“Rune,” her voice came to me as a whisper. She always said my name like it was a secret. I turned around to face my mother and she walked towards me, with all the grace in the world. “Where are you going?”
I expected the question. It was the question she always asked before anyone ever left the house. It’s as if she wanted to know where you were at all times so if something ever happened to you, she’d know where to come and get you; where to come and save you.
“Away,” I answered, looking away.
I used to tell my mother wherever I went all the time, but recently I felt like concealing my every move, almost like I wanted to erase all trace of me. Except this time, I wasn’t saying this because I wanted my mom to remain in the dark about my whereabouts. I was saying it because I actually didn’t know where I was going. All I knew is that wherever I was going, it was away.
After my answer, my mother would have typically asked when I would be back, but she didn’t. She asked me something else that shifted the whole dynamic. She must have felt my intentions.
“Are you going to come back?” she said, her voice small. I knew she dreaded that question her whole life and the answer to it even more. “I don’t know,” I replied, and I truly meant it.