The Rainbow Maker's Tale by Mel Cusick-Jones

of silence I realised that she was not going
to pass me the vitamin.
    Maybe she hadn’t understood the
meaning behind my gesture. I stepped back into the living space and
walked past Mother to the table. The tablet was still half-hidden
behind the juice glass and I reached over to pick it up. Circling
towards the bathroom again, I’d taken two steps when Mother
spoke.
    “Can you take it in here,
please?” She asked, her tone was neutral but the words were
clipped, as though she resented having to speak them. It felt more
like a command than a question.
    I turned for a third time,
confusion reigning now. Why did I need to take it in here? It didn’t seem like it should matter where I was so long as I’d
taken my daily dose. And, it was only a vitamin tablet after all –
surely I’d survive one day even if I did forget it? Mother’s
behaviour was getting odder by the minute.
    “You have to take the tablet
with juice rather than water,” Mother said, nodding at the capsule
clasped in my hand, “it helps it break down for easier
digestion.”
    I nodded automatically and went
back to the table for my juice glass, noting that Mother was
watching my actions carefully. Placing the small tablet on my
tongue – it now felt huge because of the strange significance it
had taken on in the past minute – I glugged down a mouthful of
juice. The pill remained resolutely stuck to my tongue, resisting
the torrent of orange liquid that sloshed around my mouth, trying
to force it down my throat. Another mouthful and the tablet still
had not dislodged and the glass was now empty.
    Why did I do it?
    I don’t know. But, instead of
getting something else to drink, or even swallowing the vitamin dry
because it was easily small enough to do that, I pushed the tablet
to the side of my mouth and left the room. Mother seemed content,
now that I’d taken my dose, and allowed me to escape to the privacy
of the bathroom without further questions.
    Closing the door behind me and
locking it firmly I opened my mouth and pulled out the offending
tablet. It sat in my open palm: small and unassuming with only a
tiny amount dissolved around the edges from my attempts to wash it
down my gullet.
    Why was it so important? I prodded the pill, as though that might magically release the
answer for me. It didn’t.
    Through my bewilderment over
the whole episode I was conscious of the unsettling notion that
Mother had answered unspoken questions straight from my mind. I
replayed the conversation in my head, trying to understand what had
happened.
    I’d forgotten my tablet…she’d
asked me to come back for it…she wouldn’t pass it to me and asked
that I take it in the room…the implication was that I took the
tablet where she could see me…that had confused me and I’d wondered
why I had to take it in there…thought it wouldn’t matter where I
took it…and then she’d given me the answer for something I’d not
asked…not asked aloud at least.
    Had the question been written
so plainly in my expression that she’d been able to guess what I
was thinking?
    It was possible, I conceded,
but it didn’t feel right . I paused a few moments longer,
mulling over the peculiar exchange. More likely was that Mother
knew my inquisitive nature: that I liked to understand how
everything worked and why. Of course, she was unaware of how far I really took things, but still, she knew enough about me to
think that I’d want some reason to back up her request. That must
be it.
    The pill still sat in my open
palm. A new question began playing around my head. For the first
time I had a tablet in my hand, without someone watching over my
shoulder while I obediently swallowed it. I was alone now and had
the freedom of choice whether to take it or not…what would I
do?
    Of course I wasn’t going to be
a good boy and do what I was told if there was no one watching. I
curled my fingers around the capsule and pushed it carefully into
my pocket. It would be nice to