FELICIA HEILGENDORFF

“Look, momma! I’m just staring at the glasses and the juices are moving away from me!” I glanced up from my work, annoyed that my son had yet again dragged me out of my work. I had an article to write, why didn’t children understand that?

I sighed dramatically. “Of course it is, Joe.” I didn’t have the energy to fight him right now.

“You don’t believe me!” he pouted. He was intently staring at the three wine glasses in front of him, filled with strangely coloured liquid, that was probably just some coloured sugar with water. “It’s really moving! It looks like there’s an earthquake!” his excited voice chirped.

I groaned. “Have you been reading Matilda again, sweetie? You know, it’s just a book. Just some story that some guy made up.”

“No!” Joe yelled at me, his gaze finally leaving the wine glasses. “It’s true! Mommy, I swear it’s moving! Come and see for yourself.”

I felt like screaming at him, but instead I got up and walked over to him.

“Now look, mommy. Watch me,” he said, his voice all grown-up and please-stand-back-this-might-be-dangerous.

Though I really didn’t care for whatever he was doing, I looked at the glasses. Sure enough, the juices, all different amounts in similar-sized glasses were all tilted away from Joe.

I said nothing, just turned away.

“See?” he said triumphantly.

“Nothing happened,” I said angrily, realising all of a sudden just how much he had inherited from his father. And then I imagined kicking my ex-husband out of the house over and over again, unable to concentrate on the article, while my son kept playing with his newfound dangerous abilities.

© 2016

Sunday Photo Fiction, May 22nd 2016