The Drowning Hawthorn Tree

by Helena Comfere

The Aldridge Family Manor, a family with generations of wealth, joy, and love. A place where the grandest parties were held, including the grandest weddings, where multiple guests of all ages were in attendance. The house holds memories over several generations. The house tells a story about every person who stepped foot inside. The manor was like a book–a log holding the history through the chipped trim, where a boy hit his wooden airplane on the edge or through the creaking floorboards that have been walked and danced on for generations. Now it was home to a little boy and his drowning mother; a little boy who never understood love. Not after his mother gave up on showing her love to him. His mother now drowned in her own sorrow, weeping for her lost husband and the woman she used to be, as well as the mother. The little boy was now left to himself, left to care for his drowning mother and himself.

“Mother, you mustn’t get up yet,” the child told his drunk mother, who tried to get out of bed.

“Oh child...you always worry too much!” she slurred, stumbling out of bed. The little boy looked at his mother with a disdainful look.

“Let me help you.” The child helped his mother back into bed and pulled the blanket over her pale neck that was almost as white as snow. The doorbell rang. The boy slowly walked out of the room, trying his best not to disturb his mumbling mother.

He got up on his tiptoes and peers out of the peephole. “Yes?” he said, trying his best to sound older.

“Is this the Aldridge residence?” The voice had authority under it, the boy thought.

“Yes, this is it. Can I help you?”

“Could you open the door? We’d like to talk to you,” 

The little boy replied in a calm and cool tone. “We can talk like this and if you have nothing to say please leave.” Muffled sounds were heard on the other side of the door.

“We have had reports from concerned neighbors that a little boy lives here alone. Is this true?” 

“Ah of course not, nothing is wrong, my mother is sleeping at the moment, you see?” The little boy was used to this–always lying. 

“Ah I see no worries! Have a blessed day!”

The boy sighed in relief. He was used to protecting his mother from the outside world. He would go and buy her liquor when she said she had enough and couldn't handle the sorrow that crippled her. He would always help her to bed when she couldn’t stand anymore and hold her close when she said she wanted to leave, he would do all the things to keep her okay . He was exhausted after taking care of his mother for so long.

He walked back to his room, which was at the end of the hall–the very end. He opened the door to his room and it let out a loud groan, he hoped his mother was still sleeping. He slipped off his brown sandals, climbed into his cot and dreamed of a world he would much rather be in. 

He dreamed of a world where he still had his father. A world where his mother still had enough love in her heart for the both of them. A world where he felt like there would always be an abundance of love to be shared. Reality slipped into the dream and it quickly became a nightmare. He remembered screaming–his mother screaming at his father to get out. Broken screaming, telling him that she never wanted to see him ever again. The look of loathing and pain on his mothers face, a face he would not be soon to forget. He remembered his father leaving and not coming back for weeks after. His mother during that time was doing everything she could to forget about him.

His mother’s mental decline started when she cut down the Hawthorn tree. Oh, how he loved that tree! It was like a symbol of everlasting love and strength that his father had shown to his mother. With its white flowers in the spring and vibrant red berries that were as sweet as candy in the fall. He used the shade it created in the summer and used the branches that fell in the winter that looked like little arms to build snowmen. She slowly got more violent, ripping photos and burning clothes. He soon learned that it was best to stay out of her way during that time. He pitied his mother, his poor mother was left to fill the halls of the manor with her empty heart. After weeks of being away his father returned to the empty house–empty of all life that used to be. His father didn’t seem to notice, it was like he never even cared at all. All he came back to do was to gather up the few belongings he still had and say goodbye to his little boy. The little boy knew that was when his mother finally broke. 

He woke up to a car starting. He quickly got out of bed and put on his sandals. He ran downstairs and swung the door open. His mother was sitting on the back of a convertible, already tipsy and laughing with a drink in her hand. Four others he didn’t recognize were also in the car.

“Child!” she screamed, though her smile was lazy and lopsided. “Oh, my dear sweet child! I will be back! Don’t you worry–not one bit!” and then the car was gone.

The little boy tilted his head and watched his vulnerable mother drive off with strangers, knowing nothing good would come back home. He sighed and went back inside to find a snack, knowing his mother would be back in the morning needing his help again. That was how it always went.

He came down at dawn the next morning to wait for his mother. He waited until noon before he realized she wasn’t coming back today. He wondered if she was okay and if she was worrying about him as well. He quickly caught himself. Why would she ever be worrying about him? When had he ever factored into the equation? When had she ever cared what he did or where he was? She was never going to care. He slowly stood up and walked back into the manor. He took off his sandals at the door, wandering throughout the great halls and through the many sitting rooms and parlors. He took a deep breath, thinking, dreaming of the life he once had that was now lost. He dreamt of a world where the great halls were filled with laughter and love. Parlors filled with shuffling feet and harmless gossip. Before the little boy could get ahead of himself he heard the door open and slam shut. The familiar gait and groaning filled the halls.

“Boy, get me something to drink, my head is pounding, it’s like somebody is banging a drum in my head, '' his mother told him, stumbling into the kitchen and sitting at the breakfast table rather harshly.

“Yes mother,” he said, walking over to the counter to make a drink for her.

A thought popped into his head. He had been having many doubts about his mother and was finally recognizing the reality around him. Perhaps it was with age, or his mother had been on a tightrope all this time and had finally stumbled a little too hard. He poured two glasses. Before thinking too hard about what he was about to do, he set the drink in front of his mother.

“Is it good?” He watched his mother closely, watching how she brought the glass up to her lips cautiously, making eye contact before taking a big swig.

“Yes, very.” He smiled down knowing his mother, and knowing that she knew what he did to her drink.

“I’m going to rest in my room. Don’t bother me,” she said half-heartedly. While walking out of the kitchen, she turned around and wrapped her arms around her little boy. She squeezed him tightly, like it was the last time she would have her little boy in her arms. Then she went upstairs to rest.

After a few minutes, he went upstairs to check on his mother. He opened the door to her room. It groaned softly as though it were tired.  He found his mother in bed, with her eyes closed and a faint smile on her face.

And so let out a laugh. A real laugh! He was laughing and laughing until he noticed that he was crying. He was crying and laughing, and laughing that his mother was so quick to decide and crying that he was now truly alone. 

After gaining his composure, he stumbled back downstairs into one of the many parlors and dialed a number.

 “999, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

“Help m–Help us! My mother! She’s not waking up! No matter how hard I shake her!” he said, feigning a frantic tone.

“Help is on the way, don’t worry,” the operator said soothingly. He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He went into the kitchen and waited. His face remained neutral and calm.

The police arrived first at the manor. Five police officers stumbled out of the car and ran to the front door. Surprised that the front door was open, they ran upstairs and found his mother on the bed not breathing, with a faint smile on her face.

Shortly after the ambulance arrived, they pronounced her dead. The officers finally came to the realization that the little boy who called them was nowhere to be found. They searched throughout the manor and scoured the grounds, with no luck. Little did they know the boy found his own way out and was now resting in the garden under the Hawthorn tree his father planted for his mother, tired from protecting his mother for so long and finally letting go.

Later, during the investigation on the boy's disappearance, two empty glasses were found on the kitchen counter.

Helena Comfere is a freshman at Century High School.