Part 7
Chapter 13
My knee isn't broken, but I suspected that was the case anyway. The doctor didn't have anything to tell me that I didn't already know. He warned me about controlling my temper and I held back from telling him to shut up about things he didn't know and probably couldn't understand.
Mom stayed in the waiting room. We separated right when we walked in the front doors of the emergency room. She took a seat near the television and I walked up to the counter to take care of all the paperwork that is involved in getting medical treatment.
I hobble my way down the maze of hallways to get back to the waiting room of the emergency room and Mom is no longer sitting where I left her. So, I make my way outside and see her leaning against the building talking on the phone. She doesn't look particularly mad right now, so that probably means that she's not talking to Catherine.
She hangs up the phone then turns to face me. Her eyes roam over my body and focuses on the black brace that is now covering my knee. "You didn't break anything?"
"I wouldn't say that," I try to smile, not completely wanting to pick right back up where we left off with all the tension. "I'm pretty sure my pride broke a little."
The answering laugh Mom gives is so weak, that I'm mostly ashamed to even call it a laugh. It was more of an awkward sounding grunt. "Catherine is only a few hours away."
So, she was talking to Catherine? "Nikki probably is speeding just so she can get out of being in the same car with Cath and Linds."
Once again, my try at humor elicits a response that signals my humor isn't really that humorous. Mom shrugs her shoulders and turns away from me.
I walk up to her and take a spot on the wall next to her. "What's wrong?" I don't really want to ask it, but the doctor gave me some painkillers so, perhaps, they might help kill some of the pain that this conversation is going to cause me.
Mom crosses her arms in front of her and then inhales a lungful of air. Her actions make me want to take away the question I've let be vocalized. I've decided that I don't want to hear what's wrong. I don't want to have anymore conversations today that include anything about the past, the future, or even our little messed up present.
What I want right now is some blessed silence. I've got enough loudness going on in my head right now that I'm trying to keep at bay. There's no need for me to add anything to it, and I'm sure Mom has got to be feeling the same way. I'm sure there's so much stuff going on with her now that a little extended silence between us would be for the best right now, even if it is stuffed full of this unpleasantly familiar tension.
"How did you meet Nikki?" Mom asks me through her exhale.
"It was at a party." That wasn't so hard.
"Was she using at the time?"
She's going to make this hard. "Yes."
"Then why did you get involved with her?"
Is she accusing me of something? Her voice is sounding very accusatory right now? Is this supposed to be leading into some kind of lecture? I hope she's thought this through. She's had time to decide what she's going to say. I've been in that hospital room waiting for this stupid brace for a least two hours. "She was more than just the drugs."
"It wasn't safe." Her arms fall uselessly to her sides from their previously tight position. "She wasn't safe."
"Yeah?" I respond angrily. "Well, my life wasn't so safe then."
Mom exhales another long breath. "I'm sorry."
If she hadn't made me so angry and if I wasn't already on edge from everything that has happened then maybe that more rational me would accept her apology, but she's not dealing with the more rational me right now. She's dealing with the person who is feeling a little unsettled and a lot insecure. "By your logic, you're saying that if you had met Catherine when she was using then you would have just walked away from her. I don't think I can buy that one."
Mom snorts. "She's the one that would have walked away from me."
"Yeah, well," I don't really have a decent response for her, "not everyone meets under ideal circumstances. You make choices and just hope that the consequences don't completely fuck you over."
"You shouldn't have had to make those choices."
Mom's voice is so soft; I'm almost able to convince myself that what she said didn't sound like she's questioning my decisions from when I was fifteen years old. I've already lived with the consequences of what happened back then. "I refuse to have an argument about the past-tense."
This time Mom's laugh is more recognizable, but still lacks most of the humor of a truly genuine, heartfelt expression of joy. "You sound so much like Catherine. How is that possible?"
She's starting to sound about as off-kilter as I'm feeling. "What is it you want to fight about, Mom? I'm not up to fighting about multiple things at once right now."
Mom slides down the wall to the ground. She drops her face into her hands and I'm slightly afraid that somehow I've managed to break her. This is not a normal interaction for us at all. "I should have been there, Mel."
