White Doves Cry

As a young boy, I fondly remember constantly getting into mischief, almost certain that almost all the time, I can get away with murder when my mother is around. Mother, a word that's synonymous on the lips of all children, is a figure of warmth, comfort and the epitomy of a safe haven, like a thick black cloud that repels the evil rays of the sun.

I never understood how a mother's kiss can heal the wounds on our knees when we fall from our bicycles. Nor can I comprehend how a mother's words and advice, spoken with such eloquent compassion, can bring comfort and clarity to one's thoughts. All they need to do is say that everything will be fine and astonishingly, we become so convinced by them that even the dull grey skies may seem blue.

I remember particularly a difficult period of time when I was barely 4 years old. My mother, after a prolonged decision making process, decided to go back to working full time since I was alot 'bigger' and less of a hassle to take care of. Entrusting me in the doting hands of my grandmother, I felt my circle of protection temporarily weakened, during the hours she went to work.

My sweet mother however made it a point that she left for work before I woke up every morning, and bribing me with toys and candy upon her return home so that I would not make a fuss. Though I'd trade all the gifts for having my mother with me at home, I could somehow understand the situation and so the trend went on for a while at least until a week before her 30th birthday.

On that fateful day, my mother was doubling her steps from the bus stop en route home. The skies were trembling and it was only a matter of time before it released its vehement anger on the world below. Approaching the final bend before our row of houses, the mean and gnarly Dobermans from our neighbours' house began barking and howling as my mother approached.

The gates rattled with fear as the dogs gnarled and press its mouths onto the steel frames, saliva dripping in hunger, relishing for some action at the expense of the passerbys. In a stroke of ill-luck, the rusty chains gave way, and the gates flew open, igniting the dogs on a hell bent chase for my mother.

Anticipating the need to run like how she did during her school champion running days, my mother kicked the high-heeled shoes off her feet and opened her strides. She was no match for the Dobermans though as they inched their way closer to human flesh.

The smaller of the two Dobermans sinked its fangs onto my mother's calf as she desperately used her handbag to ward the bigger dog off. The smaller one tightened its grip as blood oozed out from the gaping wound. Old Ah Hock, coincidently waiting for his daughter to return, was alert as ever as he rushed out with his wooden pole and whacked the crap out of the biting beasts, which instantaneously released its jaws. Fleeting back to where they came from, the night remained silent, less for my mother's cries in agony.

I remembered when half of the residences came out during the commotion to see what was going on. I stood by the doorway, holding back my tears, refusing to go up to my mother, for the fear of seeing her withering in pain. But I felt it, like as if the dogs had bitten me instead. Up till this day, I still wished that it was me lying on the road instead of my mother.

It didn't turned out as bad as it looked, for the jeans worn by my mother somehow prevented the bite from getting any worse. Nevertheless, I was rattled by it all, and since then, everytime my mother goes out to work, I cried and begged her not to walk past that house with the dogs.

I didn't believe her when she said she shall take the long route to the bus stop, and so everyday since then, before my mother wanted to leave for work, she had to lie by my side, till I dozed off, before she left.

As time went by, we moved away from that neighbourhood, to the comfort of a new estate where somehow the folks didn't favour dogs as pets. I grew off from my fear of dogs, and as I ventured into teenage life, I somehow wanted to see less of my mother, as how all teenagers do.

The story of how I begged for my mother to stay by my side, for the fear of getting mauled by dogs once again became the butt of many jokes as countless times, my mother would repeat the saga to my friends, to new neighbours, to my girlfriends, and to anyone who became acquainted with me.

Feeling a little embarassed, I would always laugh it off with the others, blaming it all on a passing phase which I successfully grew out of. Though it has been many years since my mother's passing, and with my own teenage children now 'despising' me, once again I'm left alone, standing by the window at an unearthly hour of 4 in the morning, awaiting my children to come back from some party somewhere.

The night was still, with the occasional drifting winds, hinting the coming of rain. The silence is broken by the barking and howling of dogs nearby, startling me from my coveted night smoke breaks. Even till this very day, I have kept it a secret. That every time I hear the barking of dogs, it brought me back to that fateful night. Perhaps I'm too much of a hard ass to admit, but I missed my mother so.

And I secretly wished, whilst looking out for my children by the window, that perhaps I would see the spirit of my mother, looking out for her grandchildren, or perhaps coming home for me... for every dog that barks, there's a white dove that cries.