My mind said no more.He eased off me and I turned on my side, curling into a fetal ball. "Please go to bed, Jonathan." Mom... ?"I continued shaking my head, eyes squeezed shut, jaws clenched tight, lips drawn back, breathing through my teeth. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?He touched my shoulder and I shuddered so violently that he snatched it away. I covered myself, cocooning inside the bedclothes. The shudder had started a tremble that was fast becoming an earthquake."I can't leave you like this," he objected, voice hoarse and cracked.I shook my head, shook it, shook it, and shook it.He sat on the edge, fidgeting, rubbing his legs, scratching his arms, occasionally shifting his weight, not touching me, but always on the verge. I cringed if he even placed a hand too close beside me on the bed."I'm not going," he said, harshly. "If we end it like this, you'll never talk to me again."That was a very real possibility. I might kill myself."I'm sorry, Mom."I shook my. Anwar had married late and his wife was almost 15 years younger to him, she was about my age.After a month or so after Anwar’s funeral, I met Salma, Anwar’s young wife when she called me to her house to go through personal items in his desk, I greeted her and tired to help her make sense of the papers that she found in her late husband’s desk. We chatted a little bit, but she seemed lost and lonely. I offered her a cup of coffee. Since I had visited their house many times I knew the layout and the kitchen, I got some coffee for us. Now looking closely at her, I found his widow extremely attractive with long hair, she was kind of small, and with a tiny body, her breasts too were not that big. We were sipping Coffee and I talked about Anwar and how he would be greatly missed. She began crying. We were sitting facing each other, our knees quite near each other, I got up to comfort her, at the same time she too got up, we collided and as I fell back into my chair, to break my fall I held.
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