I slide down the wall just so I can be on a more even level with her. I may not be following this argument very well, but I'm not going to walk away from it. We're going to play this out even if I don't know what it is she's trying to play out with me. "Been where?"
"It shouldn't have been like that, Mel. It shouldn't have been like that for you. You should never have been around anyone like Avery."
This conversation is starting to make a little bit of sense. This isn't about me. It's about her, with me involved in a major way. "I'm not going to argue about the past-tense." Even though that's what I tried to do over and over again when Mom and I first hooked up after my grandparents' accident. I wanted to argue about all the times she wasn't there for me and all the times she let me down. It was important to me for her to know exactly how much I thought she screwed up.
I'm pretty sure that I got my point across, but it didn't exactly make me feel better. I could see that Mom was feeling worse and that I was feeling…not better.
"Not talking about it doesn't make it go away. It doesn't mean I'm any less responsible for it."
I can't necessarily argue with her logic. I'm not completely with her on the responsibility aspect of things, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to win an argument with her about that right now. She's into blaming herself for stuff right now, and I'm not powerful enough to make her stop. I don't think anyone but her is powerful enough to do that. I can only assume that Catherine's already tried.
"Were you just on the phone with Cath?"
Mom looks confused by my complete change of subject and I get a little sadistic thrill from her reaction. It's about time she gets the understanding of how it feels to be on the rollercoaster ride part of the conversation instead of in the lead of it. I'm taking back the reins, since Mom just managed to try and pick an argument with me over her guilt. I'm not feeling that right now, not after everything that has already happened today.
"I needed her help."
"Help with what?"
Mom finally removes her face from her hands, and I can see that she's crying. I didn't mean to make her cry, but maybe her tears really aren't about me either. "I needed her to tell me what to say to you."
Maybe the painkillers are making me hallucinate and I passed out in the hospital room, so none of this conversation is actually happening. "What to say to me about what?"
"Avery."
"What did she say?"
Mom chuckles softly. "She said to trust myself. Obviously, that hasn't worked."
Wait, if she talked to Catherine about what just happened with Avery then that means Nikki might know about it too. Fuck. "Does Nikki know?" My voice drops a couple of octaves and Mom looks at me with those guilt ridden eyes of hers and I suddenly have the urge to slap her.
"I don't know," she whispers bowing her head again.
When I woke up from my little nap, and after Mom woke up too, she seemed so put back together. She took control of what was happening to us and I was the one that felt like the world was spinning too fast for me and I just wanted to get off the ride. She took me to this very personal space and remained in control the whole time. I'm the one that kicked a tree and ended up having to go to the hospital.
So, what happened to the person that was around then? What happened to that mother of mine that was making me feel more secure than I'm feeling right now? "What did you and Catherine talk about while I was sleeping?"
Mom rubs at her eyes but keeps her head facing the ground. "It's not important."
"I'm pretty sure it is."
"She told me to not go to Mom's grave without her," Mom confesses. "She said she'd wait a couple of days if I promised her not to go there."
"Was that it?" It seems like more than that had to be discussed.
"No," Mom wipes at her face again. "We also talked about what I was doing and why. She's scared." Her eyes turn to me. "She asked me to be strong for you."
I'm not sure if I should be offended by the notion that I can't be strong for myself. "The conversation help ground you some?"
Mom nods.
"The grounding wear off?"
Mom nods again.
"I'm not sure this means anything coming from me, but if you had met up with Catherine while she was still using, I don't think either of you would have walked away from each other." They might be angry with each other right now, for reasons that are probably worthy reasons, but they mean a lot to each other. I'm at least sensible enough right now to recognize that. They feed each other positives in a way that they probably can't get from anyone else. The bad side of that, though, is that they probably can feed each other some major negatives that no one else can, too.
Nikki and I are probably the same way, sort of. Although, I don't think we ever have really hurt each other. No, that's not exactly true. We have hurt each other, but we used the convenient cloak of friendship as a barrier for the amount of pain we actually inflicted.
Mom looks like she's going to say something to me, but my phone starts ringing. She digs into her pocket and pulls it out, then hands it over to me. The number on the ID is Nikki's.
I take a deep breath before I answer the phone. "Hello."
"Is it true about Avery?"
