Mother and Daughter

“Don’t worry, you’ll win,” said the mother to the child, twenty seconds before she lost.

They had trained for weeks. The child, you see, suffers from a crippled knee, from an accident three years ago.

The mother had very badly wanted the child to win at the games today.

As the child took her position on the start line, the mother had said to herself: “I’m sorry child. I’m sorry. Win, and forgive me for that day.”

The twenty seconds on the running track, the mother anticipated, would seem like a little less than eternity. Eternity was different. Oh, sordidly different. Eternity was that one millionth of a second, three years ago, when the mother had rammed the car –

The child was nearing the finish line. It didn’t seem that long after all! The mother stopped breathing.

“There, my child! Just push a little more, baby; I know your leg hurts, the splints are coming off, but child there you are just a few metres away, go on, you’re coming so close to forgiving me!”

The line was exactly a metre away.

When the child stopped, and looked at the mother.

The mother started. Then, the tears came.

“Why! Why are you stopping, baby. Run! Don’t stand there looking at me! Run to the line! Won’t I ever be forgiven? Don’t stare at me, run!”

The child kept looking at her mother.

They both cried like babies that day.

The mother cried at what she saw as eternal damnation for all her life. Life, unforgiving life, holds no mercy, she learnt.

The child cried because she, unlike her mother, knew.

There on the track, there was no line there anymore.

The child had not taken twenty seconds to reach, no.

More accurately, four minutes and forty-eight seconds.

All that remained in the place where the line stood, was a bunch of PT instructors walking toward the stranded cripple.

Waving her to move away, as the next batch of runners were readying their start.