The night came alive with chirping crickets. A soft breeze combed softly through the sparse canopy of Cinder Woods, and a soothing howl rented the gloomy silence as curious, twinkling stars overlooked nightly transgressions from far above.
My sweet little Tammy sank deep into his covers, trembling in his sheets with his covers raised high to his nose. His wide eyes peered cautiously at the window, where I lowered the curtains, shielding his innocence from the horrors that prowled outside. I hoped this would be enough reassurance, especially with mommy right here with him. But his shivering grew more and more rapid with every passing second. So I made my way to his bedside, smiling at my darling little boy, adoring the man he will soon become. I sat next to him and wrapped my soothing arms around his frail little body. He was so cold, it wasy was surreal. I ran a comforting hand over his soft ruffled hair and planted a kiss on his temple.
‘It’s okay, my love,’ I soothed. ‘Mommy’s here. You’re perfectly safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.’
Tammy’s tremulous shivers persisted, his glassy gaze still fixed on the window where I’d lowered the drapes earlier. Perplexed, I found his favourite bedtime storybook on his nightstand and spread out the colourful pages for him to see.
He still clung to his sheets, his gaze nervously avoiding mine, still fixed on the window where I’d lowered the drapes.
I trailed through the pages to his favourite story. Peter Pan. He always liked it when I read that to him, so I did, caressing the words into a soft whisper to pacify his fears. I kept my arm wrapped around his shivering body, hoping my warmth would quell his nerves.
‘Mommy,’ little Tammy croaked, a tear trailing from his eye. I erased its trail from his cheek and whispered back, ‘Shh… Mommy’s right here, baby. Everything is okay.’
I resumed reading his favourite story while combing my fingers through his soft, dark hair. I planted a kiss or two on his clammy forehead while reading, too. Tammy always liked that. But the boy still trembled in his bed, his forehead getting more and more clammy despite the chill that consumed his body.
‘Oh, my dear little boy,’ I soothed, feeling his forehead for a surge in his temperature. It felt warmer than it should have.
I had something for his fever in my pocket, so I reached for it when his low, trembling call came once more, ‘Mommy.’
Touched, I wrapped my arms around him and planted another kiss on his temple. ‘Mommy’s right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.’
I poured him a glass of water from the night bottle by his nightstand. Tammy hated taking his medicine, so I turned my back to him as I crushed the pills and dissolved them into the water. I could tell the water got milky, but I figured he wouldn’t notice in the dark.
Turning back to Tammy, I pulled the sheets from his face and held the glass before him. ‘Drink up, my love. You’ll feel so much better.’
The little boy recoiled, kicking the sheets as he retreated for the headboard.
‘Mommy,’ his trembling voice whispered.
The fever must be getting worse. I thought.
I pulled Tammy close and hugged him once more, reassuring him that everything was okay. But he pushed away, kicking the glass from my hand and dampening the mattress.
A sour surge of rage swelled from the pit of my stomach, and I swallowed it back down.
‘You must take your medicine, my love.’
‘Mommy,’ the little boy whispered back, a shrill quiver dampening his voice.
I poured another glass, crushing the last pill into the water. I didn’t bother hiding it again. Tammy was a smart boy, and he already knew what I was up to. He also knew the medicine was good for him. The poor boy was burning up.
Turning to the shivering boy on the bed, I moved in closer, patting him on the thigh. ‘It’s okay, my love. Just take your medicine. You’ll feel so much better. I promise.’
But the little boy didn’t respond. He stared back at me through glassy eyes, pulling the sheets up to cover himself.
Oh, poor little boy. You must be freezing.
I tried presenting the healing concoction to him again, and the boy shook his head.
‘Mommy,’ he called out again, his quivering voice barely audible, even in the night’s silence.
‘Shh… it’s okay, my love. The medicine will make you feel better,’ I whispered.
The boy shook his head rapidly, the shivering in his body growing by the minute. He’d started panting, too. This was bad for his condition. The little boy needed his medicine.
‘Take your medicine, young man,’ I commanded.
The boy shook his head again.
That acidic surge of anger was back in my throat. The little boy needed his medicine. Unfortunately, little boys don’t always know what’s best for them.
Sometimes, we mothers have to take matters into our own hands. Sometimes, drastic measures must be taken. And sometimes, we mothers must get a little physical. It’s for their own good. Deep down inside, our children know this, they know it needs to be done. They know they need to take their medicine. So, I grabbed hold of the boy’s leg and pulled.
‘Come here, young man.’
The bed shook and groaned as the boy slid closer. His panting grew more rapid, and his perspiration now glistened on his face. Even his leg shivered from where I grabbed.
‘No,’ whispered little Tammy. ‘Mommy.’
‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ I groaned, pinning him down over the mattress and prying his mouth open with my free hand. ‘It’s just for a little bit.’ I strained, holding the glass over the boy’s face. He kicked and writhed under my firm grasp, struggling to break free.
It’s for his own good, I thought. Deep down inside, he knows it is.
‘Now, say ah for mommy,’ I instructed, positioning the glass over his mouth. But the boy clenched his teeth shut. I shoved my hand into his mouth, prying it open as much as I could.
‘Say, ah,’ I instructed again.
But I couldn’t get his teeth to unclench.
I snuffed his nose, knowing the writhing boy had to breathe at some point. But my thumb was right in his mouth, and he bit me. I squealed in agony as his teeth sank through flesh and locked on bone. The glass slipped from my hand in the frenzy. It bounced off the mattress and clattered onto the floor below, scattering its contents all over the room.
I yanked my hand just before the boy’s voice tore through the night.
‘Mommy!’
‘Benjy, honey? Is that you?’ A female voice called from next door.
I turned for the window, piercing past the curtains and squeezing through the shutters. The lights came on, and thunderous footsteps grew closer as I watched from outside the little boy’s window.
Soon, a couple in pyjamas stormed the room. They hovered over the weeping boy in his bed; the woman holding him tight and the man searching the closet and under the bed. I couldn’t make out exactly what they said, but I noticed the boy pointing to his window.
Heart-broken, I turned and ran into the heart of Cinder Woods, holding baby Tammy’s photo in one hand, his cancer painkiller satchel in the other. A tear dampened his photo, and a part of me knew. One day, my sweet little Tammy. One day, I will hold you in my arms again.
