HER
She looked at him, as he droned on and on about last night's game, talking into the little mouthpiece on his phone. She took another bite of the warm omelette she had just cooked up. She knew it was his favourite: cheese omelette with bits of jalapeno. It was Sunday, his day off, and she had wanted to make it special for him. It was the only day she really got to see him and it was her favourite day of the week.
She waited, patiently, as he continued talking, indifferent to how eagerly she was awaiting the end of this phone call. He had no idea she waited all week for this day, to spend time with him, to talk to him about all the things she's stored up throughout the week. She tried to prolong the meal, in order to be able to enjoy it with him but he wouldn't put the phone down.
Eventually, losing patience, she said: "Why don't you eat first and call your friend back later?"
He huffed a small, impatient breath, looked at her like she didn't understand: "Its important, mom", he replied, and went straight back to the conversation.
She bent her head, in an attempt to hide the tears which had just sprung up, as she was reminded of all the nights she had stayed up, tending to him awaiting the years when they'd share these precious moments together.
She had had those moments, she remembered. Those few years, when her boy had just started high school and was still trying to fit in. When he still looked up to her as the only woman in the world worth talking to. When he still came back and told her every detail of his day, knowing that she'd laugh along with him at the jokes and sympathize with him about the harsh teachers. Those years, so long ago, when he actually considered her a friend.
Lately, it seemed, he was just trying to get out of the house, stay out with his friends, talk on the phone or stay shut in his room.
She understood his need to be alone, but he didn't seem to understand how she needed him. She was getting old and her husband's death had left her lonely and depressed. She no longer had the energy and optimism she's once been full off, showered her household with and carried with herself throughout the days.
All she longed for now was her son's attention, his support and his company. It was the only thing in the world that still gave her any joy.
Five years later- HIM
He bent down at her feet, held on to her knees and looked up at her face. He looked right into her eyes, hoping, yearning, praying to see that flicker of recognition which would cause her eyes to light up and shine. He craved to see that look again, which she'd given him everytime he came back home, or walked into her room in the morning.
But, as he sat there, all he saw was the blank look. The same blank look she'd been giving for two years now
His mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's five years back. He remembered how she'd started losing some skeletal control, but he had been far too indulged in his own life to take much notice. For a small period of time, he'd even thought she was doing it to gain his attention. He couldn't have been more wrong. She'd eventually gotten so sick that she could no longer function on her own, and even then, he had hired a maid to take care of her and tend to her, while he went about his life, building up his career. The few minutes he did give her each day were so preoccupied with other thoughts that he barely remembered what they'd talked about.
It wasn't until two years ago that he'd really noticed how bad her health had gotten, when he'd walked into her room and she could no longer remember who he was. She could not remember her own son.
From that day, he raced to her room every morning, kneeled at her feet, and looked up, awaiting the day her memory would come back.
As he sat there, his eyes stung and his throat ached with memories of her voice as she called him for breakfast, of her smile as she pulled back the curtains in his room each morning, her hands as they skittered over the counter while she cooked his favourite dishes, her laughter as she howled over some joke he'd just made. And more than that, the memories of the last few years, when she'd asked him, begged him, pleaded with him to spend some time with her, and he's rushed away, turning down her plea like that of a child throwing a tantrum.
All those years he'd wasted, running after his life and his career while his mother had gotten weaken right in front of him, and he'd never been there.
As he wiped away his tears, looked up at her beautiful face, he realized how it felt to lose the attention of the only person you wanted to share time with.
