Or maybe she was taken aback because I had never directly asked her about my father. She gave me a look (a warning, sort of), as if I had asked the wrong question. I rolled my eyes; I didn’t care. All I knew was that she’d answer my question whether she liked it or not. I had tolerated enough.
I think she saw the adamant look on my face. The next thing she did was to break into tears, and my heart broke into pieces. I felt guilty that I caused momma tears, but I needed to know the truth.
I adjusted and laid her head on my lanky laps. She sobbed like a baby, and I just kept rocking her hair. After a while, she raised her head. That was it, I could feel it. I could see it in her eyes. She was really going to tell me the story of my life. But something happened at that instant which I couldn’t comprehend. I went numb. What was that?
The moment I had been waiting for fifteen years of my entire life had finally arrived, and I was terrified? I couldn’t believe it. I summoned courage and brushed the feeling aside. Ironically, it was funny because I told myself I was going to hear it whether I liked it or not.
After few minutes, momma resumed the tears. I could barely hear her clearly through her sobs. In between the conversation, I’d have to wait for her to dry her tears and continue talking, but the cycle repeated itself over and over again.
To be continued…