Happy dropped Saad at 777 and came home himself. When he parked the car there was someone in his spot so he squatted at visitors for the night.
He walked in the door exhausted.
“Welcome home putt,” Mummi said.
Happy starting bawling his eyes out.
“Come here putt,” Mummi said, hands outstretched.
He was back in her bosom again, like he’d been the day they’d moved into this hellhole. That time she’d brought him in involuntarily, but now the imperative was all his own.
“What’s wrong putt?” Mummi said.
He could not say. He could only keep crying. She smelled like the poag they served at the gurdwara mixed with the sweat of unthanked labour.
“Don’t worry, everything will be OK,” Mummi said.
The sweetest words he needs to hear.
“Everything will be OK as long as you listen to me,” Mummi said.
The aura broke with a rip like a backdrop on a theatre stage. The feeling he felt was like sobering up from a bender. Mummi could withhold her love as long as she wanted and would only give it to him on her terms. He knew this would never change. She could not accept Happy solely for what he wanted to be and do. He inhaled his mother’s musk one last time and pulled away.
He stood tall, wiped his eyes and went into his room to pack a bag. He was leaving him.
Mummi go up and followed soon after, asking him what he was doing. He sniffed and threw underclothes into a plastic bag. He didn’t have any luggage besides the dusty ones from India which hadn’t been brushed clean yet. He found the thick plastic bags from the liquor store to be the best suited for the task. As he put more things in the bags Mummi slapped his hand away periodically. She tugged as his long-sleeve shirt as he rolling the cord of his headphones over his MP3 player.
He pushed past her last stand in the doorway and didn’t look back.