In his mind, Uriel knew that is all he was ever seen as and all that he would ever be seen as, no matter where he went. His mama never called him that, but she never defended him or murmured in hushed whispers like the other grown people would.
No, his mama sat in her chair, eyes empty and gone. So far gone, Uriel did not know she was gone when he was very little, until he saw her- well there. Life in her eyes, not light but movement behind the usually blank brown eyes. But any other time, she was gone. No one was behind those brown eyes, not until the rare nights came and she picked up her pencil.
The first time Uriel had seen this was on a humid thick Kentucky night. Mama had her long hair drawn back from her face, small long fingers wrapped around a pencil and the steady scratching of the lead working on paper. At first, Uriel thought his mama was writing. She did this now and then, but now her hand was moving in different direction and even in the low light of the lamp and the moon shining brightly, not being able to conceal as the wind pushed passed the drapes.
Windows left open in an attempt to make the suffocating days a little better inside the house with the slight breeze; even the nights were unbearably hot for in late July. So much so, that Uriel could never sleep, neither did his mama. Then again his mama didn't sleep much at night anyway, usually dozing in her chair or on the couch.
If she ever went to her room to sleep, sometimes Uriel wouldn't see her but a few passing times to the restroom. But on that one night, and some to come he would see her alive. See her hands move and eyes showing the gateway to what his mama looked like in these rare moments. But Uriel barely knew what made her so alive on the papers, she usually tore them up and put them away or hid her them in her coat to deposit whatever her treasures were.