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I never used to have nightmares. But sometimes, I close my eyes and open them in a different place. There are these awful times where I can’t breathe, and my mother is begging me to save her and I can’t. I know I can’t; even worse, she knows I can’t.
But still, I am stuck panicked in a car trapped with my dead mother crying. But in reality, she never made a sound, she never had the chance. Sometimes, I just stay there lean my head against the window and wait for Lad to touch my hand. He shows up in the dream other times he doesn’t. But I still wait thinking I can escape from it.
Other dreams, my mother isn’t there and Lad never comes. I like these ones the best. I’m all alone and I can feel the blood dripping from my forehead into my eyes. But I still look out the window up at the sky. I am so at peace. I think I know I’m dying in this dream; part of me wishes I am, hopes it even. Prays to my ancestors to make a deal with God and free me from this life. But the worst part of any of these dreams is me waking up. And realizing everything happened and I am in an endless loop. I went to college because that is what I was supposed to do, what everyone else said I should do. But the more time I spend there, the less I am convinced where my life is headed and what to do with it.
I envy Lad. His solid ambition, his dream and confidence to pursue something that others deem impossible. But he is focused driven. I think for so long I was focused, on surviving, making sure my mom did, that I didn’t know I had to plan anything after. But now she is gone and it leaves me feeling purposeless
I know my purpose wasn’t trying to convince my mother to eat food every day and then watch her to make sure she didn’t throw it up. I know it, but it became routine then habit and I find myself checking the clock making sure I eat my meals, have a peaceful view of food. Chiding myself for missing a breakfast or lunch.
If a person doesn’t have a purpose, does it really matter what happens to them?
It is a terrible thought as I get up to go to the bathroom and I find myself in the mirror. The woman stares back at me, and I am confused how she has survived.
I didn’t go back to sleep after the dream woke up Lad. He stayed in my bed and fell asleep, clutching me, like I needed to protect him from the awful memories replaying in my head.
The mirror has always been my mother’s worst enemy. One of my first memories is her standing in her bra and underwear, pulling at the tight skin against her bony hips. I wondered what she saw, and I couldn’t.
She saw someone a hundred times her size. I just saw my mom, pretty, perfect, and I idolized her. It wasn’t until health class when I realized she had body dysmorphia. I don’t know how long she struggled with it. But I would guess most of her life.
Bambi’s mother and mine were sisters, but by the time I was a teenager, my mother didn’t look anything like her sister.
Their mother, our grandmother we never met, wasn’t especially affectionate; I heard my mother whisper, defending her body to no one but the shadows. It was cruel how toxic her mind had become. At that point, no one could save her, because her worst enemy was winning, and it was the distorted reflection.
My own face speaks so sweet to me I forget she could ever be my enemy. But then I see my face, I catch her saying words so hurtful I don’t know who taught me to utter a sound.
She’s a bad girl, my mother used to say.Too wildmy father never got a chance to mark me. But there I am, too stunned by the obedience of keeping my mother alive that I find myself dying because maybe then I couldn’t make stories of what happens if I don’t.
“Hey, Aly, you ready?” Lad’s voice comes through the door with a soft knock.
My mumbling stops and I clear my throat.
“I think I am going to stay home today.” Eyes are controlled in a trance with the same person in the glass.
“Are you alright?” He jiggles the hand, but I’ve locked myself away because he doesn’t need to know this enemy.
“I’m perfect, just want to take a mental health day.” My voice sounds fine, tame even, and he believes it, because I almost believe it myself.
“Are you sure?” He is trying his best, but I don’t answer. There isn’t a point to convince him.
When he leaves, I sit in the bathtub, wrap my arms around my chest and close my eyes to cry. Draining myself of every disappointment I can never fulfill. The light weight of my mother is a ghost hovering over me, and I can’t figure out how to tell her to leave me alone. She isn’t haunting me, she is chained to this life, and I am holding the other end, tied to her demise.
My mind is empty, and my heart mimics the echo. I walk to the backyard, and though the water scares me, I don’t panic as I sink myself fully in its depths. The dark clouds above my head match my hidden hurts.
I float onto my back, same as Aladden taught me. I spread my arms out and let the wind move the water as it rocks me back and forth. The damp clothes are heavy on my body. But my body carries buoyance as it pertains to the laws of air capacity in our lungs.
The cool water fills my ears as it kisses my face. I can hear thunder down the road, and I know I shouldn’t be in the water when lightning strikes.It isn’t safe. But maybe I have been running from danger so long, I don’t know what safety means.
What did they teach us in elementary school? Don’t hide under trees and something about the rubber on tires. But I don’t listen to the silent voices telling me this might not be wise.
I lay there, with eyes full of wandering regrets, hidden in the corners of my brain. It is then when the heavens open up and the clouds let out their vicious reign of power. The first drop falls on my palm and I clutch it in my fist, saving it for later.
Wind is spinning above me and I can’t make it stop, so I let it pass through me like I am not even there. Soon it will take me to the other side of the pool. Travel from one end of my mood to another.
I want to feel something.
But what I search for isn’t powerful enough to take away the heartache drowning me into reality. Thunder sounds different when your ears are underwater. Sound echoes in the waves in a way I wish I could replicate. I can see how the water can soothe Aladden’s troubles. But even he can’t take away the punishment of not living up to everyone’s standards.
Somehow, to me, it makes him more relatable, lovable even.
