(Authors note: Again, the song linked is completely optional and has no influence on the plot.)
I know it's bad, I know it hurts,
You feel a numbness you cannot explain.
But brave through it, I beg, I plead.
There never was a rainbow, without a little rain.
He woke up wearily, gently untangling himself from the tassle of blue that lay spread out in strands around him. His legs were still throbbing from last night, the blood that laced them was beginning to dry, it's scent wafting through the hall- a kind of rustic smell, something that Jamie couldn't quite place but over the past seven months had come to recognize very well. He had been confused the first time it happened, confused and in pain. The pain was new then, but what petrified him wasn't the sensation his bleeding legs offered, it was his mothers face when the belt came down. He never recognized that face, that rage, he didn't know those tears. They were all new to him, this was seven months ago though. It wore off, the rush, the anxiety, the screams, the chants. . . the pain. You get used to the adrenaline coursing through your body after a while.
He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and using the table beside him as a support structure, hoisted himself up. It felt as if his body were splitting in two, the pain felt as if someone were driving a six inch bolt through his feet with a piledriver. Both the bolt and piledriver were on fire by the way.
He hobbled towards the bathroom, his legs blazing with each step, piercing his senses with the highest degree of callousness. Picking up the role of plaster in bathroom cabinet he began bandaging himself, following which he swallowed a painkiller and uttered a silent prayer followed by a soft grumpy curse that went something along the lines of '. . . shove that hardboiled egg up you. . .'
When he was done he limped back to the hall and lifted his mother onto the couch. Leaning heavily against the railing he hobbled up the stairs bringing down a pillow and bed-sheets from his room upstairs. He covered his mother with the sheet and began gingerly mopping the floor and cleaning the red splotches around him. When he was done he lightly lifted up the belt, drops of blood appeared bright against the sheen of the steel buckle, the leather couldn't be visible under all the blood, both dry and fresh. With trembling fingers, he propped the belt back against the door.Once all was done and dusted he donned a clean white tee, khaki shorts and made his way outside, careful to shut the door softly behind him.
It was four in the morning. The streets were empty except for a few joggers who'd decided jogging before daybreak was an idea that oozed brilliance and set with those silly smiles of feigned eccentricity they'd jog on.
A majority of people would only leave their homes around 8 in the morning as they left for Sunday morning mass so the sounds that voiced the air were predominantly crickets along with the monotonous buzzing of electric towers.
Still a while for sunrise. Jamie thought.
He walked ahead, at the end of the sidewalk a man would promptly wait on his cycle selling biscuits, tea and cigarettes.
Upon reaching the end of the sidewalk he found the vendor in a faded shirt that looked like it hadn't been washed for a century and tattered blue denim jeans. He bought a packet of biscuits and a cup of tea and sat down on the sidewalk. It took the cold touch of concrete and gravel, followed by a moment of contemplation and assessment before the realisation finally struck like a lightning bolt causing his entire body to freeze.
Crap I forgot to wear track pants.
The bandages were visible in plain sight, light traces of red seeping through them.He noticed the vendor staring at them. The vendor didn't raise any questions, he simply stared at the bandages and when he concluded that the stare had gone on for long enough he averted his eyes and continued straining his tea. His quota was strictly limited to biscuits, tea and cigarettes. Bandaged seventeen year old never ticked any of those boxes and hence failed to intrigue him.
Jamie continued to sip on his tea and started munching on a biscuit.
Why did everyone forget him? he thought between sips of tea. All of his stuff was gone as well.
The sharpness of ginger and lime mixed with the tea seemed to do a fairly decent job at clearing Jamie's thoughts, he started thinking with a very great fervour.
So lost in his thoughts was he that he never noticed dawn approach. The sound of crickets slowly lessening, a cuckoo's chirp or the sound of bicycle tires against the concrete as the newspaper boys went around earning their days wages was lost upon his ears as well.
It was only when the soft rays of light shone on him that he realized he had overstayed his visit, and promptly throwing the empty cup and the biscuit wrapper in the trash can he vacated his spot on the sidewalk and trudged back home.
