[STORY] TRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE (Episode 12)

Episode 12.

I’d only noticed that Tricia had suddenly stopped talking. I’d then raised my head to ask the obvious question when my eyes met with Mama’s burning eyes.

Our stare lingered a little bit longer, before I returned to pounding my pepper.
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It was already time for the pepper to go into the pot of soup. Tricia’s gists had had me wasting more time than I normally should, and Mama’s presence was not making the pounding any faster.

I could already imagine what was to come.

I could already imagine what was going through Tricia’s mind at that moment.

I could only imagine what was going to be Mama’s first word to either of us.
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Mama was either too set-aback by the sight of me in that position and as such, the process to really “comprehend and then express”, was taking longer than usual, because that would certainly have explained her unusual silence.

Mama didn’t utter a word to either of us.

Though She didn’t have to.

Her demeanor reeked of her displeasure to the sight of me in that position, as loud as it could possibly have been non-verbally expressed.
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Mama had now been standing for quite a while, still without a word.

She was just staring.

Knowing my mother very well, this was already an awkward situation.

I was already as uncomfortable as I could possibly have been and I could clearly see that Tricia was equally as uncomfortable with Mama’s presence, moreso, her silence.

I had to say something, anything at all to break this awkwardness.

So I did.

But just as I made to raise my head and open my mouth to ask if Mama had needed something, the worse happened.

I landed the pestle a little harder than I should have, on the mortar.

The proximity of my face from it was somehow, VERY.

This unfortunately caused a splash and a significant amount of pepper entering my eyes.
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I was blinded momentarily, wriggling and screaming in pain.

I was screaming ‘MY EYES! MY EYES!” to the confusion of everyone.

Mama and Tricia scrambled towards me, confusingly.
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“Baby sorry, take this and wash your face with it…” Tricia said, as she guided my hand towards a bowl of water she’d hurriedly fetched for me.

Like a headless chicken, I scrambled blindly for it.

Out of excitement, it took me a while to fully locate the bowl or be sure what part of it I needed to hold.

I eventually figured it out with my eyes still tightly shot and burning, excruciatingly.

I got a hold of the bowl of water. Instinctively, I’d proceeded to fetch, to wash my face with as much as I could scoop when Mama slapped my hand off of it.

Still very “blind” and in dire need of an urgent remedy to my situation, I was infuriated by Mama’s action. But before I could express my displeasure to this, Mama replaced that “possible alternative”, with something I found rather strange.

Mama asked me to open my mouth as wide as I possibly could.

I did.

Then I tasted it.

SALT!

A lot of it, shoved into my mouth and down my throat.

I attempted to spit out this substance I was being forced to consume in a manner unheard of before, but mama rebuked me.

“LICK IT GREG! IT’LL REDUCE THE BURNING, IN NO TIME”. Mama commanded, in a thunderous voice.
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The tone In Mama’s voice was devoid of compassion.

It was almost as though she saw this coming.

She wasn’t sorry for me. If she was, she certainly didn’t show it or sound like it.
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I did as Mama had instructed and truth to her words, my eyes soon began to to burn-less.

It took a while before my sight returned to normal but It eventually did, leaving Tricia to complete the cooking, alone.
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Tricia traveled with Priscilla later that evening, leaving Mama and I, to each other’s company.

This was an opening for a conversation.

I knew Mama had at least, one issue to discuss.

I had a whole lot to address too.
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That evening, after dinner, Mama and I were in the parlor, primarily settled to see this new home video airing on Netflix, but I should have known better.

I barely got a chance to watch a scene, uninterrupted.

Mama wouldn’t let me.

This was when She remembered to tell me a story from years back, a gist about a neighbor, a friend or even about my father and his irresponsible family members.
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This was indeed a pattern.

I have a drama Queen for a mother.

All these were Mama’s usual build up to a conversation she’d presumed “needed to be very clarifying”.

I recognized it well, and waited for her to finally hit the nail on its head.

She eventually did.

Two hours later.
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To be continued… . . .