SS-BraveMa

Brave Mother

My mom is very brave. As a child, I would watch her go down into the basement all alone, in spite of the dangers
that existed down below.

We never went down there alone. There were too many shadows and noises and creaks from above.
More importantly, we knew about the foamy water monster who came out of the washing machine to try to
swallow up our family. Mom also knew about this strange beast, who would rear its ugly face about once a year,
but it didn’t deter her.

When it happened, here’s how it would go: the rest of our family would be relaxing in the playroom, watching TV,
when all of a sudden a loud crack would be heard from the basement. “Oh my God!” Dad would immediately
wake up from his couch slumber and the kids would snap out of our television trances. “It’s Mom! She is
downstairs all alone and something is happening to her. Hurry, run!” Dad would lead the way in his underwear,
followed by George (the oldest brother), trailed by me and Kathy, leaving baby Didi alone and unguarded.

By the time we reach the bottom landing of the basement, water is everywhere on the floor (no matter how many
times it happened, we never got there in time to actually see the beast). Mom saw the beast; you can tell by the
look on her face, the sheer terror in her eyes. As the foamy water retreats down the drain in the floor, we try to
calm Mother down and come up with a plan of action on how to clean up the slimy mess left behind.

First and foremost, we decide, we must protect Mom from further harm and trauma. Dad says, “Go upstairs and
relax, honey, we will take care of this. Somebody go get a mop and a bucket and let’s get this water off the
floor.” (This meant, “George and Michael, stay downstairs and clean up this mess while I go back upstairs and
watch TV.”)

Mom would then calm herself with a cup of hot tea and read a few chapters from her book until bedtime.
The rest of us could only imagine what Mom had experienced in the basement, because she never spoke about
it after it happened. Mom knew that tomorrow, and the next day, she would still have to venture, alone, down
into the basement, where kids were not welcome.

The washing machine would then become silent again and hold its water within the confines of its washing
chamber, but for how long, nobody knew.

It was just a matter of time before the calm of our house would be shattered once again by the soapy, bubbly,
watery creature from the deep, who would only rear his ugly face to our brave mother.

S hort Stories Page 1

by Michael Domino