Breathe In
Sandra Lee eyed her son carefully through the screen door, momentarily frozen. There were several things she took in nearly instantaneously; he was frightened, he was apologetic, and he was crushing hard on someone.
She knew these things in the space of moments between the flood of desperate relief and the blinding flash of anger. She gave voice to none.
She did, however, give voice to a near-shrill, trembling stream of Korean that might have been loosed at her son, or might have been calling for her husband. The latter was pointless; Mister Lee was out for the morning, chairing a scholarship committee at the university, and wouldn't be home for a few hours.
Her words exploded in the same rush that the screen door burst open, and she came through it like she would have just broken the damn thing if it hadn't moved fast enough.
"--I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Harold halted her shattered little rant with outstretched hands, his litany of two words somewhat muffled when she flew at him from the door frame and flung arms around him.
She was several inches shorter than her son, and her arms wrapped around his waist as she pressed her cheek to his chest.
Choking on his apologies, Harold wrapped arms around her shoulders, eyes falling closed. He took in a hitched breath, and whispered those two words once more.
He held her for a long moment, her tears already soaking his shirt, likely leaving an impressive mascara print. Harold nuzzled at the top of her head, swallowing hard on his own tears, born of gut-wrenching guilt and probably more than a little relief that he was seeing her again. "...hi, Mom."
She knew these things in the space of moments between the flood of desperate relief and the blinding flash of anger. She gave voice to none.
She did, however, give voice to a near-shrill, trembling stream of Korean that might have been loosed at her son, or might have been calling for her husband. The latter was pointless; Mister Lee was out for the morning, chairing a scholarship committee at the university, and wouldn't be home for a few hours.
Her words exploded in the same rush that the screen door burst open, and she came through it like she would have just broken the damn thing if it hadn't moved fast enough.
"--I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Harold halted her shattered little rant with outstretched hands, his litany of two words somewhat muffled when she flew at him from the door frame and flung arms around him.
She was several inches shorter than her son, and her arms wrapped around his waist as she pressed her cheek to his chest.
Choking on his apologies, Harold wrapped arms around her shoulders, eyes falling closed. He took in a hitched breath, and whispered those two words once more.
He held her for a long moment, her tears already soaking his shirt, likely leaving an impressive mascara print. Harold nuzzled at the top of her head, swallowing hard on his own tears, born of gut-wrenching guilt and probably more than a little relief that he was seeing her again. "...hi, Mom."