“What—what were her last words?”
“She just hugged me. Very tight.”
Gon shook his head. Then as if he could hardly get the words out, he whispered, “Was it warm? Her arms . . .”
“Yes, very warm.”
His shoulders, which had been hunched and still, gradually sank. His face turned wrinkly like a deflated balloon. His head slowly hanging low, his knees buckled. His body was shaking, his head sunk down against his chest. There was no sound, but I knew he was crying. I looked down at him, saying nothing. I felt like I’d become uselessly taller.
People say that May is the queen of seasons, but I don’t quite agree. The hardest job is transitioning from winter to spring. Frozen ground melting to let sprouts shoot up, colorful flowers blossoming from each dead branch. That’s what tough looks like. As for summer, it simply needs to take a couple more steps forward using the momentum of spring. That’s why I think May is the laziest of all the months. A month that’s overrated. And May was the month that always reminded me I was different from the rest of the world. Everything on the earth glittered, vibrantly. Only me and my bedridden Mom were stiff and gray, like an eternal January.
“Mom, you have wrinkles.”
She beamed at me, which made her wrinkles longer. I tried to picture Mom aging but couldn’t. It was hard to believe.
“The only thing left for me now is to grow old,” she said, her smile gone for some reason. She stared blankly into the distance, then slowly closed her eyes. What would’ve gone on in her mind? Was she imagining herself laughing like an old grandma in her golden years?
But she was wrong. It turned out that she wouldn’t have the chance to age.
Granny vowed that the marriage would take place over her dead body, to which Mom retorted that love is not for some nobody to sign off on for approval. Mom got a slap on the cheek as a result.