Creative writing student Tiana-Aleenta Rajamahendra wrote this emotive story about a young soldier coming back from the war and being united with his mother again. Photo: Ken Clark, great great uncle of creative writing student Olivia Baker.
The memories played over and over again in my mind, like a film.
“Mum! I’m ready!” William opened his bedroom door and revealed himself in his uniform.
“Wow! My little son, going to fight in the army!” I smiled at him, squishing his cheeks.
“Mum!” William groaned, jokingly. “I’m 20 now, I’m a young man! I’m not a little boy anymore! I can protect you now, just like you protected me!”
I brushed off non-existent dust off his jacket and took a step back to admire him.
I ran my fingers over the buttons on his green jacket, unbuttoning and buttoning them repeatedly. I felt the harsh fabric of his khaki jacket. He looked so mature, so ready, so strong.
I tried to be proud of him. Of course I was proud of him! William was taking his steps towards independence, creating his own legacy, his own story. I tried my best to seem happy for him. I tried my best to respect William’s decision.
But all I could imagine was Willaim’s pristine uniform covered in blooming crimson red. I’d already lost my brother to the war. I didn’t need my son coming home in a body bag.
***
Click. Back to before. Back to when he was young.
We were in the kitchen, baking a cake together.
“Pass me the eggs, Will,” I asked as he grabbed the eggs from the fridge and jumped up on his little stool to hand them to me.
“Here you are, mama,” he smiled his little toothy grin.
I cracked them into the bowl and started mixing.
“Thank you, precious,” I said as I kept mixing. “Are you excited for the chocolate cake?”
William nodded. “It looks so yummy!”
“Would you like to give it a stir?” I asked as he grinned.
I moved his stool in front of me and put my hand on top of his to help him stir.
His small, little hand under my bleached, frail, stinging hands from cleaning all day to get my miniscule paychecks.
“Mum, what happened to your hand?” William asked as we finished mixing and I placed the cake in the oven.
I smiled at Will as I lifted him in the air.
“Don’t worry, Will, I’m okay,”
***
Click. Back to now.
I’m scared, I’m scared. I’m scared.
I’ve paced the living room back and forth every single night. I turned on the radio, listening for anything relating to him. I rocked myself back and forth. My hair was a mess, my eyes were bloodshot red. I hadn’t slept for days.
My sleepless nights were spent imagining the worst possible scenarios that William could be in – he could have been ambushed, he could have been caught on a grenade, he could have been choked, he could have been protecting his comrades. All these thoughts infiltrated my brain and swirled around like a tornado.
I couldn’t stop imagining Will all alone in the middle of the night, God knows where suffering in the freezing cold.
I sank down to the floor and pulled my knees towards my chest. I could picture fire spreading and the cries of pain, the firing of gunshots, and the sounds of grenades exploding so hard that I could taste the dirt that got kicked up.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. The thought of William, my William, dying an awful death made me feel sick to my stomach. He hadn’t come home in months. Reality was staring right at me, but I didn’t want to face it. I didn’t have to.
In the pure darkness, I just kept waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting…
Until, finally, one day I heard him call my name.
“Mum? MUM?!”
I shot up from my uncomfortable position on the floor and stumbled towards the door.
I thrust it open and stood in shock, tears falling down my face.
His pristine uniform was now darkened by dirt and mud. His khaki shirt was ripped, and almost all the buttons had fallen off. He seemed taller than when he had left – the horrors that he had witnessed showed in his darker eyes. His hair was a mess.
“W-W-William?” I almost collapsed in his arms.
He was shaking as he stepped forward and stroked my face. “Stop crying, mum, you’re making me cry…”
“But you… it’s been months…” I kept on crying. “I thought you were dead…”
“I’m not…but… Almost… I was trying to protect my comrades and…”
He looked down and I followed his gaze.
“William?” I asked. “Y-your leg?”
He nodded. “I lost my leg…” he started crying. “And I got sent home. I’m sorry… you must be so upset with me…”
I wiped my tears away. “You sacrificed yourself for your comrades,” I led him to the couch and helped him sit down. “I’m not upset with you, I’m proud of you! I’m just glad you’re home. You’re home now,”
“Thanks, mum,” he said, hugging me. “I’m home now.”
“You’re home,”
By Tiana-Aleenta Rajamahendra