusty sofa, his feet bare, watching re-runs of old cartoons.
The woman shifted the little girl in her arms, resting one hand on her short curly hair and spoke very slowly to the boy.
"Josh?”
He held up his head, big brown eyes looking up at the child and then moving on the woman’s face.
“Yes mama?”
“Time for bed Josh.”
“Mama? Can I stay up a little longer? Just still 9.30? All my friend do!”
“Josh? What do I always say to you?”
“To eat my vegetables?”
She smiled a little, her eyes very soft.
“Yes… and what else?”
“Don’t be everybody else. Be yourself.”
“Exactly.”
“That means I can’t stay up till 9.30 isn’t it?”
“Right again. Now please, go and brush your teeth, then check on the
twins, make sure they are in their beds and under the covers ok?”
“Yes mama.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
The boy turned the TV off and tottered upstairs and the woman noticed, with a sigh, how threadbare and short his pyjama bottoms were.
Still holding the little girl in her arms, she started straightening up the room, picking up a soft toy and a baseball glove, balancing them precariously with one hand till her eyes cought sight of one of the picture of the mantelpiece.
The photo showed 4 children; the little girl perched on the boy’s knees and behind them, smiling broadly, were two twins boys, one of them with a superman plaster on his forehead.
She put aside the toys, holding the picture frame, tracing the outline of the children with an unconscious caress.
Her eyes were bright in the dark room, bright and glazed with tears, but she swallowed a couple of times, held up the sleeping girl and marched upstairs, turning off the lights on her way out.
She had just kissed the girl goodnight, when the little boy’s voice ringed clear and annoyed through the hallway.
“Mama? Mama he’d done it again! And he is pretending to be asleep, but he’s not!”
The woman closed the door behind her, walking briskly towards the room at the end of the corridor, her face, once gain, creased with worry, making her look so much older. When she spoke, her voice was still soft but very tired and a little angry.
“Josh don’t yell, you’ll wake Sarah. Now go to bed, I’ll finish here. Thank you.”
She tried to hug the boy, but he was annoyed for being yelled at, after doing what he has been told and avoided her embrace, walking towards his room.
“Josh?”
“Yes mama?”
“Sweet dreams. I love you.”
“Love you to mama.”
The twins' bedroom was incredibly small, cluttered with toys, books and little mismatched socks lying on the floor. The dresser had one drawer open, the sleeve of a horrid mustard-yellow jumper hanging out almost if trying to escape.
On the far corner of the room, against the wall, stood the cast iron bunk’s beds, but only the top one was occupied, the other looked untouched, only the faintest of indentation to show that someone had laid there for a little.
She threaded softly, picking up socks and discarded trousers and shirts, the occupant of the top bunk shifted slightly but didn’t wake up.
Huddled under the covers, curled against each other, were the little boys of the picture, the mop of mossy brown hair on the pillow, their little hands entwined, foreheads almost touching.
The woman smiled, her eyes bright once again, but as before, she didn’t allow herself the luxury of any tears.
She moved the blankets aside and tried to lift one of the boys, but his hand clutched his brother’s more tightly, scouting closer to the other boy. She didn’t want to wake them, but the little boy was stubborn, holding his brother’s hand, not letting go even in his sleep.
“Benjiamin? Baby? Come on…” She cooed the boy, talking softly into his ear.
“Benjiamin… Benjiamin baby you have your own bed… come on baby… you don’t want to wake Joel do you?”
The boy opened his sleepy eyes, big brown irises looking at the woman, confused and a little scared.
“Mama?”
His voice was muffled with sleep, his bottom lips trembling slightly.
“Benjiamin, let go of Joel’s hand baby… let’s go to your bed.”
His hold on the other boy seemed to tighten, his eyes, big in the dark, were defiant and scared at the same time.
“No.”
“Benjiamin?”
“No. I don’t wanna sleep in my bed. I don’t like it.”
“But is exactly the same as Joel, even the same covers. Why don’t you like it?”
Her voice was breaking slightly, the lines on her face, etching the shadows of years of struggle, but she was still gentle, delicate.
“I just don’t like it… It’s horrible!”
