My childhood memories are hazy, but the day I turned fifteen is fixed in my mind like a dark stain. It was the day my younger brother's life was endangered because of my carelessness. We were playing on the roof. In a rush of excitement, I threw a ball at him, and he fell off the low parapet. He suffered deep fractures in his arm and leg.
The profound regret of that terrible moment changed everything within me. I gave up playing and laughing freely, as if I no longer deserved happiness.
We were not a well-to-do family; we just somehow managed to get by. Whom could I complain to? I was the eldest son. I had no one to listen. As I grew up, I strangled my own hopes and expectations.
My Mother, she was my lifeline. From childhood until today, she stood by me through every difficulty. She did whatever she could, never letting me feel the lack of anything. I thought that when I grew up, I would repay the debt of her every sacrifice and become her support. But as I got older, the rush of college and then a job took me far away from her. I wanted my mother to live with me, but there were too many responsibilities back home.
My Father was always unwell. In his youth, he worked in a plastic manufacturing factory. That toxic environment filled his lungs with more plastic than air. He worked himself to death. Sometimes he would work two, even three shifts at a time.
But the salary? It was nothing compared to the labor. The irony is that high-ranking officers got paid more just for pressing two buttons on a computer—whether they had the real knowledge or not. Real knowledge and skill are always suppressed by the force of a degree.
Nevertheless, my father worked tirelessly to educate me. And now, I was working at a large company with a good job. Maybe I wasn't earning a fortune, but through my tireless effort and dedication, I had built a strong reputation within the company.
However, the workload was so overwhelming that I didn't even have time to talk to my mother properly. When she called, I would often snap at her in irritation. Slowly, her phone calls became less frequent, and then they stopped altogether. I was so unworthy that I never even thought to call her myself.
But then, an old photograph of my mother fell out of my wallet and onto the floor. In that moment, my heart sank. I remembered the real reason I was working day and night so hard—my Mother.
I bent down near the table, and my eyes became moist with humility. I fumbled for the mobile phone on the table. My throat tightened looking at her smiling picture set as the homescreen. With trembling hands, I pulled up her number and dialed.
The phone rang once... then a second time...
The ringtone kept playing, but there was no answer. After a while, the ringing stopped.
Mom didn't pick up.
"Call again," the voice suggested.
This time, a kind of concern was clearly audible in its tone.
But that sound came from very close, as if from my own hands. I looked at the mobile phone for a moment, and everything became clear.
How could I forget that the mobile phone must be the one who had spoken those harsh words to me? After all the mistreatment I had given it, this would be the nature it would take towards me.
But I quickly got up and shouted, "It was you, wasn't it?! It was you! You were the one who was bothering me!"
"What difference does it make by repeating the matter twice?"
"You fool!" Its voice was so harsh, as if someone had hammered nails into my ears.
"What did you just say? I am a fool?"
"Yes, that's what I said. Are you deaf as well as a fool?"
My eyes turned bloodshot. Just then, I raised my hand to smash it to the ground.
"No, no! Don't even think about doing that! If you try to break me, I will send an SOS to the police!"
"And what will you tell them? That you are a mobile phone about to be broken?"
I was just about to smash it when the phone's ringtone started playing.
When I saw that it was Mom calling, I became completely still. My eyes stopped for a moment. My gasping breath paused.
I stopped, sat down, and picked up the call.
"Hello!" My voice was heavy and choked.
From the other end, my mother's affectionate voice touched my ears, "How are you, my child?"
And my eyes released the tears they had held back for so long. Hot tears streamed down my face and soaked my shirt.
Hearing my sobs, Mom immediately became worried. Her voice changed instantly.
"What happened, son? Why are you crying?" she asked anxiously.
I could barely speak, "Mom... please forgive me. For shouting at you... for ignoring your calls, for cutting them... and for everything I have done, please forgive me, Mom." My voice completely broke.
The clock was tickling down only 25 minutes reamined of Lunch.