Ma
She squinted her eyes. The broken glasses blended so well with the floor pattern. When had she broken a third piece? She hadn't even noticed the set had one.
"I should clean it before Mitra walks all over it," she thought. "Can't have her missing school again." The thought of facing her teacher over missed attendance annoyed her.
She picked up the broken pieces. One particularly sharp edge nicked her finger. Sucking on it, she turned to dump them into the trash.
The pair of skittish, tear-filled eyes stopped her in her tracks… What was she doing here? Her bedtime was at nine. A good number of hours had gone by - why was she crying?
She should've scooped Mitra up in her arms, soothed her and put her to bed. What would Ma have done? "Discipline. It's the most important thing a kid should learn," she would've said. "Go too soft on them, and they go unruly."
Abruptly recalling the task she had at hand, she busied herself. "One more spot, just one more spot and it's done," she murmured, the crease on her forehead more pronounced than ever. The floor was clean. Her fingers twitched. It would shine better if she scrubbed it again.
"I'm making some tea," she announced, as if someone had asked. The clatter of the cups was sharp against Mitra's faint sobs.
She leaned against the dinner table and closed her eyes. A heavy exhaustion settled over her body.
"Didn't Ma always say I was meant to succeed? She's right, always had been. Sometimes you just have to be hard on your kids… y-yes... look how well I'm doing now!" she said out loud, but her voice sounded drowned out by Mitra's sobs.
When was the last time she had spoken to her Ma?
"But Ma succeeded. Her upbringing brought me here… Mitra will be good too… She…"
The coffee machine beeped. Coffee? She could've sworn she'd come in to make tea… "Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. Coffee is fine, perfectly fine…"
She came to the living room with her coffee, studying the ten-year-old tea table. It was not that remarkable. The flower painted on it, long faded to an ugly yellow, seemed like a piece of art to her. She fought to keep her eyes on the flower, but the rusty brown contrasted so well against the yellow. She didn't think it had been a part of the original design, but it was so much improved now. The scar on her hand blended in just as well.
She picked up the notebook. It took her a good deal of time to flip through the pages with her trembling hands.
The stick-figure version of her held Mitra with strong hands. Her smile, though crooked, seemed real. It was something Mitra would have run to show her once.
"Ms. Spencer said I draw well, that I-I could participate in the contest next week," came Mitra's meek voice.
Nonsense. She should be studying! Sketching will get her nowhere. Only studying will. She needs more discipline…
Was it her words, or her Ma's?
She sprung up suddenly and went to Mitra. Mitra's cries reminded her of the old, broken winding doll she'd had as a child. Ma hated that doll.
She pressed ice to Mitra's face and hands, her movements jerky. She tended to her precious table with more care. She began cleaning the cuts next.
Mitra was a clumsy kid, always getting too excited when she saw a swing. She smiled faintly, then paused.
They had gone to the playground two weeks ago. Why did she have new cuts? Her lips wobbled.
"I'm sorry mom! It hurts… Pl-ease be-"
Mitra's wheeze brought her back. She clutched her stuffed teddy closer, as if it could shield her body. She half-raised her arms, wanting to comfort her baby, poor baby… she seemed so scared.
"Scared? Of what? Oh, but she was a child, a wee little child…"
"I'm trying to tend to you, stop being ungrateful! You open your mouth only when something isn't up to your liking. Can't be bothered to talk to your own mother, eh?" was all that came out instead.
She snatched the teddy away and hauled Mitra up the stairs into her room. Her pleas sounded muffled, as if they were coming from somewhere far below.
"Don't you dare stay up. Don't give your teacher a reason to call me in again. It's not my fault you have no desire to be motivated!" She slammed the door shut.
She could still hear her cries. She could almost see Ma smiling at her.
But what if she stayed up all night crying? She groaned. She did not wish to hear the teacher's grating voice.
She went back into the room to throw the teddy at her. "Here. You'll sleep better now," she mumbled.
She stumbled down the stairs. Her headache felt worse. She did not remember when it had started.
She began searching for more glass pieces. What if Mitra stepped on them?
"She loves me… she loves her mom, definitely. She'll appreciate Ma when she's older… yes, she will…"
She continued searching for the broken glass.
"I'll show everyone. I'll show them just how special Mitra is. She just needs a little polishing… but she has me, that's why she has me!"
The broken, choking cries were louder from Mitra now. Was she calling out? It was too distorted. She rubbed her temples in irritation, her eyes raking the kitchen cabinet. Just the usual kitchen supplies, Mitra's inhaler - why is it down here? - first aids…
Her eyes fixated on the new yarn she had bought and forgotten about. Mitra had once asked for a new teddy.
"Can't have them spoiled… she already has a teddy anyway."
She smiled. Ma loved to cover tables with pretty sheets. She wanted to try her Ma's sewing technique.
She sewed better with background noise, but the sudden silence in the house worked too. She focused on perfecting the knots, just the way Ma used to do it.
She smiled, crooked and real. She liked the foreign quiet.
sobsob my first attempt at fiction, ignore the rusty areas tyyy