The boy’s voice was brittle with tears, his lips pursed, trembling.
“It’s not horrible baby, it’s just like Joel’s.”
“It’s NOT!”
The other boy stirred, awaken by the raised voices.
“What’s going on? Benji… Mama?”
“Joel, baby don’t worry. Go back to sleep and I will put Benjiamin in his bed.”
The two children looked at each other through the darkness, still holding hands.
“Benjiamin I am very tired and I don’t want to argue, come on, jump down and let Joel sleep.”
“No… Mama please? I… I don’t like it there. It doesn’t smell right… Please?”
She exhaled a heavy sigh, trying to remain calm, but she was so tired…
“THAT’S ENOUGH BENJIAMIN!”
The boy jumped at her loud voice, burying his face on his brother shoulder, starting to cry.
“Oh… I am sorry. I am sorry baby, I didn’t mean to yell, really… Baby? Please? What do you mean it doesn’t smell right? Did you spill something on the covers? Do you want me to clean it for you?”
The boy didn’t move from his brother embrace, still crying, he sobbed softly.
“No… I was good, I didn’t spill anything… it just, it… just doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell like… like this… like us...”
His eyes were huge in the dark, his voice soft and scared and the woman looked at her sons, their hands still entwined, she looked at their pale faces, their upturned little noses and she saw how beautiful they were. How little they were. How much she loved them.
“Mama? Mama why are you crying? I am sorry mama… sorry.”
She pressed a cool palm over her son’s cheek, brushing the soft skin.
“It’s ok babies, I am ok. I love you. I love you.”
“Mama do you want me to sleep in my bed?”
“No baby it’s ok.”
She kissed their foreheads, tucking them in, smoothing their covers.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Nite mama.”
She left the room, softly, her sons already asleep. Hand in hand.
“Never let go” she whispered.
The door closed with a light click and she made her way in the darkness.
Alone.
The woman had short, light brown hair.
Her face, lined with worries, still retained a fragile beauty in the full mouth, on the elegant bridge of her upturned nose.
She stood in front of the kitchen window, checking the driveway and the cars on the poor lit street, a little girl, was half asleep in her arms, the child’s little hands fisted in the fabric of her blouse.
With a last glance toward the window the woman turned her back, holding up the child and walked softly into the cluttered living room. In there, a boy with the same light brown hair, was curled on the dusty sofa, his feet bare, watching re-runs of old cartoons.
The woman shifted the little girl in her arms, resting one hand on her short curly hair and spoke very slowly to the boy.
"Josh?”
He held up his head, big brown eyes looking up at the child and then moving on the woman’s face.
“Yes mama?”
“Time for bed Josh.”
“Mama? Can I stay up a little longer? Just still 9.30? All my friend do!”
“Josh? What do I always say to you?”
“To eat my vegetables?”
She smiled a little, her eyes very soft.
“Yes… and what else?”
“Don’t be everybody else. Be yourself.”
“Exactly.”
“That means I can’t stay up till 9.30 isn’t it?”
“Right again. Now please, go and brush your teeth, then check on the
twins, make sure they are in their beds and under the covers ok?”
“Yes mama.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
The boy turned the TV off and tottered upstairs and the woman noticed, with a sigh, how threadbare and short his pyjama bottoms were.
Still holding the little girl in her arms, she started straightening up the room, picking up a soft toy and a baseball glove, balancing them precariously with one hand till her eyes cought sight of one of the picture of the mantelpiece.
The photo showed 4 children; the little girl perched on the boy’s knees and behind them, smiling broadly, were two twins boys, one of them with a superman plaster on his forehead.
She put aside the toys, holding the picture frame, tracing the outline of the children with an unconscious caress.
Her eyes were bright in the dark room, bright and glazed with tears, but she swallowed a couple of times, held up the sleeping girl and marched upstairs, turning off the lights on her way out.
She had just kissed the girl goodnight, when the little boy’s voice ringed clear and annoyed through the hallway.
“Mama? Mama he’d done it again! And he is pretending to be asleep, but he’s not!”
The woman closed the door behind her, walking briskly towards the room at the end of the corridor, her face, once gain, creased with worry, making her look so much older. When she spoke, her voice was still soft but very tired and a little angry.
