I fifteen then and Belgium was beautiful. My mothers apartment happened to be located between the two rivers of Liege, with a perfect view from the gallery. One could see the bridge, cafes, and the many different boats gliding across the grey waters. My eyes were not occupied with such sights though, since Chantal took to her guilt with a glass of gin again. It was strange to see her in that condition- what I mean is she was not lashing out, which is what I was used to. She sat in her floral couch crying in silence, and looking to me for an answer- to what, I might never know. Lee, when I was sick as a little girl my father would buy a small cake, and pour milk over it- so I could swallow it, my throat was.. whats the word for it again? Sore? She was silent for a moment, then barely nodded, sniffling. You know, its the only memory I have of him, thats good... Why doesn't he answer my letters? Why does he send back my gifts Lee? Why? I stood there, unable to answer feeling uncomfortable since I was used to avoiding her when she got in such a state- Memory recalled how unstable she is at such moments. She so desperately wanted me to show some sort of affection. She needed comfort, and I trembled tempted to turn away and leave- but my shaky arms embraced her slowly taking a seat by her, letting her sway in my arms. A few minutes later she pulled away and asked me to bring her a blanket. After that she laid out right there on that old thing, covered herself and asked that I leave her in peace. I started on my way to a cafe, her voice paused me a moment, Lee, thank you... so much, I... I'm sorry. Its ok mamman, its ok.