The Mating Games

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"Child, why did no one ever teach you that you cannot turn people into homes?"

-Nikita Gill

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Friday, 17th October, 1919

It was an early morning of Autumn weather, the leaves lay dead and withered, with colours of golden brown and fading tangerine with the wind chilly and crisp against your goosebump raised skin.

A cup of steaming hot tea tucked cosily against your chest between your nimble fingers, as your breath leaves in icy puffs of vapour. The grass ticklish under your feet as though softly peppered kisses from a lover, soothing and sweet.

A fog of deep thought swam behind your eyes, as you sipped the tea, a freshly burning cigarette between your lips, as you relish in the profound sense of stress relief, the clamoring voices of critiquing elders, flushing from your mind. Your eyes slowly zoning in on the horizon, the colours of sunrise slowly peeking through the dense forest trees.

"Honey, what are you doing out here so early?"

The calm voice of your mother perceiving your ears like a faun stumbling through freshly fallen snow, shaky and perturbed. You turn from your spot in the garden, flick away the cigarette stub, as you make your way over to your mother and press a chaste kiss to her cheek.

"Morning ma, couldn't sleep."

She smiles, although it seemed disheartened and apologetic as she tightens the string of her night gown tighter around her body, she winces from her rough handling having grazed against a fresh new bruise on her abdominal area, your eyes dim down to a despondent haze as you give her a sad smile.

"You okay, ma?"

She huffs, but doesn't answer, and with slow torturous movements, she moves over to the small lunch table on the back porch, the tea still hot and steaming, with cremes, milk, sugars, biscuits and savoury snack decorating the semi-sheer tablecloth.

You follow her until you are both seated and she is sipping on a freshly made cup of tea. Slowly, the sun begins to move over the horizon, ribbons of periwinkle, apricot, fuschia and baby blue glowing over the back garden.

It was a cinematic view, really.

"I try to be," Is her final response, your eyes move away from the horizon to look at her but she, herself, was watching as the sun peaked slightly over the earth's mountain range.

"Ma, you deserve better don't you?" She sighs, heavily, rubbing her eyes, as she places her cup of tea down, her hands in her lap as she fiddles with her fingertips, her eyes suddenly became watery.

"No, he is better, the best, sometimes people just make mistakes." You scoff as you finish the last swig of your tea, grabbing a cigarette and your lighter you place it between your lips and light the tip, puffing in the smoke as your anger slowly shimmers.

"I'm twenty-three years old, ma. I'm not a child anymore, and what I see, is a fucking mutt, abusing his soulmate. And that should draw the line.”