a few years ago, my mother had a vase in the house. she had me too. and me was not as still as the vase. nor as pretty. nor as precious. see, the vase was a gift from a family friend. not for us to appreciate, but those who can. it was exquisite. beautiful with intricate paintings and carvings. too out of place in our dull house.
now our house is slightly green. i guess it adds a little vibrancy, but then it was boring ol' white. spruced up only by the vase against the white wall.
see, she had it then, and not have it now, because i broke it.
it wasn't intentional, i promise. i did it accidentally.. maybe.
i had skipped school a few times, stole a few things here and there, and she found out. she got very angry at me. she hit me. she yelled at me. she called me a disappointment. it was as if she vented all her sorrow, her anger, her recent loss at any given opportunity she could, because it wasn't quite her usual style.
she went out to work the next day, and left me alone at home. my brothers had gone to school. and i had a free day.
so i went to her vase. my punching bag. i peered inside it. meh, nothing on the inside. what's it for? it doesn't hold any flower. it doesn't even have any water inside for flies to reproduce. oh didn't we just learn about stability in physics? why don't we experiment with the base and centre of gravity with this vase here? oh my, the base sure is heavy. oof takes a little to tilt it over... and i imagined in my head my mother with the harsh words tilting over... i pushed her down.
i pushed her till she fell to stop her from scolding me. she was my beloved mother, i didn't want her to make me dislike her in any way.
i pushed the vase over, and it being ceramic, it broke.
i fled.
she knew i did it. she knew it wasn't the brothers' stray soccer ball, or a gust of strong wind that blew it over. still, she let me sit with her silently fixing the broken pieces together with scotch tape.
it took us 2 nights to piece half the vase back, with the tiniest pieces being thrown away. why do this, you ask? its value is lost.
yes, but it doesn't mean we have to throw it away. having a ghost of the original beats nothing. it represents what we once had, and to our family friend, that we continue to appreciate his generosity.
the vase was never fixed. we had another fight over my poor results and my unchanging habit of truancy. i threw the remaining pieces away. in front of her.
we left the taped vase near the entrance of the door. the gaping hole faced the wall. it couldn't hold up, of course. it was but half a cylinder, help together by sticky tape. i sought her permission first this time before i disposed of it. we explained to our family friend how the accident happened and he understood perfectly.
we never spoke of the vase again.
better an empty home than one with a fragile vase vulnerable to fits of anger and playful children.
i never did apologize to my mother, but i never needed to. because she is my mother, and i am her child.
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