I lay down on the bed. The mattress was comfortably supportive. Sadie reached under my shirt to remove the patch and drop it into the medical waste container. Pulling a step out from under the bed, she stepped up and laid her body along mine, carefully draping her right arm across her torso. Her mind went into a hibernation state of waiting. The position caused her dress sleeve to ride high and expose the crook of her elbow. Little white lines and dots gathered there. She noticed my glance and said nonchalantly, ‘I’ve had an abusive boyfriend.’ I knew better H was the name of the game. Emotional emptiness and bleak outlook was directly solved by going to the root, the opioid receptors that needed to be stuffed by some chemical to shut them up, to shut up the gnawing voice of futility and pointlessness, to soothe that voice into a gentle slumber, just to have peace, not to really live, simply to have peace and ease, while resting with a zoinked out face staring into nothing. I put my. But, I wasn’t sure if I would not forgive my mother nor our relationship would remain the same after the rude shock she gave me. I have only read such things happening in some erotic stories and was unable to come to terms with the real situation which looked worse than the imaginary situations. Why should my mother do this? I kept asking myself many times. I had a few plans for the weekend all of which went for a toss. I lay on my bed a confused man, still unable to believe what I have seen or rather what I shouldn’t have seen at all. I was grown up enough to think about the sexual implications of whatever my mother did and for a moment even wondered if my Dad’s passion for excellence in his career could be one of the reasons for her straying ways. Whatever it is, she was supposed to lead a life, expected of a typical conservative Indian woman notwithstanding the several temptations. I even feared that my mother could try something sinister like attempting suicide unable to.
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