Memories, Part III

    The boat ride seemed endless, and as she sat in the cabin, she wished she had insisted on staying in the open end of the vessel. The ceaseless rocking of the boat, coupled with the hot recycled air within made her stomach churn. More than once she wondered if she should threaten to vomit, but she held back and tried to be respectful. Which was more than what the children on board were.




Mary Gonzalez's Facebook profile


   

    There was a time when any untoward behavior would have merited a scolding, or if the behavior had been especially bad, a spanking. That was always effective, for the children were properly ashamed and being spanked or scolded in front of strangers had a way of hurting even more. Her mother even used to tell anyone within reach to spank her if they felt she was out of line. Now she watched a little girl take her juice box and squeeze, spraying another child in the face. When the victim started whining, the naughty girl cried louder, demanding more juice…her harassed mother ignored her, handing a napkin to the wet child. The culprit snatched the napkin away from her victim, making ugly faces at the now sniffling child. Both mothers tried ignoring their children, pretending nothing was happening.

    All around her she saw other people watching the scene unfold, alternating between shaking their heads and smiling indulgently. She felt disgusted, but tried not to show it too much. When the children came nearer to her, she put on her angry face and tried to ignore them. The little sneaky girl noticed and slowed down. Soon, she walked back to her mother and sat down. For the remainder of the boat ride, she felt a pair of child’s eyes staring her down. She didn’t dare look in her direction.

    Outside, the wind picked up strength, causing the boat to rock and sway. Water sprayed inside through the open windows. The salty liquid hit her squarely in her face, and she remembered one of the best times of her life, as she sat on a boat with him, the coastline growing smaller and smaller as they sped farther away from the island, heading out to the blue, blue sea….

    …

    Her hair was being whipped every which direction, and even though she sat snuggled next to him, the cool wind made her shiver in her wet clothes. Their friends kept trying to sip rum cocktails from their plastic cups, but more landed on them than in their mouths. Their laughter rang out over the roar of the engine, and she squeezed his hand. Happy - she was happy. They were happy. After so much hardship, and trials that she never envisioned having to go through, they were once again at a good place…

    …

    His mother had often remarked on her sudden departure from reality, stopping conversations halfway as her mind wandered. Yet, she never stopped thanking her for making her son happy. Now she started slightly as she drifted back to reality - the reality of heading to the island where the burial would take place. Details were blurry, the phone connection bad with static, but what she grasped was that Mother died in bed, and at peace. She knew about her pain, and the way she suffered in silence. Any reprieve from the pain was a good thing, and for this instance, she was glad that death claimed her when it did. There was never going to be relief, and the pills and ointments would have only done so much. That much she knew.

    …

    The ceremony was mercifully short, for the sun baked down relentlessly on the small crowd of mourners. When the first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin, she lost control of her tears. The knot in her throat loosened into a deluge of tears. She cried for the children, the grandchildren, for herself, and for her beloved mother-in-law. Gone was the woman who used to answer the phone late in the night, when the nightmares woke her, and only she knew how to soothe. She cried silently, not feeling any right to wail and scream like the children left behind. She cried almost privately, as if ashamed, like she knew her father-in-law was. He stood to the side, his face a mask of grief, yet no tears ran down. Perhaps he had cried all his angst out, or he was waiting for the privacy of their bedroom, where the smell of her lotion and powder still lingered. Where her house slippers, worn and soft, still stood at the foot of their bed. Where her clothes still filled the drawers, and her photographs still remained. Where she had given him the companionship and love she knew to give. That perhaps, once, long ago, he knew not how to appreciate.

    …

    They used to share secrets with each other. In her, she had the mother she longed for but was no longer around. She was the one who comforted her when they had their first fight, when she lost the first and only child, when they made the decision not to have children. She was the woman who suffered for decades, and the woman whose beatific smile belied the turmoil within. She held the family together, even when her husband’s eyes strayed, and his heart betrayed their relationship. She had understood, and had supported them when their lives were rocked. She was the woman who taught her of the memories – the happiness that lived on in our minds, long after sadness had taken over in life. She taught her to reach in, to relive the memories that made sense, that gave a sense of meaning to life. …Now, she was but a memory herself.





Click for the Current Column...


Commons Island Community History Visitor Center Goods & Services
Search Messages CIG Info


Copyright by Casado Internet Group, Belize