Chronicles of my Pen...by Jay Williams

This was sent to me by a protégé. Something for the morning. Constructive criticisms please.

Chronicles of my Pen...by Jay Williams.

Mama's coughing is louder this time. Her body rocks violently as the coughing continues. Her face cramps in a painful smile as she straightens her rocking body to look at me.“Come here, let me look at you,”she says. I walk briskly to her side and she holds my little hands in hers,staring deep into my eyes.“Mama, are you sick?” I ask. The painful smile begins to play on her lips again. “I am not sick my son, just a little tired. It is late already, you should be in bed.” “No mama, I want to sit beside you”, I plead. Her eyes darts quickly around her and falls back on me. “You will sit beside me tomorrow. Go to bed. The floor is very cold, you will catch a cold. Go to bed now," she repeats, rubbing my vaguely cropped hair to pacify me. I turn to walk into the house, my khaki shorts still enjoying the grip of my left hand else it falls off my tiny waist.
The violent cough resumes from behind me and I swerve abruptly back to mama. The dimly lit room suffers a mini earthquake as it echoes the violent cough from her. This time was different and frightening. “Papa! Papa!”, I scream on top of my lungs as I reach for her. Tears are dropping from her eyes as she grabs her chest. “Papa! Papa!” I scream again. I can feel her body vibrating in my arms. I kneel to stop her from falling to her side but I am but a frail child. Oh God! “Papa! Papa," this time, I begin to cry too. Papa dashes in through the front door and leaps besides mama. The thunderous sounds of her coughing pierces through my ear drums, finding its way into my infant heart as she continues to rock violently on the bare floor. “Make way” papa urges rather calmly .I am visibly shaken and I can't stop the tears from trekking down my cheeks. I assist papa in raising her from the floor to a sitting position. “Why is mama coughing like this?” I ask my father amidst sobs. “Mama says she is not sick”,with this I begin to cry again. “Keep quiet!” Papa yells at me. His hands are shaking too. “Help her to my back," he instructs as he kneels in her front and I help mama climb to his back. Mama is a big woman. How will papa stand up? I question myself. Meanwhile, mama is quiet again but the tears do not stop. Papa rises with a loud groan and the coughing erupts with it. He staggers to maintain his balance and makes for the door. “Let us go to the clinic," he says. I can feel the urgency in his tone now. Mama's coughing is still loud and she tries to say something but papa hushes her. My khaki remains firm in my left hand as we walk into the night. I can feel the piercing of the icy cold night through my body. There are no lights from any of the houses around. The night is so silent but for the noise from mama's coughing playing in the dark. “Papa, I am scared," I say as the familiar liquid begins to make its way down my left cheek. The pebbles on the floor pricks my bare foot but I do not care because mama has all of my attention. Her coughing begins to accelerate this time and papa starts to run, paying no attention to me. I run after him, trying to keep up with the pace. My crying accelerates too. I have never been so scared. I can hardly see but for the soft light provided by the moon.
The blast of a motorcycle horn transports me into hell, letting a cold shrill run down my spine as it begins to approach us. “Stop! Stop! Please stop!” papa screams to get the attention of the rider. The heavy weight of mama's body slows him down and I stop running too. I wave my free hand and scream alongside papa but the motorcycle speeds past us. Papa let's out a curse under his breath as he resumes running but tiredly this time. I resume with him too but my knees are failing beneath me and I can hear papa breathing heavily. Papa's heavy footsteps are way louder than mine but I can hear my heart thumping loudly within me. The night is quiet again and I start to wonder why. Papa stops abruptly and I open my mouth to ask when he kneels on the open street. “Hold her so I can check” he says. Check what? I question myself. “Mama is quiet now. She is sleeping," I say to him, with relief coursing through my troubled mind. Papa places her on his laps and begins to check. He feels her breath and puts his head on her chest. I kneel to touch mama's body and it is stone cold. Her eyes are closed and the coughing is no more. Papa draws me close and whispers, “Mama is dead.” I begin to shake her cold body as papa weeps silently. I burst into loud sobs with the reality of what papa said hitting me like a thunderbolt. “Mama is not sick! She told me so!” I scream amidst tears. “Mama! Mama! Mama!” I scream repeatedly, hoping she can hear me and start to cough again. The night is still quiet but for my loud sobs and papa's silent tears making their way through it.
That singular event broke and mended me. I became a man even before I was 7, beheld death face to face as it stole from me. I plunge into my chair as I always do after a sojourn into that time, that event, that tragedy, and a love story so strong it comforts me. But daddy joined her 10years later, and all i do is relive the beautiful and sad moments with a pen, knowing they are smiling down at me and watching over me.