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When Scout accepted the job offer to become a mercenary, he broke the news to his ma while they were seated at the kitchen table. He suddenly noticed how run-down the room was — how the paint on the walls was chipping off, how cramped the furniture felt. The dim lamp overhead did its best to illuminate his ma's face, but he still could not decipher her expression. Was she happy with his new job? Angry?
"When did you say you were gonna leave for this job?" she asked. There was no emotion in her voice; it almost sounded robotic.
"Tomorrow night." He felt a thousand years away from her.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. He'd forgotten how quiet it could get in the house, with just the two of them. The last of his seven siblings had already left months ago. So to cover up the silence, Scout would talk. He'd talk nonstop, to the point where his ma nicknamed him "Motor Mouth". It felt nice, with the stream of words filling up the atmosphere. Now he could feel the emptiness again.
She cleared her throat, trying to think of the words to say. "D'you want me to help you pack?" she tried again.
He couldn't help but have a smile form on his lips. No matter how fast he tried to run from her when he was younger, she was always there to catch him when he needed the help. "Ma, I'm already a freakin' adult," he said, rolling his eyes jokingly. "Go relax or somthin'. You deserve it."
She didn't reply immediately. Scout fidgeted, uncomfortable with the oppressive silence. Underneath him, the floorboards creaked loudly, serving as another reminder of how old their apartment was. He quickly made a mental note to try to buy his ma a new place with the money he'd make. At the very least, he could get her out of this hellhole.
Finally, his ma let out a sigh. "How can I relax when the last of my babies is leavin' the roost?"
It was like a bullet had shot through his stomach. In half a second, memories of his ma poured into his mind's eye. She was the one who had taught him how to use a gun, for the sake of surviving the rough streets of Boston. She was the one who had given Scout his metal bat, in case those kids next door were planning to give him a black eye and several bruises. She was the one who got catcalled in the middle of the night, but it always ended with her standing over the unconscious guy, in her flawless high heels and dress.
When Scout told his ma that one day, he'd track down his jackass of a father and make him pay, she laughed. "Oh, sweetie," his ma said, stooping down to place a kiss on his forehead. "If I wanted to make him pay, I woulda done that a long time ago." Then she rubbed his hair affectionately, and walked out of the room, with a basket of laundry in her arms.
She was the leader of the pack, she was the mother bear. She was the one who accepted, protected, and loved her children, no matter what.
In another second, he came to the full realization of what taking this job really meant. It meant him going to New Mexico — far, far away from the dirty and dangerous home he called Boston. And from the last person in the world he wanted to leave.
For once, he had no words to say.
"I'm sorry, Ma," was all he could muster. Then the tears started up, hot and unbidden, and he looked down in shame. He wasn't supposed to cry, not in front of his ma. Wouldn't it make her sad, too? "I'm sorry."
She made no sound, but he found himself wrapped in her warm embrace. They held each other tightly, fearing the moment they would have to let go.