treacle daze

Marrying your mother is not legal.

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Copyright © 2008, Michael M Wayman

You may be wondering why I wanted to marry Mummie. Marrying your mother is not legal. How could I marry someone I called Mummie? How could I marry someone twice my age?

I thought about this, was I perverted? Probably! Or if not perverted, then not normal, but that was not the problem. There was no problem. As Dave said, Mummie is not my mother. There was no problem, I wanted to marry Mummie, I definitely wanted to marry Mummie and have kids. Mummie wanted to marry me, Mummie definitely wanted to marry me and have kids.

We had a girl and a year later a boy. Little Girl and Little Boy look like identical twins. They are very clever, I must have passed the same gene, that Little Sister has, to the two of them. They sit in front of the computer and teach each other Urdu. Mummie and I are very proud of them.

One day I came home and found Mummie lying on the floor, she said nothing, she was not hurt, she was not wounded, the doctor said that she had had a shock. But what? She said nothing. She was in a great state of fear.

Mummie needed 24 hour help. We worked in 8 hour shifts to help her. At first two of us, Amy, Dave and me, one to hold her and one to fetch and carry.

At first the hammer blow to our hearts – beloved Mummie.

And then the hammer blow to our heads – most important Mummie.

It is true – only then did we discover how much we loved Mummie and how important Mummie was to us.

Mummie slowly recovered and she began to speak. Her ex-husband had come to visit. He was drunk and violent. He had demanded to see his son. No excuse. Where was his son? He was drunk and violent, but he did not hit Mummie. No, his words were violent enough. He was coming back to get his son.

Will Mummie ever recover? I don't know. How could anyone do that to our beloved Mummie, our most important Mummie? I waited for weeks for the return of the ex-husband. Was I going to be violent to him! The anger tore at my insides. I lost weight. I stayed at home. I did not work. I was ready for him.

He was drunk and violent and loud. He wanted his son. No, he didn't want to speak to me. Yes, he wanted to shake Mummie to pieces. Where was his son?

I stood in the door way. No way was he going anywhere near Mummie. He used language that I can't write here. My ideas for reshaping his body I can't write here.

A crowd formed on the street to watch. It was loud. He shouted and threatened me with a vodka bottle. He said that he would finish drinking the bottle and smash it on my head. I told him to try it – I was younger, fitter and not drunk.

I saw Little Sister in the crowd, she came forward, she looked aggressive, ready to strike. He raised the bottle ready to strike. Little Sister stood behind him, perhaps a hammer blow to his wedding equipment? He raised the bottle higher, ready to strike. Little Sister stared at the bottle.

Down came his arm, but the bottle had already smashed into a thousand pieces. His fist full of broken crystals sailed past me and hit the door frame.

He turned, screamed at the crowd, his head white with glass crystals, he ran, his hand dripping with blood.

We never saw him again. The next day the six of us moved to another country. Mummie needed a lot of time and peace to recover.

Mummie never fully recovered, Mummie does not speak much, Mummie does nothing much. But we all love her, she is so important to us.