Maryam Stone

Young me

Photo from Pexels by Morteza Khobzi

I had freckles as a child and as a young girl. I wore bright colours. Dull moments never found me. If they did, I shoved it down as if it didn’t matter as if I wasn’t hurt.

Father is currently at home. My stepmom has just been buried. Father grieves. He cries his heart out because of his beloved. This is the second time his wife has died. First, it was mom, now it is her.

I am used to this anyways. The people at school call me a witch. They say I am the reason for my dad’s misfortune ever since the incident, my mom’s accident.

I had been at home peacefully that unfortunate day until I was called upon by the school authorities. I had to feign an illness because my mom needed to get things done. I needed to lend her a helping hand but the teachers insisted that I be on my way that moment else they would come home. “If I had outright told them to come home, would everything have been in place? Would mom still be here?”

I stuttered, 'Sure!' My sore throat barely made me say my mind. I had truly caught a cold. I grabbed my jacket because the evening was cold. I got a taxi to go to school after I told my father of the call. He could have taken me in his car, but then again, I refused.

I got to the teacher’s desk. She was furious. That I shouldn’t have done it. That I should have held it in. That I shouldn’t have raised my hands on the Vice Chairman’s daughter, Sarah. “If I had restrained myself, would all have been well?”

After the scolding, I met mom standing at the end of the road. She was not sure if she should cross the road.

“The news must have shocked her, right? That I, Maryam would hit a child, my classmate?”

But then again, I had hidden the bruises on my neck. I had crept to the doctor’s office for fear of dislocating my leg without informing my parents of Sarah’s beatings. I made the school’s toilet floor my sacred ground every time Sarah made her way to me. I just smiled.

I took steps to reach her, to feign it again. I wanted to tap on her shoulders. To reassure her that everything was fine but...I was too late.

The thinking was too much for her. They told her that I might be expelled. And as she stepped onto the road while the traffic light still read red, a blue market truck came rushing in and hit her. Mum was taken to the hospital for her wounded leg. Thankfully, it was only her leg. If only I knew that more would come.

We got home. All was fine. Dad drove us home in his black Sedan car. The evening was chilly and cold like something was about to happen. And then mom was to alight from the car after we all did, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

I went over to open the door for her. Probably, she didn’t move because of the cast. And she sat there, still, not moving. Not breathing. Father rushed to where I stood and shook his wife.

'Rosewood, Rosewood Rosewood!' He let out soft sobs. I fell to the ground. I stared at the moonlight.

“Would it have been better if I had endured it? Should I have crawled over the toilet tiles till they remembered my name, Maryam Stone, on their lips, forever engraved?” And now mother has gone, and they still blamed me.

I left school. School left me. It was a done deal. We had to leave. I had to run away for the sake of my father for I have done too much.