I guess that means that Catherine shared Mom's story with Nikki. "Yes."
"I'll kill him." She sounds a little more than upset. She never sounded this angry when he used to threaten me before. She actually asked that I give him leniency.
"I don't think it's worth it." There's no point in me saying that she should have had that same attitude a few years ago.
"Was Bri with him?" So I still get the extreme privilege of telling her that one of her former lovers and childhood friends is dead. Mom just had to skip over that part.
I sigh into the phone. "No," I clear my throat. "He told me that she's dead, Nik, from an overdose."
"That's not too surprising." She's sounds really calm right now, which is why doing this over the phone is probably the worst way to do this. Nikki is good at hiding things in her voice, but I can always read her facial expressions.
"I'm sorry, Nikki." I am genuinely sorry for her loss. I'm sorry that she has to go through this. I'm sorry I'm not there to go through it with her right now, and I'm sorry that…no. I can't even think that. I'm not sorry for taking this trip. The picture I got from Mom still makes this trip worth it. Mom taking me to her secret little hiding place still makes this trip worth it.
My hand reaches out and finds a resting place on Mom's thigh.
"Are you okay at least?" Nikki shouldn't even have to ask me that right now.
"I've got a new fancy knee brace." There's no point talking about Bri or Avery right now while we're still this far apart.
"I can't wait to see it." The sarcastic excitement in her tone doesn't hide the shakiness in her voice.
"It's the only symbol I have from my unsuccessful war on the tree." Mom's hand slides onto mine. So maybe my sarcastic excitement isn't disguising the pain in my voice either.
There's a slight pause, then I hear Nikki clearing her throat. "We're almost there." The shakiness is gone. She's managed to push it away somehow. How often has she had to push it away for me before?
"I'm sorry, Nik. I'm sorry I've pulled you into this." I don't think there's any way right now that I could possibly clear away the voice of my pain right now. It'd probably be best if I could, best for Nikki, but I just don't think I can right now. Maybe that's one of the side effects of the painkiller the doctor gave me. At least, I can hope it's the side effect of the painkiller and not my inability to be just a little bit selfless for once.
"We'll talk about it later," she replies firmly. "Now won't work, Mel."
"I know." Suddenly, I feel like I've started this whole conversation off wrong. I probably feel a little bit like Mom did when she opened her mouth just a little bit ago as I first walked out of those hospital doors. My brain just fucked up somewhere between 'hel' and 'lo'.
"I'll see you when we get there." She hangs up before I get a chance to say goodbye, and I'd like to think that her action isn't a sign of her anger at me, but I haven't been that delusional in a long time.
I close my phone and then lay it down beside me on the ground. My eyes close and I lean my head against the cool brick that's supporting my body. "I think I need a 'get out of jail free' card."
"Nikki's angry?"
Before I open my mouth to answer, Mom squeezes my hand and tells me she's sorry for asking such a stupid question.
"It's hard for me to picture Nikki being angry at you," she confesses. "She's always so gentle with you."
I chuckle softly. "You think so?"
"Are you saying she's not?" I can feel Mom's body perk up next to mine.
I open my eyes, but keep my head leaning back. "No, it's just that I think we find different ways to hurt each other that don't always involve yelling."
"I understand that."
"Yeah," I sigh heavily. "I know you do."
At least, currently, I know that Mom understands. Before this little trip, I'm not sure that I fully got that little dynamic about Mom and Catherine's relationship. It makes sense that that's the way it is. Mom really isn't the yelling type and while I could see Catherine getting into a good fighting match, I just don't see her losing it completely with Mom. I'd say that probably has something to do with Catherine wanting to remain in control, but what do I really know about any of it. I can hardly get things straight with Nikki.
"Do you have any practiced methods that'll smooth things over?" I ask.
Mom gets this incredulous look on her face. "You're asking me for advice?" Her voice rises a little.
"Yeah," I draw out the word. "At least I think I am." My head drops away from the brick and I level my gaze on my mother. "Should I not be?"
The incredulity hasn't left Mom's face yet. "I don't think you've ever asked me for advice before."
"What?" That can't be true. I'm sure I've asked her advice on something before. I might not be able to remember what that thing was at this moment, but I must have asked her for help before on something. "I've asked you for advice before."
