Mothers know best.
According to them.
The haircut had been going for over an hour, and the boy could feel his restlessness creeping in, first through the rap tap tap of his legs, then the twirling of his fingers. He tried not to show it, but his mother, who loves him very much, saw.
“I’m sorry, Benji, but if someone has invented a better way to collect hair, they didn’t tell me.” - The mother said, as she cut another length of hair and wait for it to fall into the jar. Mother said it was tradition to do so, and Benji never questioned her.
It was the middle of summer, and to distract himself from the heat, the boy looked outside to see others playing in the neighborhood. Through the glass, they jumped and laughed and screamed at the top of their lungs, shooting each other with water guns. He wondered how it works, and at that moment his focus faltered, and the rap tap tap tap got louder. His fingers were also rap tap tapping at the glass, disobeying their inattentive commander-in-chief.
“Now now, if you move, I might cut your ears off.” - His mother warned, her voice soft as butter. The boy laughed, then realized he had to pee. Sorry mom, he said, making a rap tap tap on the glass.
The mother sighed.
“Anything for you, dear.” - She was no longer young, and it was getting harder and harder to pick up the boy. Still, she’d rather this than losing him. The boy sat still. It took about 20 minutes for them to get from the bedroom to the bathroom.
The jars had been around before he was even born, many from his father’s. His mother usually put them in the living room, where guests came often. When he was younger, and was allowed downstairs, Benji would help his mother put the jars away. They wouldn’t understand the jar of blood, or hair, or fingernails, or toenails, or tears, or teeth in the living room, mother said. They wouldn’t, because they do not love their children as much as she loves her son, mother said. So, she hid them away, and she let the guests in with a smile.
“Where’s Benji? We haven’t seen him in a while.” - A guest would say.
“He’s in his room.” - The mother answered.
Benji would then hear, without fail, how the other mothers’ children were the same as he was, how they would always stay in their room and play video games, sometimes not even having dinner or talk to them. Benji thought he was nothing like that. He loves his mother. He’s not sure what video games are, however. Sometimes, the other mothers would even cry, weeping and sobbing at how their sons and daughters were leaving for college or to the city. Benji knew what “college” is, but mother already said he was too smart for such a place anyway. He still wanted to go, even just for a little bit.
He said that to her once, to let him see a college for only an hour. Mother cut his nails and hair afterwards. Then she cried, and he promised to never mention college again. It took a few weeks for his hair to grow back.
“You can, soon.” - She said one day, her eyes determined.
And Benji was happy. He gave her more blood and even all of his teeth that day. He knew the other mothers also had the same tradition at their house. Sometimes, their kids would have shorter hair, or no hair at all. Like he was.
Benji sat in the living room, on the table. Still, there was a spare bedsheet covering him from head to toe.
“A surprise.” - Mother had said.
It was the promised day. He felt weak from a lack of blood, and the excitement was worsening his headache. But it was the promise day, and he was rap tap tapping non-stop. As soon as that door opened, he was going to run as fast as he could. He used to be able to run faster than father. Maybe he’ll run to the Army to find his father.
“Benji, I have a present for you.” - Mother was finally back. And a present!
rap tap tap tap
rap tap tap tap
With that, the mother removed the sheet. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden lights. The table, which used to be filled with jars, was now clear except for something resembling a doll at the other end.
She knew Benji would want to leave, sooner or later. She loves him too much to say no, and she loves him too much to let him go. She wished she knew about this when his father was still around. She looked at Benji sitting on the table and hugged him tight, the first time in years. She could feel her son’s pulse, his hair, his soft skin, even the little scar on his leg after he fell off a motorbike. On the other side of the table, there was a glass case, the type magicians would walk into and disappear into nothingness. Behind the case, at around an adult’s eye level, was a square hole, big enough to put your hands in, not enough to fit through and climb outside. From it, you could hear a
rap tap tapping
She would throw the case out tomorrow somewhere in the woods. Good riddance, too, it was getting heavier by the years.