After this interaction with the country doctor, I sat with myself in my scantily furnished living room, and thought for a while.
Could he be correct? Did he know my mother’s condition better than I? I took his experience into account, and watched my mother closely.
I would sneak into her room in the dead of night, when I was sure she was asleep, and stand in the corner where I would not be seen. For hours I was silent, just watching, but I saw the same thing each time. She laid there, motionless, all but the subtle rise and fall of her chest hinting to life. And for some time after that, I came to believe what he told me, that my mother was fooling the only son that cared for her, and using me to live a life without labor, as her personal servant.
After a week stewing on this idea, I began to see my mother in a different light. I grew to hate that she was in such a position to require, at least as far I could tell, my constant assistance.
There was nothing she could do on her own… or at least that is how she made it seem. I had to cook, for she said standing before the oven made her dizzy because of the heat; I had to clean because she was too weak to scrub or sweep; I had to help her out of bed and to the bathroom on account that she feared fainting and breaking her skull along the way… and I even have had to wipe up after she had finished.
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The whole time, she would be so greatful of these acts, telling me weakly while being washed, of how much she appreciated me, how she would wither away if it were not for her “favorite son” by her side. At first, I took all this in with enjoyment, feeling empowered by her need for me, but now, with the doctor’s words poisoning my mind, I began to see through her words, and take them for what they were; little lies. But more than little lies, they were purposeful, they were words used to guide me into servitude, ones meant to fool me into being her mindless bellboy. It was only time before she asked to install a bell at her bedside, so as to have me at her beck and call from all parts of the property.
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Part of me felt that it was for this very reason my brothers left the home, leaving me, the youngest, to care for our mother. Perhaps they knew, long before I, that she was a selfish witch, one who bore children not out of love, but out of fear, the very fear of becoming weak in old age and needing assistance to survive. And perhaps, instead of waiting till she was an invild stuck in bed, abusing the love she had sown in her children for her final years alive, she decided to take advantage of my kind heart early, while still being able bodied. Oh… How she must’ve thought me a fool, a blind fool.
But another part of me worried that I was confused by the doctor’s words, that I may be making a grave mistake assuming my mother was being dishonest. She hadn’t, as far as I could tell, done anything in my life that would warrant suspicion, but at the same time, who looks to their parents with an eye of mistrust, who looks for their missteps? I supposed, due to my upbringing being one of hardship, I was prone to cling to her side for protection, and because of that, I was left to always assume the best of my mother’s intentions… until now
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and then Add to home screen.