At night I dream of her.
The once glorious beauty I’ve never seen beam.
Her soothing telephone voice blankets my childhood bedroom of our old house.
It wafts upstairs with her glorious happy housewife tone.
My innocence is awakened and eased out of bed.
It’s safe.
I stare at my feet from the top of the steps where I have perched myself. She floats up the hallway with her dainty feet beneath her. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I can’t sleep.” I reply.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her eyebrows make that uneasy arch and I am sent into a tailspin of memories. Her face contorts and melts away from her body. The images flash so quickly I’m afraid I’m going to be sick.
She hovers over me watching. I jump. “Hello…” she mutters with a toothy comatose grin. NEXT Cigarettes coat her gaunt figure this time. “I just miss my baby…” she yells. ANOTHER She’s clawing at me, tugging my 101 Dalmatian pajama dress almost off my small frame, “DO YOU WANT THEM TO TAKE ME AWAY?” her face contorts again. The scenery changes; I’m in our old station wagon, she gets out to get the mail, forgetting the parking break. The car rolls down the hill. There’s a tree. I’m too young to know how to stop it. SMASH. Blood coats the windshield. AGAIN I’m five or six, I’ve disobeyed her. I want to swim for ten more minutes. She tells me to swim over to the side of our newly lined pool. The different shapes of blue fascinate me. She pulls me out by my hair, “I said no.” I reach up to feel the blood on my scalp. MORE She throws a diner plate through the door, breaking the first pane of glass. NOW She lifts up a stool in a fit of rage and slams it against the main support beam of the house, “I HATE YOU! I HATE MY LIFE! LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” FASTER she’s on the toilet, I’m very young two or three. I tell her to shut up for the very first time. She slaps me across my small face. I slap her back and run to hide under her bed. I black out from fear. All of these are familiar but I can feel the new seeping through the black cracks. She’s holding a knife. SWITCH She’s increasing the speed of the car…70,80,90, “I’ll end it for us both little girl!” She positions the moving vehicle in front of a telephone pole, just yards away. NEXT She’s holding a can of hair spray or pledge. She pulls out a lighter. NEXT She’s holding a gun. She pulls the trigger. MORE She’s turning the knife in my side. I’m older. I’m laughing at her, her only weakness, “You sick bitch.” A quick flash of light and she’s throwing away my My Little Pony’s in a 12 foot dumpster. AGAIN I’m in a white room. A straight jacket, I always knew I’d turn out like her. There’s a beam of light at the door. The locks shift from their place and she walks in the door. I scream in horror. Anything but her. NOW I revisit those eyebrows, the very ones that Chunga tattooed on so many years ago. I can’t feel. I can’t see what she’s done to me this time. I see her walking away, her calming whistle telling me the damage is done and she has snapped back into loving mother. I look to my left, my mind tells me that’s the color of blood.
I jerk awake to her sickening laugh. It’s 9:30 am. I’m safe.
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