Patience

The Caretaker of the Ruins

Companion Piece for Interlude: Patience

Author: Ellipsis

“Mama, I’m hungry. Is dinner ready?”

The mother set down the bill she had been reading, returning her attention to cooking dinner. “Patience, my child,” she spoke wearily as she stirred the pot of stew. “It is a virtue…”

“That I must hold,” the child finished in a sing song voice.

“Uphold,” the mother corrected with a chuckle. “Now run along and play with your toys. I will call you for dinner soon.”

“Yes, Mama.” The child ran off to play pretend. While there was no kitchen toy set to play with, there was one thing they had: their beloved plastic knife.

“What will I cook today… Oh, I know!” They picked up a paperback book to serve as a cutting board and placed a stained tennis ball on it. This would be a potato. They began mimicking cutting movements to chop up their ingredient. They continued preparing other imaginary ingredients until they had finished cooking their meal. It didn’t look like much, but they could imagine the smell of honey ham, bread, potato salad, and pie.

“Dinner is ready!” they proudly declared, though they had to admit their mother’s stew would probably taste better.

“How much longer?” The child asked, a weary tone to their voice. Their feet felt sore from all the walking on the mountain’s rough terrain. Their old shoes were too small to wear, so instead they had put on the two thickest socks they owned, which were now dirty and damp. They almost wished they were wearing those cramped shoes.

“Have patience,” the mother reminded her child. “We’re almost there.” She held up the picnic basket she was carrying. “Then we will have our lunch.”

The child smiled at that promise. They behaved and didn’t say another word of complaint for the rest of the hike.

Eventually, the mother came to a stop. “How about we take a break here,” she said as she neared the mouth of a cave.

“Okay!” The child excitedly entered the cave. They found a sizeable rock and promptly sat down, happy to not be standing on their sore feet any longer.

“Oh… It looks like I’m not able to get a signal in here.” Holding their phone, the mother turned to the child. “I need to walk further up and make a call.”

“I’ll come with you!” the child blurted out. Their feet ached so badly they weren’t sure if they could fulfill that offer, but anything was better than being left behind.

“No, that’s fine, my child,” the mother insisted as she set the picnic basket next to them. “You may have one snack while you wait.”

“Okay.” The child was good at waiting. Waiting with food was even better.

The mother began walking, but then stopped and looked at the child. “Do not leave the cave on your own. Wait patiently until I return.”

“Yes, Mama!”

“Why isn’t Mama back…” The child spoke out loud, breaking the silence they had come to hate. They had played all their imaginary games while they waited patiently for their mother. They even ate their snack. Then another. And another. There had not been much in the basket, but guilt was gnawing away at them worse than the hunger. Now the sun was setting, and there was barely any daylight left. It felt like it had been forever since their mother left to make that phone call.

The child stood and approached the mouth of the cave, as they had now done so many times. They came to a stop just before exiting. “Mama, come back…”

But nobody came.





patience: backstory // end

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