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My room suddenly felt small. I could hear my heart thumping heavily within my chest and my palms becoming sweaty. The windows were open, and I could hear the evening breeze blow past and rustle the leaves of the tree just outside my window, yet the room felt robbed of every single ounce of air. The fluid in my mouth dried up, and it felt as though I was about to pass out any minute, so I walked out of the square sphere I had come to know as my room since I was a child and went up the stairs, slowly. The wooden stairs creaked loudly under each shaky but heavy step I took. As I walked, I wondered what I would say to my mother. She must have been feeling so disappointed. Early that morning, at the Thanksgiving service in church, I had sneaked into the room where the nuns kept the snacks for the children and slipped some into my pockets. I was locked up in the restroom, munching hurriedly on some chocolate biscuits I had stolen, when Mr. Edward, one of the deacons, suddenly knocked on the door and asked me to come out.
It turned out that my friend, Rita, had seen me sneak into the room when everyone was away, and had immediately reported to one of the nuns. I was dragged out by the ear, with a chocolate-stained mouth, which made it impossible to deny my atrocity. My mom had been informed immediately. I didn't leave the chapel until I had said ten “Our Fathers” and prayed the rosary twice. But my mom refused to speak to me on the way home and throughout the rest of the day. Just a few cold glances mixed with sadness and anger, a heavy sigh here and there, and a “Go get your food on the kitchen table.” I just walked around like a loner the rest of the day.
“Mummy,” I called, knocking lightly on the door to her room.
No response.
I knew I had a knack for getting into trouble in school and everywhere I went, but my mom never gave me a silent treatment. It felt like I would suffocate if she didn't talk to me sooner. “Mummy,” I called again. Silence. “Mom, please, I'm so sorry, it won't happen again,” I said, almost teary now. I stood for a minute, listening to hear her light steps on the floor or a grunt perhaps. Nothing. So I hedged closer to the door and said “I won't leave till you forgive me.”I stood for about ten minutes cleaning off the tears on my cheeks as they poured out and admitting to my mom how foolish I was to have acted in such a dishonorable way and for always getting into trouble.
Unknown to me, she was listening, and halfway into my teary monologue, she opened the door and hugged me. “It's okay love, it's okay,” she said, patting my back. “Just do better than getting into trouble all the time,” she said with a heavy sigh. My body quaked violently as I cried, it was the first time I ever felt the weight of my mom's disappointment. I was going to turn a new leaf and be the child she wanted me to be.