Mom shakes her head. "No, you haven't, Mel."
"Okay." I nod. "Then, I'm asking for it now. How do I make Nikki and me better? How do I fix this?"
Mom starts laughing softly, and I'm tempted to pull my hand away from her and indignantly cross my arms. I didn't ask her this to be laughed at. "What?"
"You couldn't have started off asking me for help with something a little easier?" She's smiling and some part of me feels the pull to smile back.
"Does that mean you don't have a cure-all solution?"
"Mel," Mom is completely serious again, "I don't even have a solution for my own relationship."
I nod a couple of times. "I get it."
"I wish I had the answer for you, Mel."
I wish she did too. "Do you think Cath and Nikki are talking about us right now, like this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think they ask each other for solutions pertaining to us?" Catherine and Nikki do spend time together.
"I've never thought about it." Mom says, but I can tell that she's starting to think about it now just like I'm thinking about it now. Maybe they need help trying to fix things just like we do.
Chapter 14
Since Mom took me to her former 'special place', I figured that I could try and return the favor. This time, I drive us to the new spot and give Mom a break from maneuvering us around this place we used to call 'home'.
"It's a school," Mom states the obvious.
"It's my old middle school."
Right now, we're standing outside of the relatively small building staring at the front doors. There are few cars in the parking lot. I didn't think anyone would be here since it's the weekend, and, according to their billboard, it's the beginning of Spring Break as well.
"Why are we here?" Mom sounds confused, or maybe it's a little bit of fear I hear seeping through. This was her middle school as well all those many, many years ago.
"Come on," I push myself off of leaning against my car and start heading towards the side of the building.
"School's out, Mel," Mom reminds me needlessly.
"I'm not here to visit any old teachers." A grin works its way across my face. "I don't think any of them would want to see me anyway."
"I thought you were always a good student?"
"Good is a relative term, Mom." We reach the side of the building and I immediately go to a window and start pushing at it.
"What are you doing?" Mom sounds alarmed. "We can't break in here."
I turn back and give her a small smirk. "Perhaps it's you who was the 'good' student."
"Mel," Mom crosses her arms in front of her, "I can't condone breaking and entering."
"Who's breaking anything," I turn my attention back to the window. "This window has been broken for years, and I'm not the one that broke it. The school has always been too cheap to fix it."
If Nikki was here with me, she probably wouldn't talk to me about breaking and entering, despite the fact that she's a police officer now.
A sigh escapes me. I think I'm really starting to miss Nikki, and we haven't been separated that long. There have been times when we've been separated for longer, but I think I just really want her with me right now. I'm, well not necessarily glad, but am content with having spent this time with Mom, but I think we need some kind of buffer between us right now.
We're falling apart without Catherine and Nikki next to us, holding us up. We're slipping…I'm slipping back into a personality I had thought was shed off of me, out of me.
I get the window open and motion for Mom to go ahead and enter ahead of me. She gives me a dubious look, then shakes her head, but enters the classroom anyway. It's a good thing she's not overweight or anything, because I don't think she would have been able to get through the window otherwise. It'd be all kinds of messed up if either of us got caught because we got stuck.
"Aren't you coming?" Mom asks me.
I shake my head to refocus on my task at hand then enter the building; thankfully, without getting stuck in the window either.
"Now what?" Mom's looking around nervously. I shake my head again, then walk to the classroom door and open it slowly. I stick my head out and take a peek down the hallway; I can't see anyone so step out into it. "Where are you going?" Mom whispers harshly from behind me.
"Just follow me," I whisper back as I carefully jog down the hallway stopping at the corner to take a peek down another hall.
"If Catherine has to bail us out of jail," Mom peeks around the corner with me, "I'm blaming you for everything."
"Have you always been this unadventurous?" I ask, pulling back against the wall.
"If by unadventurous you mean trying not to break the law, then yes, I am unadventurous."
Her words remind me, once more, of how different my mother and I are. My grade school days did consist, sometimes, of things that were illegal. I never got caught, and perhaps that wasn't always for the best. I know now that a lot of things that I did, in part, had something to do with me being bipolar.