“Josh don’t yell, you’ll wake Sarah. Now go to bed, I’ll finish here. Thank you.”
She tried to hug the boy, but he was annoyed for being yelled at, after doing what he has been told and avoided her embrace, walking towards his room.
“Josh?”
“Yes mama?”
“Sweet dreams. I love you.”
“Love you to mama.”
The twins' bedroom was incredibly small, cluttered with toys, books and little mismatched socks lying on the floor. The dresser had one drawer open, the sleeve of a horrid mustard-yellow jumper hanging out almost if trying to escape.
On the far corner of the room, against the wall, stood the cast iron bunk’s beds, but only the top one was occupied, the other looked untouched, only the faintest of indentation to show that someone had laid there for a little.
She threaded softly, picking up socks and discarded trousers and shirts, the occupant of the top bunk shifted slightly but didn’t wake up.
Huddled under the covers, curled against each other, were the little boys of the picture, the mop of mossy brown hair on the pillow, their little hands entwined, foreheads almost touching.
The woman smiled, her eyes bright once again, but as before, she didn’t allow herself the luxury of any tears.
She moved the blankets aside and tried to lift one of the boys, but his hand clutched his brother’s more tightly, scouting closer to the other boy. She didn’t want to wake them, but the little boy was stubborn, holding his brother’s hand, not letting go even in his sleep.
“Benjiamin? Baby? Come on…” She cooed the boy, talking softly into his ear.
“Benjiamin… Benjiamin baby you have your own bed… come on baby… you don’t want to wake Joel do you?”
The boy opened his sleepy eyes, big brown irises looking at the woman, confused and a little scared.
“Mama?”
His voice was muffled with sleep, his bottom lips trembling slightly.
“Benjiamin, let go of Joel’s hand baby… let’s go to your bed.”
His hold on the other boy seemed to tighten, his eyes, big in the dark, were defiant and scared at the same time.
“No.”
“Benjiamin?”
“No. I don’t wanna sleep in my bed. I don’t like it.”
“But is exactly the same as Joel, even the same covers. Why don’t you like it?”
Her voice was breaking slightly, the lines on her face, etching the shadows of years of struggle, but she was still gentle, delicate.
“I just don’t like it… It’s horrible!”
The boy’s voice was brittle with tears, his lips pursed, trembling.
“It’s not horrible baby, it’s just like Joel’s.”
“It’s NOT!”
The other boy stirred, awaken by the raised voices.
“What’s going on? Benji… Mama?”
“Joel, baby don’t worry. Go back to sleep and I will put Benjiamin in his bed.”
The two children looked at each other through the darkness, still holding hands.
“Benjiamin I am very tired and I don’t want to argue, come on, jump down and let Joel sleep.”
“No… Mama please? I… I don’t like it there. It doesn’t smell right… Please?”
She exhaled a heavy sigh, trying to remain calm, but she was so tired…
“THAT’S ENOUGH BENJIAMIN!”
The boy jumped at her loud voice, burying his face on his brother shoulder, starting to cry.
“Oh… I am sorry. I am sorry baby, I didn’t mean to yell, really… Baby? Please? What do you mean it doesn’t smell right? Did you spill something on the covers? Do you want me to clean it for you?”
The boy didn’t move from his brother embrace, still crying, he sobbed softly.
“No… I was good, I didn’t spill anything… it just, it… just doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell like… like this… like us...”
His eyes were huge in the dark, his voice soft and scared and the woman looked at her sons, their hands still entwined, she looked at their pale faces, their upturned little noses and she saw how beautiful they were. How little they were. How much she loved them.
“Mama? Mama why are you crying? I am sorry mama… sorry.”
She pressed a cool palm over her son’s cheek, brushing the soft skin.
“It’s ok babies, I am ok. I love you. I love you.”
“Mama do you want me to sleep in my bed?”
“No baby it’s ok.”
She kissed their foreheads, tucking them in, smoothing their covers.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Nite mama.”
She left the room, softly, her sons already asleep. Hand in hand.
“Never let go” she whispered.
The door closed with a light click and she made her way in the darkness.
Alone.