Losing My Words

William slammed the car door shut against my arm, forcing me to hunker lower into the soft leather of the plush seat of his sporty car. My breath stuttered in gulps, synthetic pine mixing with the scent of new car. I kept my eyes directed to my lap. 

He sighed into his seat next to me. Another slam. This time his door. I bunched up my toes, stretching the tops of my loafers. They were scuffed anyway. That police officer hadn’t cared a fig about them when she’d stuffed them into a plastic bag. I shuddered, goosebumps peppering the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right.

“What on earth were you thinking, Mom? You’re nearly eighty. You can’t get arrested at your age.”

I swallowed, my mouth bone dry, words mixing into a blurred mush in my head. “I…” 

William smacked his fist against the steering wheel. 

I glanced over, catching the white of his knuckles as the skin stretched. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry? For fuck’s sake! I need more than that.” His nostrils flared like a dragon breathing fire. 

I was transfixed, watching him posture and flex, pupils wide and black. Thoughts of the police station fell away as I was transported to the past. “Do you remember your favorite book when you were little? Boris, The Blue Dragon. He went on adventures, didn’t he? To the fun fair and the beach. The best one was the zoo. He couldn’t work out why all those animals were behind bars and he was—”

“What the actual fuck?” His words came out like a roar. Very appropriate for a dragon.

“Please don’t say the f word, William. You know I don’t like it when you swear.” I returned to staring at my lap and my face fell with a frown. Why were my linen suit pants so crumpled? I barely recognized them. I pressed at the fabric, smoothing it. It sprung back to messy the moment I let go.

William sighed again. This time the sound of someone trying to calm down. Good. The more he yelled, the more it mushed up my thoughts. His hand landed on mine with a thud. It was likely intended as a gentle gesture. Comforting. But he dwarfed me, the dark hairs on his fingers looking like spider legs as my age-wrinkled hands were engulfed. Trapped. I couldn’t escape. 

My throat clammed up. I tried to wriggle myself free, but he tightened his grip. 

“Talk to me, Mom. Help me understand. I know it’s been rough since Dad died, but I thought you were doing ok.”

“What do you mean?”

 “Has something happened I don’t know about? Something to do with money?”

“Why isn’t your father here? Where is he?”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Who, dear?”

“The police officers. Were they rough with you?”

I blinked, cycling through the words, more and more of them now, swimming at speed. It made sense for a moment, and then snap, it didn’t. It had been right there on the tip of my tongue but now it was gone, tumbling and bleeding away. 

“What do you mean, the police officers?”

He flinched. A tiny movement, but just enough. He did that a lot recently. Shrinking away. Holding things in. Squeezing his eyes shut. “Never mind, Mom. Let’s get you home.”

“Home. Yes. I need to change. Look at me, I’m a mess.”

“We’ll get you sorted. Don’t worry.” He released my hands and switched on the ignition. 

I glanced over my shoulder as he pulled smoothly into the traffic. “What are we doing at the police station, dear? You’re not in trouble, are you?”