I have had a thousand thoughts stream through my brain. I have had different yearnings for the physique of my body. I have had a million pains, pains that scrawled a little wail. I have had sorrows, tears, and breaks in my life, but all these can never touch any grail. All this, today, I scorch to be nothing but the wails of a little boy, inexperienced, with some identity crisis, if that word would sure determine or rather characterize the latter. They were thoughts of a Lord, who never saw past the next ballroom dance, and a lad, who never saw past the urgencies and articulations of anticipated, or rather, upbringings of individuals by classifications. It was the thought of a little boy who thought he had become a man by just breaking his voice, or rather expounding that the latter had certainly broken the childish aspects that distinguished boys from men, just physique, if I may say. I remember when I first broke my voice and the rough, huge voice that followed under my talks, I felt more like a man. When I spoke, I could feel all the teenagers in my class look at me, for they all stated my voice was different. I sure had a different voice; it was not in comparison to that of the Duke, no. This voice is that which can sing out anything, and I remember the first time I articulated my poetic verse to the class: 'bewildered love. Grazioso was the word, my Italian accent-oriented teacher stated. All this was just the thought of a little boy; in the adjacent face of a man, I even feel ashamed of myself. A boy who saw nothing but embarked on thoughts of how a woman's body would feel underneath his embrace. A little boy who thought of nothing but how he would reign over his father's lands, but well, this was never my thought. I knew my future was not adjacent to that of my fellow lads. I barely thought of taking over my father's lands, for I knew that would be the most, or rather, the worst mistake a lad like me would ever make. But well, I was the type of lad who thought of the pleasures of women from the various books and drawings I had seen, which at one point had increased my pleasures until my body was squirming in heat and my guards were already up waiting for someone to attend. I remember, pouring me some icy water; un uncomfortable state indeed, but at least I cooled off. Honestly, The feeling of my guard up without someone to attend was painful, and I chose to retaliate, but at some points when the moon would change its appearances, I would find myself yearning for touches, maybe like a wolf on heat or something of that sort. I would love to say that, little matter... But that was no little matter; it was more of a torture for a little teenager trying to experience, or rather, being curious about, the adages and the pleasures of life, with which his body was adjacently giving in without any alterations. I think of this as I look at the elderly lady who formerly helped me with a place to sleep. It was already dawn, as the rays of light were already visible in the crevices of this little house where I was welcomed, and so I decided to wake carefully, as the lad sleeping next to me was snoring like a grout pig eating its meal.
"Can I help with anything?" I asked as I approached the elderly lady, who appeared to be struggling to start a fire.
"No... no, go back to sleep," she replied, gesturing uncomfortably. "I'll prepare breakfast in a few."
Seeing her touch her lower back as if in pain, I knew I had to do something. I returned to the little house and woke the sleeping lad, whose name was Ezron or something. "Can't you just let me sleep?" he groaned, rubbing his eyes vigorously.
"Don't you feel any pity?" I responded. "Your mother is in pain. Her lower back is hurting, and her eyes are puffy. It might be harmful to her health. You, as the man, should help her."
"She's always like that in the morning," he said, which made me sympathize with the elderly lady even more.
"How can you be a father if you can't take responsibility for your own mother, the one who gave birth to you? Are you too proud to be called her son?" I questioned, which woke him up in a hurry. "Where is she?" I directed him outside, and we found the elderly lady coughing, clearly unwell. Thank goodness I had taken some medicine classes during my previous educational pursuits. We rushed to her side, and I could feel the heat radiating from her face. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and she seemed to be coughing blood, as some patches of blood could be seen from the old handkerchief or clothing she used. When I attempted to check her hands, she initially resisted, but with a bit of force, I managed to get her to open them. I was at a loss for words but looked at the boy; Ezron with a stern glare. I wanted to shake some sense into him, or somehow beat him up, to atleast make him understand the pain his mother was going through. Instead, I said, "I wish you knew how many people wish they could see their mothers, and here you are letting yours suffer right in front of your eyes. I'm deeply saddened and disappointed."
