Chapter 9: A Mother's Love. A Kettle's Cry

She brought her feet under her, digging them deep into the sofa. Mella curled into herself as she situated the pages of the small novel in her hands. She focused her attention to it's tiny print but soon acknowledged that while her eyes had read the words, her mind had wondered elsewhere. She continuously darted her gaze back and forth across the room to the grandfather clock. Two minutes ago it had been 9:00 PM but now it was ten to twelve. Mella sighed deeply and gave up on the book. She flung it down and left it to straddle the sofa cushions.

Padding over to the tall window, she pulled back the curtain only to see the driveway, as well as the street, void of any cars. It was typical and expected so why did it still bother her so much? She pried herself from the view and made her way into the kitchen to wash an already clean dish. She stopped midway into washing it, seemingly entranced by the foamy, white soap suds encasing her arms. Mella stared into the mounds of bubbles and began to cry.

When the cool sensation of her pillow case made contact with her cheek, she wiped yet another stray tear from underneath her eye and sat up. She couldn't put what Aiden had told her out of her mind. His mother had been everything to him and Mella was sure that Aiden had been everything to her. A mother who genuinely loved her child, a mother who was always there. She had envied him as he spoke of her, of the endearing times they had spent together. Mella wanted to feel that connection.

My mother barely even knows I exist, but she's still here.

A dead mother, whose child was still alive. A mother still living, whose child may as well be a ghost.

She brought her hand to switch on the lamp beside her bed, then leaned over the mattress edge to retrieve her sketchbook and pencil. For the next couple of hours, her pencil knew no rest as she furiously put down a fury of lines to paper. Mella didn't know why, but her best drawings had always spawned from late night hours. These insomnia induced sketches, she figured, were labeled as her 'best' simply because they had been evoked by deep seeded emotions. Emotions that would resist to be flushed from her mind, unless they could be dispersed by her hand.

She had been ripped from her drawing frenzy when a light shined bright in the hallway. She did not move from her position on the bed and instead remained still, seeing her mother past swiftly by her door, still dressed sharply in her work suit. Not long after, she could hear her mother's bed room door close and Mella dropped her sketch book to the floor below. Her hand returned to the lamp and switched it off. She wouldn't be asleep for another hour, but she laid in the darkness; it and her covers shrouded her. They hid her form well, from head to toe, and they hid the tears like the drawings could not.

Like most mornings, the kitchen was cold, quiet and empty. Mella stood in the doorway of the room, eyeing the refrigerator and the cabinets, debating on whether or not to even bother with breakfast. A cup of tea sounded most ideal and she readied a pot of water to boil.

She slid her body into the chair at the tiny oak table and stared groggily down at her hands, gratefully realizing it was a Saturday morning. Her mind took it upon itself to recall last night's dream, which, when she had waken from she had regretted. It had been the sort of dream, like most, you mistake for being real, the kind that make you incredibly happy and warm. And while you don't know enough to not want to wake up, because you're not aware it's some simple dream, you know, deep down, you'd stay asleep forever if you could.

Mella had seen Aiden's mom.

Of course, she had never seen his mother but all the same, in the dream, she knew it had been her. She had embraced Mella, wrapping her arms around her lovingly. She remembered how safe it had felt and how blissful and how when she looked up Aiden had replaced his mother. Then, like most dreams, it couldn't have been complete without something bizarre happening, Aiden had given her a ride in the Night Rider car and she had fed a white stallion red licorice.

A small grin swept her lips but it faded as the scream of the kettle rattled her from her thoughts. Mella jumped to her feet and scolded the kettle as if it was not an inanimate object. Absent mindedly, she had touched its handle with her naked fingers and had to stifle a holler as it scolded her flesh. She bit down hard on her bottom lip and then ran her hand under the cold water of the faucet sink to soothe the minor burn. Sighing with relief, the cold liquid still running over her hand, she looked back over to the kettle. If it had lungs, it was still screaming at the top of them. Mella came to find herself envying a lot of things, even things like dumb old kettles. They knew how to let out steam, and were unafraid to be heard.

She held a single ebony mug in her hands. Steam swirled forth from it's mouth, dissipating into the outside world where frigid air consumed it's warmth. Mella stood at the side of her mother's bed, a mountain of covers rising and falling as her mother breathed. She wrestled with whether or not to wake her but quickly decided against it, because she knew her mother would not appreciate it. But she did know what her mother did appreciate: a hot cup of tea. And what could be nicer than seeing someone had made you some, right as you woke up? She set the mug down carefully on her mothers nightstand and hesitated to leave it there, thinking it over. Finally, she left it where it sat and quietly tip toed out from where she had come.

this chapter is a little "odd" I guess you could say. it's definitely different from previous chapters. there is no dialogue and so it is Mella's thoughts that are being described but when I began to write this it just came to me and I debated on whether to even include it in the story but I finally decided I needed to. It helps you see a little more into the person Mella is.
I also want to say a great big fat THANK YOU to all who left such great reviews. I was so surprised to find that people still show interest in this little story! It's always been a joy for me to write, but when I know people are enjoying it too it only adds to the happiness. so THANK YOU again

I'll try and update again soon...but with a new job and school I'm not sure when I can get around to write.