Week 6: Mythical Story Structure

 

            As was tradition, when a person here turned 20, they went through an intricate ritual where an elder would decide the fates of the rest of our lives. Most were excited to be turned loose from their families, finally they would have a sense of responsibility—enough of a purpose to be able to sustain themselves alone. I thought the ceremony was pompous and felt myself increasingly aware that my fate was about to be left up to a person who was generations older than me.

            “C’mon Xai, it’s not going to be too bad,” Mama was busy that morning, braiding my hair into intricate patterns as we prepared for the last rehearsal before the big day.

            “I can’t say you’ve really convinced me there.”

            “Listen, this will probably be one of the last times I see you for a while…don’t you want to savor the last of our time together?” There Mama went again. Her feelings were always hurt a little too easily for my standards. It stupefied me how she was so easily swayed by anything the elders said.

            After Mama finished braiding my hair, we walked into the central room of our small family hut. Papa sat by the fire, taking long draws from his wooden pipe, exhaling clouds of smoke as we entered the room. This was certainly a typical morning in our household. Above the fire, a pot was held above it, porridge boiling within. I could smell a fresh loaf of bread baking in the small stone oven that stood next to our fire pit. The overwhelming scent of food made my stomach rumble, suddenly I felt the need to eat more than the desire for conversation.

            Mama sighed, grabbing three bowls from the cupboard. She handed us each a bowl which we then held out to her, waiting for her to scoop the porridge out. The whole process felt like I was waiting for my daily ration. Lately around here, food was scarce, and often I found myself eating gruel porridge and a small piece of leavened bread. Watching as Mama sauntered her way over to the oven without a word of recognition from Papa, I realized that if I were to stay here, I would end up useless and enslaved like Mama.

            There was no way that I would ever be able to handle that life. And as we ate in silence, Mama only looked up from her bowl a few times, as if she was trying to make sure everything was to Papa’s harsh standards. Suddenly the porridge that was once runny and tasted like raw grains, hardened in my throat. I felt myself struggling to swallow my meal, what once tasted filling enough now tasted like cow feed.

            “You better finish what you eat,” Papa snapped as he glanced over towards me. Goosebumps began to form on my skin, the unwanted attention was proving to be too much for me.

            “Don’t worry Papa, I’m going to finish this bowl to the last drop, I want to look strong for the elders.”

            “Hmph, no need to worry about that. They’ve already made up their minds, no sense in running now.”

            “Now, don’t say that dear, I hope they will continue to be impressed by Xai,” Mama added. Uh oh. I could tell this once peaceful morning meal was going to turn into an uncivil mess.

            “Aren’t you talking outside of your place right now?” That was Papa’s favorite way to shut Mama up. Tradition dictated it. My stomach began to feel sour just looking at the way Mama closed her mouth and cast her eyes downward. In just a few days, I would become the same as her. Everyday like this further convinced me that I would never be ready for the ceremony.

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