The Elephant in the Room

Mia stares at her blank laptop screen, trying her best to muster the first chapter of her book.

“Mia! Make me chamomile tea and throw away the rest of this soup, it’s disgusting.” Mia’s mother yells across the tiny two-bedroom apartment.

Mia sighs. At age 35, she never imagined she would be single, unemployed and living with her mother.

“Hello!?”

Mia closes her laptop and makes her way to the living room where her mother lays on the couch with her lunch tray carelessly tossed aside.

“What are you, deaf?” Mia’s mom hisses to her.

“No mom, I was in the middle of writing”.

“Oh please, don’t bring up that pathetic excuse of a hobby”.

Mia doesn’t say anything. She knows there’s no point. Before her father passed away, she never imagined becoming her mother’s primary caregiver. She was so wrapped up in her first novel that she never noticed how much attention her father lavished on her mother. After his heart attack five years ago, she wasn’t prepared for her mother’s needs to place her plans to write a sequel firmly on the back burner.

Mia throws the cold tomato soup in the sink and leans over the counter, trying to compose herself with deep breaths. When did her relationship with her mother become so volatile? Growing up, Mia adored her mother. When she wrote her first book, her mother was there to support her every step of the way. What happened? Who is that woman in the room next to her?

“She is not my mother,” Mia thinks to herself. She looks at the clock: 11:11 PM. Suddenly she remembers how, as a child, she would always make a wish when the clock struck 11:11. Mia closes her eyes and whispers “I wish my mother would go away and set me free.”

“Mia, I want to go to sleep now. Help me get ready for bed!”

Mia opens her eyes and looks at the clock, 11:12 PM.

The alarm goes off at 6:30 AM the next morning. Mia opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling while her phone alarm shrieks incessantly, screaming at her to get a grip and get out of bed. She finally sits up and turns off her alarm. She grabs the small black notebook on her nightstand and looks at her schedule for the day. Her mother has a pulmonary appointment at 9 AM, and then physical therapy at 1 PM across town. Mia begrudgingly slinks to her mother’s room, already dreading the fight she’ll put up with for having to get dressed and leave the house.

“Mom, it’s time to get up.” Mia says as she walks into the bedroom and opens the curtains. “Mom, come on. We have to be at the clinic this morning for your appointment.”

Mia turns around to look at her mother. The sunlight shines directly on her mother’s face, like a halo. She lies unnaturally still on her back in bed, mouth slightly open. “Mom?” No answer. Something isn’t right. Mia walks up to her mom and gently shakes her. No movement. She’s not breathing. “Oh my God. She’s dead!” Mia yells in a panic.

The paramedics arrive and confirm her mother’s passing. At the hospital, Mia feels numb as she listens to the doctor drone on about the cause of death. She occasionally makes out phrases like “died in her sleep”, “went peacefully”, “couldn’t have prevented this”, etc. She sits on the cold, hard, plastic hospital chair, staring unblinking at the wall in front of her. A million thoughts run through her head. She must have made thousands of wishes at 11:11 throughout her life. Of all the wishes, why did this one come true? She didn’t really mean it.

“Mia?”  She jolts back into reality and looks at the grandmotherly physician standing in front of her.  “Is there anyone else in your family that can help you make the arrangements?” she asked.  “No, it’s just me.” Mia replies with a meek smile.

That night Mia lies wide awake in bed, her mind racing.  On the other side of the wall is her mother’s empty bedroom, the scene of the crime where her demonic wish had come true. 

Mia recalls a memory from sixth grade.  She came home from school that day in tears.  For a month she had been writing a short story for English class.  It was about a herd of elephants that get into an argument over who should be the matriarch. Not until a pride of lions attack their calves do the elephants band together, realizing the importance of family over rank. 

Mia had been really proud of her story and had looked forward to reading it in front of class.  She’d imagined the classroom erupting in applause at the end. Hers would be the best story, she had thought.  But that day, as she read her story out loud, she didn’t get even halfway when a group of boys started heckling her.  The ringleader, Christopher, kept chanting that Mia was as fat as an elephant and that’s why she wrote a story about them.  Soon the whole class was erupting not in applause, but laughter, with her teacher haplessly trying to stop.

That afternoon, Mia collapsed in a heap in her mother’s arms. She could barely explain what happened over her hyperventilated sobs.  Her mom patiently waited for her to finish and then she said, “What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?” Mia replied. 

“Are you going to sit here and feel sorry for yourself or are you going to do something?” 

Mia stared at her mother in shock, “What can I do?  They were so mean to me. Why are you putting this on me?  This isn’t fair!” 

She tried to pull away from her mother’s embrace but her mom held her even tighter and calmly responded “You are not a feeble little girl. You are a strong and intelligent young woman.  No matter what you do I know you will make me proud.  There is something you can do here to redeem yourself. I wish I could tell you what it is but that’s for you to decide.”  She kissed Mia on the head and walked away.  Mia sat on the couch astonished and confused.

That night, after the dust settled, Mia submitted her elephant story to a national short story competition for teenagers.  There were over 100,000 submissions.   Yet, she won first place and a prize of $20,000.  She stared straight at Christopher when she announced her victory in front of class, a huge smile on her face while her classmates applauded her.

Mia suddenly snaps out of her memory, tears streaming down her face. Her mother was the reason she became a writer, and a good one at that. Her mother is the reason she is the person she is today. She wished nothing more than for her mom to be here right now, to hold her, to tell her how to get through this.

Her mother’s voice rings in her head, “You are not a feeble little girl. You are a strong and intelligent young woman.  No matter what you do I know you will make me proud.”

Mia looks at the clock on her nightstand: 11:11pm.  She wipes her tears, inhales deeply, closes her eyes and makes a wish.