AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I wanted to be what she wanted. But I didn’t want to be her. I didn’twantto be bitter and unhappy. I didn’t want to make others do what I wanted them to do. I didn’t know why she’d want thatforme. I just wanted to be myself and do my thing and let other people do their things. That didn’t seem like such a bad life. But I was always disappointing my mother.
She thought she was doing it all for me, that I hated my father as much as she did. When I was eight, she picked me and my sister up and took me away to a better life. It happened to be one more convenient for her boyfriend at the time, but it that wasn’t what upset me. I was fine with things being better for me. But she lied to me, the first big lie she ever told me. This isn’t my therapy session, so I won’t go into the details. I didn’t even realize the lie until years later.
I never forgave her for it.
Afterwards, she told me it was my fault we moved. “You were the one who always complained about school. I was just trying to get you to a better school.” It’s true. I was always complaining about the recess coaches. They always yelled at everyone for something thatone kiddid. I must have whined about them every week. I’m sure that got annoying for my mother. She told me she’d fix the problem. My mother loved when I, or anyone else, gave her something to fight against. Like civil war battles for trans or queer folk. She was the first to push for unisex bathrooms in our school district. She also screamed at me when I came out of the restrooms at the mall food court, because I didn’t tell her I was going. I was sixteen.
I told her one time that I wanted to go dress shopping for a school dance. She threw herself into a frenzy like I’d announced I was getting married. She bought me a $5,000 dress, shoes, took me to get a $600 haircut. When she dropped me off at the school, I hid in the cafeteria. I was too embarrassed to be around my classmates. And I did. When I got home, I went and shut myself in my room and shut myself in my room. The thrill of the shopping was over for me and I didn’t want to hear her passive aggressive complaints about how my father never gave her enough money. Because apparently high school kids all need to spend ten-grand on their prom or it’s not good enough. And here I was thinkingIwasn’t good enough.
She was a very good lawyer. That’s how she got me from my dad. She said he wasn’t a good father and the courts believed her. Or maybe they wanted to believe her. She never seemed to have any reason, but if I asked her why she left my dad, she got mad. Like it should have been obvious. Maybe all those people around her didn’t want her to get mad at them, either. I don’t know their reasoning. But everyone around her seemed to understand why she did what she did. Maybe I missed something, or maybe I was too close.
My sister loves my mother. She didn’t mind the move. She was sure my mother knew best. And it makes sense. When my mother failed with me, my sister was her chance at redemption. To get her perfect doll child. And my sister accommodated. My sister thinks I’m just making a big deal out of nothing, but, well, that’s nothing new. Most people tell me that. Like my first four therapists. Told me if it was that big a deal, I could just tell my mother how I felt. Because that’s how it works with a narcissistic abusive mother. Don’t ruin Christmas. So, I didn’t. I just stopped going.
I suppose my mother meant well. I don’t believe most mothers mean to hurt their daughters. They just…don’t always understand children. My mother was one of those moms who hoped her daughter would be her “mini me.” That’s what she’d always say, “You are so my mini me!” She was always telling her friends I was such a “mini me,” too, and they always nodded in agreement. If my mother looked like me, I don’t know how they’d know. She straightened and dyed her hair. Wore contacts and got nose surgery. I looked like I was adopted, if you want to know the truth. But maybe they meant I acted like her. I hoped they were wrong. She was a bitter and unhappy person who liked to be fake cheery around other people. But, after all, most of her friends were fake cheery, too. It was like a whole subculture. Like attracts like, so they say.
My mother said that no man could be trusted. But she had a child with my father, didn’t she? She said she had to leave, that she had to take care of herself. That he never was going to be what she’d hoped he would be. He was not enough for her, I understood that. What I didn’t know was if I was enough for her.
I certainly never felt enough.
Yet, I will forever be grateful to her. My mother taught me exactly what I did not want to be. She was stuck in her past. I will always be moving forward. (As for my father, well, he wasn’t around much. And I do not forgive him for this, either. He should have fought for me.)
* * *
My motheralways relied heavily on her parents. My grandmother was a rather cruel woman. I suppose that is why my mother became the person she did. But, after all, someone has to break the cycle.
When we got a six-month-old puppy, my grandmother threw her across the living room. I don’t even remember why. I suppose because she could. Nobody ever called her on anything, least of all my mother. Once, my grandmother told my mother to slap me for talking back. My mother made sure I knew about this, but to her credit, she didn’t hit me.
I always thought the world should be ruled by women. But…not just any woman, of course. Not her.
But my grandfather, I liked him. He was always so nice to me. He made sure there were always milk and cookies in the house for me— and helped me sneak extra cookies after I was supposed to be asleep. He showed me old photographs, old memories of near forgotten adventures. They looked magical, like something out of a children’s story. He laughed with me. He played stupid kid games with me. Because it made me happy.
He passed two years go.. I will never forget him. And I went to Thailand.
* * *
And lest youfeel sorry for me, I had another mother in my life. Blood is not always thicker than water. She was as much my mother as my blood and flesh mother.
She was the one thing that kept me close to my father. Until he left her, too. But when I emancipated myself at sixteen, she took me into her home. She kept all my baby pictures and made sure I had albums of all my memories.
I thank her for showing me that I was, in fact, worthy of love. Did she and I fight? Absolutely. I was your typical terror teenager. I cringe looking back at that me, but, hey, it’s not like I was any different than a billion other teenagers. She didn’t think I was different, either. She thought I was like every other teenager. And that was enough reason to love me. She didn’t always do what I wanted, but she always, always listened to me. It’s a funny feeling the first time you feel heard.
She passed away in a car accident when I was 20. When I heard it, I didn’t feel sad. I felt warm inside, that she’d gone to a place that would appreciate her. Where she wouldn’t be hurt anymore. I went to her funeral, even though I got punished for it. But I didn’t care. I had to be there for the woman who’d been there for me, and on terms I wanted. Being there for someone who doesn’t want you there doesn’t count. But I did want her there with me. I wondered why this was such a hard thing for other adults to understand.
I believe she stayed on this Earth just long enough for me to bloom into adulthood. She was my first guardian angel, before my other guardian angel entered my life shortly after. I still wonder if it’s still her. If she is my guardian angel, but from above. Spiritual beings don’t communicate that clearly. I hope it’s her. I just don’t know.
She made sure I survived into adulthood. I was a young, stupid adult with a partially formed brain, but I was still living on my own. I am eternally grateful for her.
My uncle, her brother, still reaches out to me. It’s comforting to know that he wouldn’t abandon me, just because she was gone. He’s one of the few who didn’t give me abandonment issues. I like that about him.
He likes to invite me over and make me coffee and “biscuits” (because he lived in London for five years, twenty years ago). Then we sit in the living room and he shows me old pictures of her. Tells me stories about her and him growing up. I like to imagine this is my own childhood with my sister and I. It’s like I can superimpose their life on my own.
Of course, he could be manipulating me, but I don’t care. I don’t believe he is, but he is only manipulating me to feel good. And why should I be denied that?
She is a ghost of my past, but because of him, I find the spirit world and cemeteries soothing, not spooky. So now I like to wander in cemeteries whenever I visit a new city. I’ve visited the grave of Eva Person, Shakespeare, and Henry the Eighth. I found out he’s buried with not only Jane Seymour, but a stillborn child. I wonder if that’s the child of Anne Boleyn.
* * *
Everyone has ghosts,and those are my ghosts. I guess what I’m saying is, until I met Him, I was mostly on my own. I didn’t know it was going to be Him.
