Mothers

Alright ladies. We should all get started. I would like to point out there are some light refreshments and dry biscuits on the table near the entrance, and consequently, also known as the exit door. I have the right mind to believe everyone is present. Oops, except Mary Jane. Very well, we will start in an alphabetical fashion. Mrs. Abottsford, please state your name, reason of being here, and the number of days since it has been.

'Hello, everyone,' Mrs. Abottsford quips. A dim hello resounds from the ladies of the circle. 'I am Sheila Abottsford and I am here because it has been 23 days since my little Johnny's mishap...again.' Mrs. Abottsford pauses a moment too long.

Mrs. Abottsford, would you like a glass of water? Alright, I'll bring you one. 

''Thank you my dear. I...I just don't understand... I am a good mother. I mean, I give him everything he wants. Oh well, almost everything. I never really understood little Johnny.'

The group stays silent. 

Thank you, Mrs. Abottsford for sharing. Mrs. Alonso? Would you care to share?

'Not at all. My name is Jenny Louise Lewis. I am Mrs. Alonso but after my second husband laid on his pool of blood on the sofa of his mistress, I have taken up my maiden name once and for all. So, everyone calls me Jenny.' A dim 'Hello, Jenny,' echoes from every lady in the room. 'I am here because it has been 23 days,' Mrs. Alonso and Mrs. Abottsford take a sharp intake of breath simultaneously. Mrs. Alonso look at the downcasted Mrs. Abottsford. The group waits patiently. Everyone knows what is coming. Mrs. Abottsford excuses herself and heads to the exit door. She pauses at the door frame and quickly takes a biscuit with her.

The group remains seated.

Mrs. Alonso? Would you like to discuss further?

'I politely decline. I have nothing more to say for today.' Mrs. Alonso rises up and heads to the exit door. She does not pause for the refreshments. The dry bisuits lay untouched by one of Mrs. Alonso's white gloves. 

Mrs. Chirchop, the floor is all yours.

'Pass.' 

No other sound is heard in the room. Perhaps, another time Mrs. Chirchop? Alright, Mrs. de la Torres. Please proceed. We would all like to hear from you.

'I am only here for my Therese. I am afraid, as the others has said, it has been 23 days.' Mrs.Chirchop stares at Mrs. de la Torres menancingly. 'It's your fault,' Mrs. Chirchop whispers. Mrs de la Torres seems not to have heard her. She continues to stare at the pink charm bracelet a five year old might have once worn in her hand. 'Esme,' Mrs. Chirchop announces louder this time, 'this is all your fault.' Mrs. de la Torres turns her head slowly. She does not meet Mrs. Chirchop's accusatory stare. She nods as a sign of resignation and grabs her bag and coat on the way to the streets outside. She sobs feverishly until the sound of her rusty buggie can be heard zooming out of the parking. Those were the last moments of Mrs. de la Torres. Her car crashed onto a tree at 110 km per hour in an 70 kph zone. She did not survive the impact and her seatbelt remains unused at the time of the event.

Alas, this accident will occur just minutes after the support session. The group makes no move to console Mrs. de la Torres on her way out of the room. They stay silent.

Mrs. Garvery?

'No one will ever bring up Dan and Greg better than I did! I fed them and brought them to debate teams! Hell, I even moved houses for them just so they can go to college and get their summa cum laudes. The college cannot even decide to whom the honour must be awarded to as they both are geniuses! They started reading Shakespearean novels way before they learned how to potty train. It's just such a waste why they did those things... They have a bright future... They really did.'

Mrs. Garvery's bosom is heaving. Mrs. Chirchop offered to bring her water yet she decline with a wave of her hand. In ragged breath, Mrs. Garvery managed to say, 'We are too old for this.'

Mrs. Wenas? It's your turn now.

'Like all of you, I did everything. Never in a day in my life have I brought my hand down on them. No matter how inappropriate they got. My parents always punished me and they did this by striking me with the buckle of the family belt. I promised I will never do that to my children. When I married that bastard of a man I knew, even though I ignored it, that his violent side will get passed down to our children. I had to stop him. ...It was defense.' Mrs. Garvery and Mrs. Chirchop looked at Mrs. Wenas. She was trembling but not out of fear, out of satisfaction. In a telepathic agreement, the ladies did not discuss of Mrs. Wenas' delinquent past.

It has been a day. I believe we are all tired of the day's events. We must all rise now and recite the oath we are all bound in.

'We are but mothers. We have cared for our families and did our best for our children. It is not our fault and will never be our fault. For the sins of the children are the sins of the children alone.'

The ladies depart in melancholy. No one chatters or even whispers. They reside in their self-proclaimed solitary confinements for no one can understand what they're going through. One by one, some drove away with anger and confusion in their hearts, while some walked away with questions in their mind in the streets of Melbourne.