As he entered the house he stood for a few moments at the doorway. His mother was still sleeping, he observed. Her back was facing him but the soft snoring sounds seemed convincing enough.
He smiled and started climbing the stairs. Amidst undertaking this lecherous climb up the stairway, his mother's silent whispers caught his attention as he descended the stairs and stood beside her.
"He misses you." She whimpered.
Jamie stared at his mother, his features were stiff, unmoving.
Please stop.
"Why did you leave us?" she sobbed.
He took one step back. Then another. Before he knew it he was running up the staircase, only to realize a moment later it was a horrendous idea.
His legs flared and he had to bite his tongue to stop a really loud scream that might have woken his mother, the neighbours and likely the entire block.
Upon reaching the top he slammed the door grabbed his phone and headphones buried under a heap of books. The heap came down with a loud clutter, he didn't seem to care, gasping he tuned into his playlist. This was his euphoria, his escape from reality.
He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, they were covered with absurd sketches. His mother would break down every time he asked about them, so he did what any good-natured, selectively amnesic, well-mannered son would do, he stopped asking.
So close, no matter how far,
Couldn't be much more from the heart,
Forever, trusting who we are,
And nothing else matters.
He started singing softly, his voice rising with each verse. Towards the end, he was practically screaming, lost in a trance. A rush of blood ran through his head as his motions became more and more lucid.
With each verse, he started swaying more freely becoming one with the song. Anyone who saw him at that moment would think that the kid was diagnosed with more than just selective amnesia.
Everyone that is, except his mother, who unbeknownst to him was standing in the doorway, her head tilted to one side, she was smiling amid all her tears. A sort of puckered smile that you'd flash someone you're incredibly mad at yet you can't help but love them.
NEVER CARED ABOUT WHAT THEY SAY,
NEVER CARED FOR GAMES AND PLAY.
NEVER CARED ABOUT WHAT THEY DO, NEVER CARED ABOUT WHAT THEY KNOW!
He screamed the finale as loud as he could. Now you need to understand Jamie wasn't the greatest singer at all. ( If I may, I'd go so far as to call him a tone-deaf potato.) So he was surprised by his ungracious way of singing as the music wore off. In an attempt to voice his discomfort he jumped on the bed and buried his flushed face under a pillow failing to notice the shadow of a woman chuckle as she made her way downstairs. Sunday didn't start until breakfast, and his mother's resolute face was an assurance that breakfast would be good.
She didn't disappoint.
"Breakfast's ready!" She shouted.
Jamie came lumbering down the stairs. There was a warm, rich aroma sifting through the air. He sat down to a breakfast of freshly cut pulp red tomatoes, a crisp crackling ham lightly glazed with honey, slices of buttered white-bread, steamed sausages with smoke emancipating from their pink surfaces, and a glass of lemonade. He stared in surprise at the banquet and unsteadily dug in.
"The food is a really good mom. Here have some" he said, however a mouth stuffed with sausage and ham doesn't really convey messages correctly.
In an attempt to provide visual aid to his words, he jammed a sausage and a surprisingly large slice of ham and offered her the fork, she shook her head in answer.
"How's your leg Jay?" looking down at his bandages she almost started tearing up, she stopped for an instant, furrowed her eyebrows and then regaining her composure, stared at him.
"Do you even know how to bandage yourself?"
Without waiting for a response as she walked towards the bathroom and brought out the first aid kit.
"Eat," she commanded.
Jamie promptly obeyed. So there he sat eating the best meal ever, with his mother bandaging his feet. DING DING DING, the church bells started ringing announcing the dawn and reminding the lazy where they should be. ( Ha! That didn't stop Jamie from taking his time. Heaven is right here, he'd think with a sigh. One might almost say he started to eat twice as slow.)
"You need to stop being a wuss." his father would say. If he were here, that is.
How did I lose my memory? he thought as he munched on his sandwich.
Mmm, this sandwich is good he thought again.
I know it's bad, I know it hurts,
You feel a numbness you cannot explain.
But brave through it, I beg, I plead,
For you cannot see the rainbow, without a little rain.