I took unnecessary risks and probably hurt a lot of people with my actions. If I wanted to be honest with myself, I really try not to think about a lot of the stuff I've done. It's easier, at least for now, that I don't think about it, because even if I did think about it, I wouldn't know what to do after all the thinking went on. It's not like I can go seek out everyone that I might have hurt or everyone that was affected by me in one way or another and apologize to them all. That's simply not feasible.
I can't help but take a look down the hallway and find myself staring at the set of black lockers that are positioned in front of me. My last year in school, my locker was in this hall, number 635. I can't remember the combination, but that's probably because I never really bothered to use it. I never really bothered to carry my books around to class and cared even less about organizing my class binders, an action the instructors insisted would teach me organizational skills.
Mom thought I was a good student? Well, I was smart; I can at least admit that much. I did my work and managed not to sleep through the idle lectures that the teachers gave day after day, trying to educate my peers that could care less about complex sentences, the Civil War, overused, over-read novels that are taught around the country as standard reading, and mathematical equations no one would remember past the threshold of the classroom door.
Genetics were in my favor when it came to my capacity for knowledge. I always thought that I owed my biological parents for that and it never crossed my mind that I would ever have a Sidle to thank for my intelligence. I never had any issues about being adopted. I was glad for it. I was glad for the people who thought they were insulting me by telling me that I wasn't really my parents' daughter, because I thought it a gift. But then, my 'parents' died and I find out that I did share their blood after all. I find out I'm a Sidle. I get told a story I never even imagined could be true.
Not caring anymore about being caught, I step into the hallway adjacent to the one I'm in, and walk down it. I can't just stand here drowning in my memories anymore. That's not what I came here for. Mom calls out my name in a harsh whisper, but I ignore her. It doesn't matter anymore whether or not she follows me. It doesn't matter if we take this final journey together before Nikki, Catherine and Lindsey arrive.
It's just important that I do this. It's important that I face the things that I thought I'd left behind here. I don't know what Mom remembers as she walks down these halls. I don't know if it's important for me to know any of her memories about this place. I doubt our experiences were similar.
At least she was normal when she was here. She might not have been popular, and I could see her being a little bit of a nerd with her head stuck in a book, but all that means is that she was very different than me.
I was bipolar. This place is where the signs of my disorder started and where they were, for the most part, ignored. I was just one of many children that needed extra attention, but couldn't be given it because so many things were already keeping the school administrators and faculty busy.
Mom is following me and has given up on trying to get me to respond to her. She's walking close behind me and has even grabbed onto my hand. I lead us to a light blue colored door. I reach out for the handle and start moving it around in different directions until I hear a slight clicking sound. The lock has been broken for years too.
The door slides open and I step through it. Once Mom and I are inside, I push it closed, satisfied to hear the clicking of the lock once more. "This is where I spent most of my time," I say. "When things would get too bad at home, I would pack a bag and come here to stay the night."
Mom releases my hand and takes a few steps away from me. She looks around this small space, and I'm unsure from her expression what she thinks about my past hideout.
Her continued silence pushes me to speak. "I met Nikki when I was in high school, but I'd bring her here with me sometimes so that her friends couldn't find us." Hopefully Mom understands that 'friends' is just a euphemism for 'drug dealers' and 'drug addicts'. "This is where I got her clean."
"I don't remember this room being here before." Mom finally looks back at me. She's done evaluating this small bare space, with its unpainted walls and hard cement floor.
"I don't know why they built it," I give a slight shrug. "I think it might have been part of a project that wasn't ever finished." I move over to the unpainted wall and flip the light switch up and down a couple of times. "The electricity isn't even hooked up, so they don't bother to use it for storage space even. All it is, is an empty room with a tiny window that faces the East."
Mom's eyes immediately go to the small window that is only a few centimeters below the ceiling. "This is like a prison cell, Mel."
"No," I shake my head. "The room I had at the B&B was like a prison cell." I prop myself up against the wall and focus my attention on the small window. "This place was my freedom."
"You never got caught in here?" she asks. "No one found out you stayed here?"
"I knew I couldn't tell anyone about this place."
"But you brought Nikki here? You trusted her?"
"I don't think I did," I shake my head, "but I wanted to help her."
