Visual Trigger

Nurul Ain Bte Muzlan

10064266K

T1B2

Jordan trudges to his usual spot in the dim-lit and clammy underpass. He plops onto the cemented ground and leans his old classical guitar against the moss-covered wall. He heaves a deep sigh and gazes at the passers-by who have always treated him as though he is invisible. He’s tired. Too tired of having to support his living this way. Sometimes he wonders if God really do have mercy for him. If this is what’s left for him, then what’s the use of living? Why…why do I have to exist in this cruel world, he thought. His hands tremble. He clenches his fist and shuts his eyes, fighting back the tears welling up in his eyes from flowing down to his bony cheeks.

Out of the blue, he sees a short, plump, familiar-looking woman wearing a white satin dress standing in a black background. She draws a smile from her face and stretches her arms, as though about to give him a hug. Jordan quickly opens his eyes. “Mom?” he murmurs. No, it cannot be. He must be dreaming again. Mom’s gone, Jordan, he told himself. GONE.

It all starts with Jordan’s ambition–to become like Bon Jovi or Duran Duran–rock stars that have thousands of fans screaming for them and willing to pay huge bucks to catch them on stage. Jordan was so desperate that he immediately accepted a recording company’s offer to make an album, being as blind as a bat and as foolish as an elephant.

He crept into his mom’s room and rummaged through the pile of clothes to find the money she saves. Out of the blue, his shoulder was tapped. He turned around and saw his mother standing before him. “What are you trying to do?”she asked. Her eyes were a big as golf balls. Wrinkles were evident on her forehead. Nonetheless, Jordan ignored and continued the search. Upon finding, he grabbed every single cent and headed towards the door. His mom tucked his shirt, trying to stop him from getting out of the house. She begged him that the money were her only savings left. Nevertheless, her efforts were to no avail when Jordan shoved her away, causing her to fall to the ground with a loud thud, shutting her eyes forever.

Seasons changed. Years went by. Jordan’s album was nowhere in sight. He did not even get the chance to enter the recording studio. His fingers were tired of pressing his cellular phone keypads a gazillion times, trying to contact the company’s manager. Only then, he realized he was fooled. He had nothing left. His mom. His family. His dreams. All were completely shattered into smithereens.

Jordan buries his face in his hands. He is in a fetal position, shaking, unable to control the verge of tears. He gives up. All he wants to do is to cry, to let go all of his remorse. He knows there’s no use crying over spilt milk. Nevertheless, he is just too weak. The pain is like a preternatural beast, clawing his insides, causing them to bleed profusely.

When he lifts his face from his soggy hands, he realizes that he’s now alone in the underpass. The silence is overwhelming that he can hear a pin drops. He glances at his watch, his only possession left. It’s way pass midnight. He is feeling even more lethargic from all that crying. He grabs his guitar and stands up. However, he does not leave immediately. He takes the guitar out of its case and begins to strum. “Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.That leaves only me to blame ‘cos Mama tried.” Merle Haggard’s Mama Tried, the song that accompanies him through the night.