By Swetha Amit

From the time Ma drove off in her white car, the clouds had turned into a foamy mass of dark gray. The news labeled it depression in the bay. Heavy rainfall was expected for the next forty-eight hours.

We looked everywhere, from the neighborhood parks to the grocery stores. Then I decided to drive to the beach and search there. Ma sometimes went to watch the frothy mass of waves crash on the shore whenever she was preoccupied about my grades in school, Dad’s business deals, and dwindled savings. It was also where Ma and I spent countless evenings picking shells and building sandcastles as a little boy. 

The parking lot of the beach was almost deserted. I spotted her white car and parked beside it. Leaves snapped from the trees and flapped on the ground. When I exited my car, the wind tugged my umbrella urgently. I noticed her car door was locked, and she was not sitting in the driver’s seat. I scanned the beach anxiously. Ripples of sand particles floated in the wind. Where could she be now? I squinted until I saw a lone figure in white strolling on the sands towards the sea. 

“Ma, wait,” I hollered. 

She didn’t hear me and continued walking. I removed my shoes, locked them in my car, and ran. 

~

I remembered the last time my wife Mira, the twins, Ma, and I came here. We built sandcastles, decorated them with seashells, let the waves caress our feet, and threw a frisbee—just a few months ago. Then, Ma’s health became frail. It started with a sore throat, cold, and incessant coughing. It didn’t stop until Ma spotted splatters of red in her toothbrush one morning. When the tests arrived, it jolted all of us. A flurry of shock waves descended on our household. While there was still hope, Ma bawled at the prospect of exorbitant medical bills and losing her luscious gray locks. She refused to touch the food. Even when her favorite meal of rice, lentils, and okra was served on the banana leaf. She didn’t budge even when I patted her arm and said she would be ok. She clutched my father’s photograph, he was long since passed, and stared at it sullenly. She never smiled when the twins hugged her. She checked her bank balance furtively and often, muttering it wasn’t enough. She refused to listen to Mira’s pleas about beginning her road to recovery. 

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered. 

~

The sand squelched under my feet. I had a tough time battling the resistance of the wind. It continued to tug my umbrella. The sand particles poked my eyes. My breath became heavier, and my heart began to pound. 

“Ma, wait,” I shouted. 

She continued walking. I watched her thin figure almost floating on the sand. The waves bellowed and drowned my anxious hollering. I continued to run until I caught up with her. 

Ma was annoyed to see me. 

“What are you doing here?” she said, pursing her lips. 

“Ma, please come home. I put my hand on her arm.

She shrugged it off. 

“I can’t go through all that.”

“But Ma, you’ll be cured. Still in early stages.” Ma shook her head obstinately. Her usually prim bun was undone into loose locks. I clutched my umbrella tightly. 

“What do you want now?” she asked. 

Little drops of rain stung my eyes. I sighed in exasperation at Ma’s adamancy, like a toddler. This was what happened lately whenever I tried to make her see reason. She never listened. The raindrops began to fall harder. The sea looked angry. Murky gray large waves toppled on the shore. The wind howled. Ma had an icy expression in her eyes when she stared at the sea. I shivered. I grabbed her wrist and tried to drag her back. She stood rooted to the spot. Then, I reminisced about that time. 

~

That day of the cyclone was thirty-five years ago. I stepped out of the house with a fever—a ten-year-old boy still wrapped in a wooly blanket. My forehead was burning. The rain stung my cheeks as I waded through the water. The bitter taste of the medicine lingered in my mouth after I overheard my dad arguing about the expensive medication and bills. I felt ashamed and unwanted. I was engulfed by the whistling wail of the wind, strangely sounding like a lullaby. Ma came out and tried to get me back indoors. I resisted. 

“He hates me,” I muttered.

Then I felt Ma’s arms around me, cradling my face against her chest. 

“Come home,” she insisted. “It is alright. You will be fine. I am always here.”

~

I locked Ma into a tight embrace. She stiffened but finally softened her stance. The wind snatched my umbrella. It soared, mangled, through the air and crashed down into the wet sand many yards from us. The raindrops hit us harder, like darts from the sky. Under the blurry sheath of swirling clouds, she found my hand. I looked deep into her eyes.

“Come home,” I said. “It will all turn out fine. I am always here.”

She looked at me with a searching look in her eyes. I reiterated my words. 

WE are always here,” I emphasized. 

She pressed my hand against her cheek. Water trickled down her face, and her gray locks blazed down her shoulders. 

“I know,” she whispered. “But…”

“Shhh,” I said. 

Finally, she relented. The whistling sound of the wind engulfed us. The rain became a downpour. Slowly, we made our way to the parking lot, hand in hand—leaving a trail of our footprints on the wet sand. The scent of  damp earth wafted into our nostrils. In the pelting rain, I followed Ma in her white car. I watched her drive slowly, wading through the wet roads. Prayers escaped my lips as we both made our way home. While the storm continued to persist, I knew it would subside with time.