"What made you want to do that?" Mom asks me softly. "Why take on that responsibility?"
I give a weak shrug of my shoulders then ask, "Why did you do it for Catherine?"
Mom's gaze turns away from me. "I didn't help Cath get off the drugs, Mel. You know that."
I kick at the ground although there's nothing for me to kick at except for cold cement. "I'm sure you've done other things though." There are a lot of things that have happened between Catherine and Mom that I don't know about. I don't even necessarily need to know about them. I don't know if I want the responsibility that comes with knowing everything that's happened to them and between them.
It's stupid, but a part of me doesn't fully picture Catherine and my mother as actual human beings full of emotions and full of pain. How could I possibly handle trying to take responsibility of that knowledge while still trying to sort out all that shit that keeps on weighing me down?
I was strong once; this room sort of proves that. Once upon a time, I was strong enough to take on the responsibility of caring for someone else and risking myself to care. I risked falling to pieces for Nikki, and I still can't grasp the reason why I even bothered to do it in the first place. I didn't love her then, not like I love her now.
"Why would I risk that?" I say aloud to the emotionless walls of the room.
Mom walks up to me and places herself against the wall next to me. "Risk what?"
I blink a couple of times then turn my head so that I can look into her eyes. "Why would I risk caring about someone else when I didn't even care about myself?"
Mom looks unprepared for my brutally honest musings. She moves a little bit away from me, and then turns her gaze away from me completely, which doesn't matter that much to me since I didn't expect to get an answer from her. I didn't even expect to voice my thoughts, so I'm not really missing out on anything.
Mom blows out a big breath as she runs her hands through her hair. "This is hard for me, Mel," she says softly and probably a little unnecessarily. I know that this is hard for her; it hasn't been a walk in the park for me either. I'm pretty sure that none of this is supposed to be particularly easy. The easiest part of this whole trip thus far, has been the packing of my bag before I left, and I'm not sure that was entirely easy either.
"Yeah," I draw out the word unsure what to say after I've turned it into a five syllable word, so I kick at the floor again as I stuff my hands deep into my pockets.
Mom's hands settle at her sides. "Sometimes, it's hard for me to believe you're my daughter."
I'm not sure what that means. "What do you mean?"
"This doesn't seem entirely real, Mel," she whispers to the ground. "It doesn't always feel real."
This would completely suck if this was just an elaborate hallucination in one of our minds. With my history, chances are that the hallucination would be mine, and when I managed to get in touch with reality again, I'd be back in this little safe space I found for myself wishing just one more time that my life was completely different.
If my life for the last few years has been a hallucination, then I don't want to know about it. "Sometimes Mom, the surreal is real."
Mom closes her eyes. "I know." A humorless laugh escapes from her. "When I woke up in my old bedroom, I thought I hadn't woken up at all."
And when I woke up, I blocked everything out and pretended like things were different so that I wouldn't have to deal with it. I had Catherine on the phone to keep me preoccupied. Wait, I had Catherine on the phone… "That's why you kept Cath on the phone; it's why you didn't hang up. She was there to tell you that it was real and that it was okay."
Mom doesn't open her eyes but she does manage to give me a slight nod, and suddenly I feel like my brain is finally starting to wake up to this whole set of experiences that my mother and I have shared in what is probably now just over twenty-four hours.
"We didn't have to stay there, Mom." I took the phone away from her. I would have sacrificed receiving that picture to keep Mom from waking up into a nightmare. We can take new pictures. We can make different memories.
"I woke up to you, Mel." Her eyes finally open.
"I shouldn't have taken the phone away. I should have thought ahead, maybe considered that you'd be waking up into the reality of one of your nightmares." I should have tried to stay up at least until she was asleep. The minute I found out we were in her old room, I should have done something, just anything. I shouldn't have been too tired to fucking care.
Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. "I woke up to you, Mel." She repeats and says it exactly like she said it the first time, with the same tone and everything. This is supposed to mean something to me, because it obviously means something to her.
"What does that mean?" My brain is too stupid right now to figure all this out on its own. It's ironic, considering that I'm currently standing in a school, where supposedly brains are supposed to do most of their critical thinking.