Then, I added, "Do you happen to have any herbal remedies? I'm concerned, and you should be too." The mother's condition appeared to be more serious than a simple cough; her cough produced small traces of blood, and her pulse was racing, possibly indicating high blood pressure, though I wasn't a medical professional. I had considered pursuing medicine at one point but had stopped after two years when my father asked me to return home or study a business-oriented course. The elderly lady's hands actually, were cracked and lacked proper care, evidence of years of hard work and neglect. As a man, Ezron should have protected the lady of the house, even if it meant putting his life on the line. In this case, he should have taken care of his mother, the one who had given him life. I gently assisted the elderly lady to lie down on the bed. Ezron had brought an older man who seemed to be a doctor, judging by the large bag he carried. "What's the problem?" he asked in a rude and inappropriate manner, displaying the kind of unique character traits I enjoyed encountering in people, as they added excitement to my life and adventures.
"Help her, please. I feel she has some opportunistic diseases, and her blood pressure is quite interesting, and in relation to her cough, she might have a series of disease, that which…" I felt I couldn't state what I thought, for honestly, I felt pneumonia and high blood pressure was something affecting the elderly, and maybe aging opportunistic diseases, like back aches. "Are you a doctor?" The man snorted in his thick English accent. I observed him as he checked me out, taking in the little t-shirt I wore with slit sleeves, the adjacent trousers that no one had stolen, and my rubber slides.
"Never seen you around," he added, and my impatience was growing. He needed to help the lady, as I was certain her blood pressure was higher than normal. "Please, help her, and we can have a conversation about your questions later."
"So she has two sons, I never knew," he remarked. Impatience was clearly evident on my face, and if it weren't for the little respect I had towards this man, I might have been rude or even grabbed the bag and started unpacking it.
He suddenly left to check on the elderly lady, her eyes were squinted in apparent discomfort as she listened to our conversations, I pitied her honestly. "When will you pay off all my debts, Agatha?" he demanded as he inspected her purse. "I'm not giving you a dosage today until you settle your debts."
"I thought the government takes care of payments for everyone," I interjected. In Bavdon, I used to write receipts that cleared the debts of marginalized or lower social classes. The government covered all of that, as the peasants played a significant role in supporting government initiatives. Medical care was the only area where the monarchy would aid the citizens in retaliation and as a gesture of thankyou.
He eyed me and retorted, "Who are you? And,…really, who are you, little peasant, to utter such words to my face? You can't even work hard and have everything like us. Your mother will rot and die like other peasants. She's nothing but old; let old age take her."
For the first time as an adult, someone had thrown such hurtful words at me, words of death. I felt rage surging within me but then realized the precarious situation I was in. I was running away from my troubles, the slay, and I was sure that my wanted posters would soon be plastered all over England, across the entire United Kingdom, from Wales to the Scottish Highlands. I had nothing to say and let him pass, at least he had cooled the elderly mum's blood pressure.
The elderly lady suddenly attempted to wake up, but I swiftly intervened. "No, no... You cannot wake up. Ezron and I will take care of everything. You deserve some rest today."
Ezron appeared to have other thoughts, but I knew, whether he liked it or not, we would have to manage. We'd sell the fish and roast the meat. I had no idea how to do it, but my boy Ezron would guide me. First, I needed to handle a few things. Perhaps in the evening, I would sneak away for a while and search for Armstrong. I had to find a way to help this lady. After that, maybe I would head to the lake to gather some poultice that could provide temporary relief. However, I wasn't sure about my future plans. Despite learning about Armstrong's drug dealing business and the involvement of father, I somehow felt that Father was not a part of this deal. There were many uncertainties, and my life, at this moment, was in a state of disarray. I felt Jaykim had something to do with it, and maybe father knew a few but let it slide as he always did.