JOANNE: LIFE OF A SINGLE MUM

PROLOGUE:

MEMORIES

Joanne Anderson has had a lot on her mind recently and was gradually declining in mental health. Lately she discovered she was pretty occupied with shattering thoughts, ones that brought pain and absolute agony. Memories of the recent events filled her mind presenting themselves in a suffocating manner. She changed her position on the couch and turned her attention to the huge photo frame hanging firmly on the opposite wall in the living room. A tuxedo couch positioned against the wall sat below it, the lower verge of the frame meeting the top edge of the couch back. Joanne stared at the subject, a man with a broad and somewhat round face, a pair of protruding eyes, thin brows and tiny eyelashes, a wavy nose, a large mouth with wide lips curved into a happy smile which denoted a feeling of true enjoyment, friendliness and contentedness, a large Verdi beard, one with a handlebar mustache giving him an air of a large and well-made man. He had on an olive green peaked hat and, with the little view of his shoulders, matching combat uniform. A close study of the picture, though a portrait showed a man with an enormous size and great ways. Joanne who was starting to crying sniffed and fought back tears, nodding and shaking her head at once. From where she sat, another similar but smaller photo frame hung high on the wall at the other side of the room perpendicular to the hearth where some electronic gadgets like the television set, two loud speakers and DVD players were placed. In the picture was the same man and a very beautiful woman holding hands, smiling and staring lovingly at each other. It was a setting about a couple who loved and desired the other with all they had. This first memory broke her and she felt her chest tighten. She let the tears roll down her face, let it flow from her eyes to give her the satisfaction she wanted. Looking around the room, she realized that almost everything in the house served as a reminder of the person she had loved with all her being, the father of her two lovely children, the only man she had given her heart to, for the protection and love it needed and the greatest points she believed was the best he had offered to her. Her eyes caught another photo frame on the small side table beside one of the two sofas in the room and she walked towards it. She picked it and ran her right thumb over the surface. It was a picture of the children and their father. Little Phoebe was held by father with her hands around his neck while ten-year old Richard held hands with him. Nothing could be compared to this other than a happy family. She wiped a tear from the edge of her eyes and sniffed. Even in death, she was proud of him. Proud of the life he lived, his achievements, the way he cared for his loved ones. She was indeed proud of him and she couldn't do anything less. Didn't want anything less. She tightened her hands around the frame. This was a memorial possession. All his pictures were. She loved him and their children did too, a great deal. She would never forget him, would never forget a great man who fought and sacrificed his life for his State, neglecting all that mattered in his life. He was a hero, her hero, their children's hero, has always been one and will always be an unforgettable hero. "Jerry Jones" she called the name painfully but proudly and sighed. A sigh that brought great relief to her whole being. Everyone will always respect him for who he was. She was sure of that.

CHAPTER ONE: THE SUDDEN TRANSFORMATION

"You are not having that outfit for your school party, Richard" Joanne blew hot at her only son. She admitted he had grown up and wouldn't like to be ordered around or made to do what she wanted but that wasn't going to change the fact that she was his mother and he had to listen to her. He had grown pretty stubborn within a period of five years, few months after the episode of their father's death gradually died down but she wasn't going to be immune to it. "You are going to listen to me and that's final" she warned him. Put that cloth back in your bag and....." Richard's glare cut her off. His nose flared and his fists clenched "How long are we going to continue like this mum...huh.... you don't allow me get what i want and it's getting too damn awkward. I don't like the state of things in the house...damn it" he cursed and sank on the chair in the room. Two damns in a rush. "Don't you talk to me that way" she warned again. "And don't you ever make use of swear words. I have told you never to say that " she said again and shook her head. Phoebe had gone to school early in the morning and she was thankful this was happening in her absence. Her brother's recent risen temper she dreaded and because of that they never got along since their father passed away. Richard was five years older than Phoebe but that large age difference factor didn't cause a distant relationship between them when they were little. Richard had always wanted a baby sister and with the birth of Phoebe at a time of dire need for one, he loved her so much. It was with the passing of their father that everything changed completely between them, Richard being the faulter. She had attributed that to his sudden behavior towards her and his sister though unsure of what was changing in him or happening within him. She wanted to handle the matter with the appropriate levity because of his present condition. She didn't want him getting sicker than he already was. He had developed a serious Fever in the past couple of days, lending him to take some days off from school to rest and get back in good shape. Now things weren't just making sense.

To be continued....👈