"I had dreams about sleeping in the room after I left," Mom's hand remains on my shoulder. My guilt and current self-loathing is telling me to pull away, but my concern lets me allow the contact. "I'd have this dream where I would wake up in my old bedroom and my mother would be standing over me with your lifeless body in her arms. She would say that your death was my fault, and then would toss your body at me, and I would try to revive you but I never could. You were always too far gone for my help."
When she woke up earlier, she woke up to me. I get it; I was alive.
"I've tried so hard to change that dream," Mom's hand falls from my shoulder. "I've tried to make things different, but I could never change it. It's always been the same."
"But the reality is different, Mom." I remove my hands from my pockets. For a short moment, I consider reaching out for her, but can't find it in me to do so right now.
Mom looks directly into my eyes. "Do I deserve it to be?" she asks and the seriousness of her question just about knocks me over.
I'm not ready to pass judgment on her. I might have been more than ready to do that in the past, but I'm not ready, nor am I comfortable with doing that now. I have enough judgment right now to pass down on myself. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if either of us deserves anything we have at this point, we have it and we should at least try to keep it."
"It's like Catherine's raised you," she comments and I'm unsure if my words have been taken in the way that I'd meant them.
"Mom," this time I don't stop myself from reaching out to my mother and grabbing onto her hand. "Catherine has some pretty good ideas at times. I know she's not perfect, but someone has to be the voice of reason and neither of us is completely up to that task yet."
Mom shakes her head, and then pushes herself off of the wall. "Let's get out of here."
"I love you, Mom." I stay where I am. "That's the reality now."
My words make Mom's body deflate. Her shoulders sag down as she lifts her head to look back at me. She cups my face with the palm of her right hand. "I love you too, Mel."
"Then what's wrong with me sounding like Catherine?" I force myself to keep my focus on her eyes. Looking away right now would spur my entire body to pull away.
"I'm jealous, Mel. I never really thought about being your mother, because I never thought I'd get the chance, but now that I've been given it, I've wanted it more than anything. I've wanted the chance to be your mother, but you've given it to Catherine." Mom pulls her hand away from my face. "You gave it to Catherine long before you even knew you were my daughter."
The denial that's been forming in my brain stops before my mouth can voice it. Denying what Mom's said, would just be me lying to try and make her feel better. I don't feel like lying to her right now. We've been honest thus far; I wouldn't want to mess with it now, because the simple truth is more than obvious. I might call Sara my mother, and I might mean it, but I've chosen Catherine to be my parent. I've chosen to go to her for comfort and advice. I've chosen to let her hold onto me when I felt myself breaking apart. I haven't struggled at all with her.
I don't know how to change that. I don't know how to completely remove the past from my mind to let my mother actually act like my parent. We've made strides in that direction, but we're not there yet.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
Mom's hand reaches back up and she wipes my tears away. "I didn't mean to hurt you either."
I nod my understanding, although I'm not sure my understanding is as full as it can be. I don't completely understand this. I've not been able to fully understand anything recently. I can't help but briefly wonder where that metaphorical box is that helps what seems like everyone else on the planet compartmentalize all these confusing things into their understanding.
That box needs to exist for me. I need to put everything in there and be able to pull out direction and understanding for my life. I don't want to make any more mistakes. I don't want to hurt anyone else. I'm tired of all this pain, and I'm tired of talking myself into believing that I'm releasing some of it when it doesn't seem to really be going anywhere.
I'm tired of always having to get better. I just want to be better. I just want my family…I just want my mother without all these things standing between us. I want it to be like when I'm in her arms and manage to forget things and manage for just a few moments to remember that she's my mommy. She loved me when I was born and held me with a smile on her face.
Why couldn't it just have been like that my whole life? Why couldn't it have been that way for both of us?
The last piece of me that has been holding the physical distance between my mother and I has been shattered. I jump into her body and wrap my arms around her. It doesn't matter that I'm taller and bigger than her, because I feel small when I'm around her.
She falls a few steps back as she adjusts to my weight, but she doesn't let me fall. She wraps her arms around my body and she tries to tell me that everything is going to be okay. I do my best to try and listen.
She promises me that we have time to change things and to make a difference. I do my best not to tell her that sometimes, I fear that time might actually be the only meaningful thing that exists between us.
Continued...