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Crouching down, I lift the welcome rug and grab the key. Having a welcome rug in front of a house that no one visits is a joke itself. Unlocking the door, I prepare myself for seeing the woman who gave birth to me.
The house smells funny, like an ancient place. It wouldn’t surprise me if a mummy jumps from a corner. It’s dark inside, only a dim light from the Sunlight that comes through the newspaper enlightens the space enough for me to see. Everything is covered with dust. I force myself to remember if it always looked like this, but my memories don’t make the terrible image in front of me any better. In my memories, this place is even worse. Darker, scarier…
I look around the rooms, trying to see where she is, but all the rooms are empty, and I know where she can be. My feet carry me in front of the closet I spent most of my childhood in. Holding my breath, I rip open the door of the closet.
There she is, kneeling and rocking back and forth in the darkness, mumbling some prayer to a god who doesn’t know of her existence let alone hear her. She’s in a trance, she doesn’t even notice I’m standing feet away from her. Finally, she must finish her prayer, she lifts her head. She’s startled when she sees me.
“Who are you?” she says. Her voice is raspy, croaked. It’s almost like sandpaper. I wonder if she drank any water today. A silly concern, I know.
I don’t answer her right away. I wait for her to finish checking me out. Disapproval and judgment pinch her already hollow face.
“Hey mother, I’m your daughter,” I finally say. It’s hard trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. It’s like a tragicomic drama in TV.
“Slut,” she says and repeats the same word again and again.
I can’t keep my laugh anymore inside me. I let out a hysterical laugh without humor. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“Leave my house. Don’t bring your demons to my house!” she yells. “You’re offending my God!”
“Offending him, hmm? You know what, fuck him! Where was he when I was being raped? Where was he when I lost my baby? Where was he when I was crying alone in the dark and cold cell? Your god is a fucking hypocrite asshole, and so are you!”
She cries out some unintelligible words. “Devil’s spawn, slut, whore,” are the only ones I can catch from her hysterical shouting.
“I came here just to see if you’re still the miserable woman who doesn’t even try to protect her own kid. And I see you’re even more miserable than you once were, but I still forgive you, mother. I forgive you not for you, but for my own sanity. I forgive you so I can forget you ever exist,” I say with a deadly calm voice before leaving and slamming the door behind me.
Exhaling the breath I’ve been holding, I lift my chin and walk toward the car. Nick’s been waiting for me the whole time, and he looks as tense as I feel, if not more. We don’t exchange words as we take off on the road. Looking out of the window, I study the neighborhood I once lived, even though I had never had a chance to roam around. My breath hitches in my throat when I see the wrecks where the school once was.
“What happened?” I whisper, more to myself, but Nick answered me.
“When the Sheriff admitted everything, it had gotten kinda big. I think media was involved. The last I heard is the sister set the place on fire, like a cult ritual or something. The good thing is all the students made it out alive, but the sisters didn’t even want to be saved.”
I smile slowly. Even though smiling to something as tragic as this makes me a monster, I’m relieved. I’m happy all those bitches died in the fire. “Nothing could have saved them,” I murmur and lean back in the seat with a sigh.
There’s one more place I need to visit before closing the past in a vault and throwing it into the deepest water of my mind.
***
Turning my back and leaving the building crossed my mind more than I can count in the last ten minutes I’ve been sitting behind the glass. My stomach is quivering with nerves, and my palms get sweatier with every passing second.
I don’t know why I’m feeling scared and nervous. I didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t be the one who should fear or get anxious. If anything, I should be proud of myself for how far I’ve come even though it may not be much for many. I didn’t conquer the world, I didn’t start a kind of girl power movement, but I, myself, have been moved with everything I’ve been through. For some people, I may still be weak, still, someone who is so stuck in the past, but I know I’m emotionally going to the place I want to see myself. Maybe, slowly, but
at least I move surely. Being here right now is a proof of that. It’s not easy to face my monsters, but it’s better to face them than living a life spent fearing them.
I think of Nick who is waiting for me outside. Our relationship may not be conventional, but it gives me happiness I’ve never felt before. We’re still trying to get used to the idea of reuniting, still trying to adapt to the changes we’ve brought into each other’s lives, and it’s not easy, but it’s working well for us so far. It’s working so well that I’m considering a family with him, even though I haven’t told him about it yet. But maybe, just maybe, if I can get through today and leave my past where it belongs – in the past, then I may give myself another chance at being a mother again. This time it will be with a man who gives more than he takes. This time, it will be with the promise of a future instead of repeated torture.
I've pulled away from my reverie and hopeful future with the slosh of the door. Here we go, the biggest challenge of my life.
“Hello, Sheriff,” I say as smug as I can muster.
He frowns. Of course, he can’t remember me. Who am I to him? One of the many probably.
“Do I know you?” he gruffs. He’s an old man now with grey hair and wrinkles, but there’s more in his miserable look. It’s something bigger than aging, only suffering can give you this terrible, haunted look.
“You know me so well, Sheriff. I’m the reason you’re behind these bars. It’s not like spending time between an innocent teenager’s legs, is it?” Venom drips from my voice.
I push the chair back as I stand up.
“Are they treating you well behind bars, Sheriff? I’ve heard they love cops in prison,” I say and turn to leave.
