Never mind that our son is not a morning person, that’s nothing new. More than once in the morning, when he has to go to an extra-curricular activity or to a kindergarten, he wakes up determined to fight for his soft bed and a warm blanket to the end.
It’s all right, after about fifteen minutes of washing up, the world will change dramatically in his eyes. Everything will be nice and calm again.
Why couldn’t things get nice and calm this time?
Can teenage rebellion begin at three years of age?
This time, after washing up, Mark wasn’t distracted by the birds outside the window or impressed by the delicious pancakes. A small scowl and eyes full of resentment continued to follow Agatha until she turned her back to him, reaching the cupboard to get some herbs for her tea.
It was at that moment that everything changed. One! And the cup on the table was in the little boy’s hands. Two! And there it goes on the floor. Three! And it’s gone.
No, it didn’t shatter dramatically. Little hands couldn’t give it enough acceleration to make it break into small pieces, hitting the linoleum. But it cracked and a small part of it even bounced so that it disappeared somewhere under the fridge. The damage was done.
Agatha buckled up. Arthur buckled up. The ride began.
It seemed that nothing could be worse than the oppressive atmosphere that now prevailed in Jürgen. Thur briefly took his eyes off the road and slid them to the mirror. Agatha was looking out the window with a furrowed brow. Mark in his turn was staring in the opposite window with his red, puffy after weeping, eyes.
Arthur almost let out a heavy sigh, but stopped himself halfway through. He wanted to be breathing as inconspicuously as possible.
Just don’t be too late.
In fact, punctuality was only a cover for Arthur’s real, sincere motive. This trip had to be over as soon as possible.
As luck would have it, every traffic light turned red12 as soon as Jürgen approached it.
But they were not going to be late for class anyway. Thur drove up to the entrance and by this time Agatha had already unbuckled, zipped up and started to unbuckle and zip up Mark.
During all these manipulations, Agatha cast a questioning glance at Arthur, who was still sitting motionless.
– You guys go ahead, I have to run an errand. I’ll be done by the end of class.
Agatha didn’t seem happy about this sudden mystery errand. It meant there was a risk of being stuck here longer than she would have liked. But what could she do? Not persecuting a man for having to do things for sure. She nodded and opened the car door, getting a handful of bracing fine snow in her face.
After a few more seconds of fumbling, the two figures rushed to the entrance of the building, above which hung a sign that looked really bright against the white of the rest of the world.
Arthur exhaled.
Being alone in the car was once again a pleasant feeling.
*_*
– Stomp your feet to knock the snow off.
The phrase came out too harsh. The tone did not match the content at all, but there was nothing Agatha could do about it.
– Change of clothes now.
The next phrase was said only when mother and son, reddened by the cold wind, made their way to the changing room.
Mark only let out a sullen «uh-huh» in reply. Once he was in full readiness to go to class, he headed right towards the door to the hall without a word.
– Go.
Agatha said it in his back, but as if he went because she told him to, not because he was out of control.
Automatically, the young woman began to gather and roll up her son’s clothes, and meanwhile tears began to gather in her eyes unabashedly.
No, you can’t. There are too many people around, you don’t want to spoil children’s mood before class. And I don’t want to draw too much attention either.
There were indeed still a few kids in the locker room, mostly with their mothers. Some13 had even just arrived, at the risk of being late for the warm-up.
Agatha packed her clothes and shoes into bags and went out into the hall. Fortunately, no one was here now, and this saved the girl from being torn from inside by her tears.
She fell on the seat, her head fell on her hand, and then the tears from her eyes fell into her palm. But most importantly, her heart. It had held on all the way here, and now it too had fallen. It had even rather fallen out and rolled somewhere under the radiator.
He did it out of spite. On purpose.
Agatha gave herself a full thirty seconds of weakness. Then she inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again. Fingers pressed her eyes to stop the salty flow, wiped surroundings.
Just in time – the locker room door opened and someone’s mother headed to the exit.
He knew this cup was my favourite. My cup. He deliberately wanted to hurt me. He could have reached for any cup, but he broke mine.
As soon as the front door began to close, the tears made another foray. This time Agatha could no longer afford this, so she carefully began to regain her breath again.
Well, he wanted to hurt me, and he did. Everybody does. Sooner or later. To one person or another.
Inhale. Exhale.14 Inhale.
There are no people who have never encountered the cruelty in themselves. Only people who lie outrageously to others and to themselves can convince you otherwise. The question is what we do about it.
Even many adults do not know how to manage their anger. It has to be taught. Again, the question is how to teach it properly.
Breathe out. Breathe in. In. In. In.
We’re quite lucky, in fact. Lucky it was a cup.
My favourite bloody cup!
A nasty lump of irrational resentment stirred in the back of her throat again and began to creep up.
But a cup nonetheless. Could have been someone’s head in the kindergarten. Could have been a stray puppy. Could have been a wounded pigeon.
Inhaaaaaale.
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