Change

She looked at her son. He was a man now really. Moments came when she saw glimpses of the boy he once was but rarely and they were snatched by her when he didn't know that he was being scrutinised by someone trying to make sense of who this person was, what he would become.

She snuck in while he was asleep to look at his little boy face, expressions relaxed, learned knowledge of the world having retreated into whatever slumberland it inhabited in the dark hours. This is why she relished past Facebook posts, when they took her to splash parks and beaches; fairground rides and sticky mouths, sugar-coated; to rounder, less angular facial features and brighter clothing; to times where the future was distant and dreams of houses and responsibility were craved but not fully realised in his mind, as he envisioned Batman-style mansions or cars that turned into planes as his everyday.

Those thoughts were past now with time's constant dynamo, whirring onwards like a bulldozer's track.

They had just visited accommodation. It was another university open day, another rung on the ladder to "Individual Independence". The room offered was a little cell-like despite the bright yellow wall and the modern fixtures. But she looked at it as a safe place for her boy to study and did not dwell on her concerns for him striking out on his own. After all, she had done it and survived. In fact, she felt a little envious of him, embarking on this new exciting chapter. For her, it was like standing on the top of the mountain after you've seen the view and contemplating the reaction of the person you loved, still climbing up and yet to join you there.

There were still things to be shared.

It was racing away, "Life", as they knew it. University, driving, parties. Like a landslide, inevitably altering the landscape.

She knew it was as it should be and took grateful comfort from that.

"What's up, Mum?"

He was there, putting his arms around her and she relished the genuineness of the hug while she could.

"Nothing," she said, lying; but also paradoxically, telling the truth.

"Nothing at all."

***

366 words

Microfiction, yes, but also built on truth as a lot of stories are, having their foundation in our own lived experience.

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