WRINKLES

𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗟𝗘𝗦

Your mother intercepts you just as you are about to tiptoe in through the door.

“And just where do you think you’re going, young lady?” her firm voice demands. Her arms are crossed over her chest.

You let out a groan and straighten your sneaky posture to look at her.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I lost track of time,” you mumble.

The time on your wristwatch tells you it is fifteen minutes past 9 pm. You only stayed out a few minutes beyond curfew. And it wasn’t as if you went around flirting with every boy on the street. You went to study for your upcoming GCE for heaven’s sake. You lost track of time? Well, not really.
You were reluctant to leave your tutor, Mark, who had a nice voice and was so intelligent. You couldn’t deny in your heart that you had a big crush on him. You wonder how your mom would react if she had an inkling that you were fawning over your lesson tutor who was a penultimate year student in your dream university while you are just a fresh high school graduate.

Your friends don’t have parents who nag and fuss as much as your mother does. Perhaps her paranoia is because she divorced your drunkard of a father who always abused her. Perhaps she is afraid she would lose her hold on you too. Perhaps she cares about you.
But you are pissed. Can’t a sixteen-year-old day have her freedom and enjoy it in peace?

As your mom continues her rant, you stiffen and eventually snap when she asks you a question you cannot remember.
You hurl some snide remarks at her to let her know she isn’t the boss of you anymore.

As you storm into the house, you are greeted with the strong scent of garlic and another spice you have never been able to name.
Though it’s a little nauseating, it smells like home. And that can only mean one thing. Grandpa is here.

And you are right because when you reach the living room, you see him reading a newspaper, sitting in his wheelchair.

“Grandpa!” you cry in joy and skip over to hug him around his neck. He chuckles and returns the gesture.

Then his glazed eyes search your face and he asks why you were out so late.
You sigh and repeat your excuse.

He holds your hands gently in his and begins his usual lecture. Not that you mind. Grandpa’s stories, whether true life stories, bible retellings or cooked-up ones, are always the best.

He tells you how much your mom truly loves you and how he looks at you and considers you lucky because he didn’t have the chance of being groomed by loving parents in his teenage years.

Grandpa’s hands are wrinkled but it doesn’t stop his tight grip on you as he speaks with you intently about the value of time and how you have to jealousy guard it while you’re still young. He tells you he knows how you feel about being constrained by curfews and boundaries your mom puts in place, but he emphasizes that it’s all for your good.

He allows you to slowly trace your hands over the pronounced wrinkles on his hands. He tells you that time waits for no one, not even you.

You wonder if he regrets anything. You know he has found true peace and he is certain he will go to heaven once his time on earth is up. Apart from mobility issues and periodic memory loss, Grandpa was one of the most senile seventy-plus-year-old folks you’ve ever met.

His words ring so true that you feel remorse weave its way into your heart. You shouldn’t have snapped at your mom like she’s a piece of dung.

Your mom comes in and, purposely ignoring you, asks your grandpa if he would still love to eat a late dinner. He declines, saying something about eating late and health.

You go to the kitchen to assist your mom in clearing up. While in there, you apologize to your mom and promise to keep to time in the future. Your mom embraces you and tells you she understands far better than you think.