Ignis Solus
Kelvin Huang
The sun is setting, saying goodnight to the
world. The sky lights up in a vibrant red and orange heavenly blaze, outlining
the serene evanescence of the sunset. A cool breeze brushes against my bare
arms, sore from needles and blood tests. As I saunter down the quiet street, a handful of
memories slowly filled the air I was breathing, as I remember a familiar scene.
“I’m not sleepy yet!!”
“It's already 7:30, so close your eyes
darling”
The child lies down but insists on arguing
“but I don’t have school tomorrow!” Her mother smiles and whispers something in
her ear and the child gives a big grin and closes her eyes.
The lights are turned off and the scene is
covered by the incandescent glow of the bedside lamp.
Nostalgic memories fill my head with scenes from my
childhood, so similar to this one. I would beg to watch TV for another hour but
before I knew it, my mum’s tucking me in, kissing me on the forehead and
whispering in my ear:
“Sweet Dreams
my darling, the day is done,
The moon is here to say goodnight to the sun,
Even if fire is able to be extinguished by the rain,
Your existence will be an everlasting flame.”
Even though I didn’t understand what she really said
back at that moment, that was all It took for me to sleep a sweet dream and
forget about the day’s worries.
It was that night I watched ‘Cinderella’ on
TV. My dad bought it from a friend and we watched it until seven o’clock, which
was my bed time, and I pretended not to notice the curfew and kept watching. Nevertheless,
I got dragged to the bathroom and my dad placed me on the toilet seat to
brushed my teeth with green, sparkling gel. Afterwards, he kissed me goodnight
and mum walked into my room to tuck me in. That was the first time she recited
the rhyme to me, in her sweet, soothing voice. I soaked up the rhyme like a
sponge. So deeply the rhyme was inscribed on my mind that I kept repeating in
my head whilst I dreamt about growing up in a palace up in the clouds.
I grew up in a 3-bedroom house, located just
in a peaceful suburb close to the city. We had a bushy backyard, where my dad
built a cubby house on al tree that sat in the middle of the yard. The tree was
tall, and changed colour during autumn. I would rack up the leaves and jump
into the pile as the leaves made an exciting, crunchy sound. I spent a majority of my free time in the
backyard inspecting and discovery every inch of the garden after I found toys
boring, and was intrigued by the sheer simplicity of nature.
It was a vibrant and colorful autumn day, and I decided to decorate the cubby house. After I went collecting whatever I could find in the garden that looked pretty, I climbed up onto the cubby house, and began laying down the materials. Suddenly, a thunderous roar emitting the essence of disagreement caught my attention. My parents were fighting again. Angered, ear- splitting voices radiated from the house through the walls of the cubby house, so loud that I thought the walls were going to fall down. As I entered the kitchen, they moved to another area of the house to resume the argument, shouting, and sometimes pointing their fingers at me. Depressed, I ran to my room and locked myself, covering my ears and pretending they were singing a duet. This would continue for the next few months. As the short hand of the of clock struck 7, my mom would come in my room, sometimes with a swollen face, to wish me goodnight. In a soft voice, I would ask “Can you wish me sweet dreams?” and she would smile with tears, and whisper the rhyme in to my left ear with her soothing voice.
The constant pattering sounds made by each
insignificant droplet of rain glistened into my ears on that day, waiting for
my mother to pick me up after a long day of school. As I ran towards my
mother’s car, I noticed my mum’s face was grim through the tinted, transparent
glass panel. Strapping on my seatbelt, I noticed we didn’t take the usual route
back home. She was silent, making no indication as to where we were going. We
arrived at an apartment building and my mum tells me this is our home for the
next few months. My father decided to move overseas and remarry, and from then
on, it was just me and my mum. I was ten.
Although the apartment that my mom bought from selling
the old house was small and we shared a
mattress at night, we were comfortable and enjoyed each others company. Mom
dropped me off at school every morning. Sometimes at night we would talk about
dad, and we would cry and cuddle together. We told each other our dreams and
every night we would recite the same rhyme. When my parents separated, my mom
lost many of her friends. Dad had been her life for almost fifteen years, and
they made friends together.
My mother has no siblings. Her parents are
divorced, and she lived with her mother until she died when she was 25, one
year after her marriage to my father. The divorce cut a hole in her heart, she
never remarried, unlike my father. I don’t go out with my work friends very
often, because that would mean leaving mum at home. She always managed to
welcome me with dinner when I come home from work, even though she would work
several shifts just to earn enough money to cover basic expenses and save a
bit.
I’ve got one more corner to turn before I
reach my car. The doctor’s voice is ringing in my head. “I’m afraid you have
approximately two years left. Motor Neuron Disease is incurable, but we can
give you medication to ease the pain. I suggest you stay
with your family and retire from your job.” As I am
driving home, questions were followed by tears, swim in my head. ‘When do I
tell her?’, ‘How will she react?’, ‘What would she do when I’m gone?’. Usually
these questions are for parents to ponder who have young children, and they
know they’re about to pass away. But for me, I’m the child, who is about to
leave her mother alone in the world. It’s like placing the salt shaker on the
table and throwing the pepper shaker on the floor. We can not be apart.
Walking up the familiar stairs to our
apartment, I pull the bunch of keys out of my bag and single out the house key.
As I stick the key into the perfect lock, my hand begins to shake. The disease
is beginning. The nerves are weak, causing my fingers to tremor. I turn the key
and open to find my mother smiling, welcoming me home.
"Sweet dreams mother, the day is done,
the moon is here to say goodnight to the
sun,
Sweet dreams mother, for I too need to say
goodbye,
My flame will soon need to be extinguished,
and smoke up towards the sky."
