Thrill and excitement accumulating as I open the door. My thunderous
footsteps vibrating and creaking the wooden staircase from my exuberance.
Rushing to maximise the time that my mother isn't home. I slammed my bag
on my bed, opening the small compartment containing a small zip lock bag,
half filled with off-white magical dust. Elevated to experience the sensation
explicitly described by my peers. For what feels like countless weeks,
preserving the bare scrap money my mother gives me weekly. The bag of
cloudy white dust I bought from saving up, bare scrap money I received from
my mother every week for lunch, instead taking food from home. I looked up
at the ticking red round clock on my wall, the short-hand pointed at the 4 while
the hour-hand right lying slightly under it. Aware that my mother would be
home by 5 o'clock at the earliest, I wasted no time clearing my desk of all the
clutter. Impetuously, I swiped my arm across the desk, pushing books and
random clutter falling to the ground. Purposely avoiding the purple hyacinth
held by a red gourd vase, given by my mother to bring "life" to the room. In
agony to finally feel the sensation to escape the restricted reality I belong in.
I fell to my knees and opened the zip lock bag. The dust escaping the bag
forming a tiny cloud around it, particles slowly falling on the wooden surface. I
dumped the floury dust on the desk, creating a swarm of white smoke forming
around the mound of powder. Some tingling my nose, sensing the sweet floral
scent, accompanied by a metallic, chemical like scent. Finally, the excruciating
wait is over. I picked up a fallen red pen from when I pushed the jumbled
mess off the desk, using it to line up the fine powder into a long line. I reached
down on my right pocket and pulled out a 5 dollar note, change from buying
the substance. Remembering what my friends told me. I rolled the note in to a
short straw. I placed the rolled up note on my nose, smelling the whiff of
leather. I blocked the right side, pressing down on it with my index finger,
limiting every breath that I take. I position the other end of the straw on top of
the powder, hovering. I sucked powder using my nostril, travelling through the
straw instantly congesting the top my oesophagus, causing me to instantly
cough caused by the unexpected constraint of air going in. Blowing it into dust
all over the surface.
A hint of stimulation hit me. Feeling a release of weight throughout my body.
Feeling a remarkable sensation, I have never felt before. Unrestricted. The
purple hyacinth shining with little sparkles. Hipnotizing. Abruptly, the door
opens, my mother staring in awe holding a brown paper bag probably full of
food. A deer in the headlights. As I'm kneeling, chest levelled to a rolled-up
note in a midst of a bestrew of fine white powder. Within seconds her face
overflowed with emotion. "Why would you do such thing?" she sobbed, I could
hear the lack of anger subdued by a profusion of disappointment. At a loss for
words, all that came out was an inarticulate stutter.
"I guess I'm a terrible mother".
Like an incantation, the words that left her mouth, left me frozen in place. Her
enchanting words made left me feeling an instantaneous empathetic pain.
Sympathy. How could I be so selfish? Restriction which I once thought was a
curse placed by her was a blessing all along. Sheltering me from Realising
now that the restriction my mother placed around me was for my safety.
Unaware that attempts to unconfine myself would not only disrespect but
disparage her own worth. Disdained. Astonished how a 6-letter sentence
would be such a pivotal shift in my life. My mother could apprehend the regret
in my face. She dropped the brown paper bag, hitting the floor amongst the
rest of the untidy clutter. Unstable as I stand up, still stimulated with euphoria.
Parts of my body still supple from the stimulant. My mother roping me in with a
transcendental hug. Her face drenched with tears of dismay, resting on mine. I
felt the weeping from her chest, cycling between aerating heavy air and letting
it off, expanding and shrinking while resting on mine. Contemplating as I
watch the purple hyacinth cyclically sparkling. A type of dreadful life I would've
chosen for myself, prevented by my mother's affection.