Piecing Me Together Again

As Mom scolded, she scrolled through her contacts.

"Roger Hudson, your beloved daughter has gone over to your place again, right? You're all a bunch of scoundrels, always bullying me and me only over the years!"

I couldn't hear what Dad said on the other end of the receiver. All I heard was Mom's increasingly loud roar echoing throughout the room.

At last, her roars became hysterical screams and sobbing.

She lamented how difficult it had been for her as a single mother. She complained about me biting the hands that fed me.

Instinctively, I reached out to wipe off her tears. As I always had, I wanted to assure her, saying, "Mom, I'll always be with you."

In fact, I'd never thought of leaving her.

When I was in primary school, I slowly understood why Mom was so angry all those years back.

She bravely shielded me from my paternal grandmother, Margaret Fawne, who'd pick favorites. However, I stabbed her in the back. Although I did it unknowingly, I still hurt her.

So, I picked up on household chores and collected recyclables to make extra money.

Mom loved drinking. Every time she drank, she'd vent her anger on me. However, there was a period when I'd secretly hoped she'd get drunk.

Only when she lay asleep on the couch could I study her up close. I could also hug her without fearing the sudden slaps she'd throw at me.

Slowly and carefully, I'd rest my head in her arms.

That one time when she gave me a ferocious beating was an exception. I ran out of the house and all the way to Dad's new house.

I saw Dad holding a toy robot and making funny faces at his son.

I didn't dare to say anything, worried I'd barge in on others' happiness.

Dad saw me. He also saw the wounds I hid under my sleeves.

At that moment, I burst into tears. Trembling, I reached out. "Dad, I want a hug."

Shocked, Dad attempted to caress my wounds with shaking hands.

"Dad, I don't know how to put this robot together. Come help me!"

That voice made Dad's hands freeze in midair. He pulled out his phone.

I was flustered. I couldn't let Mom know I had gone to Dad's house. She'd be sad. Clenching my jaws, I slapped his phone away and scurried off.

I didn't dare to go home.

The wind was blowing strongly. When I passed a bridge arch, the beggars there kept eyeing me. Under their suffocating gazes, I kept on running, afraid to even pause. When I returned to my senses, I realized I'd lost one of my shoes.

My kind neighbor found me by the garbage cans. I was shaking all over.

When she took me home, Mom glared at me as though I was her nemesis. "Hadn't you gone to your Dad's? Why are you back?"

Shrinking back, I tried to explain. But to her, I was making meaningless excuses.

Until now, Mom firmly believed I would be at Dad's place if I hadn't returned home by midnight.

She got up. Cursing under her breath, she locked her door. After setting her alarm, she went to bed.

I looked out at the cold, dark night. It was about 14 degrees Fahrenheit outside. I thought it was fortunate that I was dead. If I'd stayed out, I would've become a human popsicle.

I flipped through Mom's schedule. She was on the afternoon shift tomorrow.

I recalled what I read in a book about mortuary restoration. By tomorrow afternoon, I would look all the more terrible. I wondered if Mom would cry if she saw my corpse.

Mom was awakened by a call from the police. They finally found my family's contact.

The voice on the other end of the receiver sounded grim and sad. They kept expressing their condolences.

Mom was stunned. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Tell me, how much did Xenia pay you guys for this? She's trying to draw my attention, huh?"

She ended the phone call agitatedly.

Then, she sat in silence, muttering to herself. She couldn't believe that I would be killed in an accident. She assumed I'd paid some people to put on the act in fear of her anger.

She even scolded me for being naughty at such a young age. As she did, she seemed much more at ease. She even started humming as she tidied the house.

Then, her phone rang incessantly once again.

"Stop calling. Tell her I won't hit her if she comes home now."