Mom stayed. Over three
weeks she slowly integrated herself into my life. The reason for it was
probably the cancer. She felt as if she hadn’t been in my life and now needed
to make up for it by being here. I just wished she’d die faster. This was
torture.
Ella came into the
kitchen for pineapple. She grabbed it from the counter.
“Daniel, is the fridge
fixed yet?” she asked.
“Almost,” I said. I
grabbed a wrench. When I turned to get the screws, mom was waiting for me.
“Here,” she said,
holding what I needed.
“Stop trying to fix
things, mom. It’s not working,” I said.
“You’re an
electrician. All you do is fix things, so help fix our relationship,” mom said.
“You should go from
here. Who knows, the fridge may short circuit and explode,” I said.
Why was she doing
this? My life was slowly spiraling out of my control.
“You shouldn’t talk to
her that way,” Ella said.
“You don’t know her
like I do,” I said.
“Maybe you’re wrong
about her,” Ella said.
Oh Ella, always the
optimist. She lived in a world that was perfect. The world was clearly black
and white for her. I wished I could have that same optimism. How could I tell
her that everyone she had ever met was intensely complicated including me? If
she knew what I had done, she would paint me as a villain. I didn’t want that
to happen. What would Ella do if she knew that her mother killed her father? Maybe
I could paint Chantel as a villain and me as the hero.
“I’m not wrong,” I
said. I continued to fix the fridge as mom walked away.
“Daniel, I think Ella
is right. My relationship with my mother was comforting even if we had our
ups-and-downs from time to time,” Chantel said.
That was it. I put
down my tools and stood up. “We did not have ups-and-downs. She abandoned me
and left me to fend on my own.”
“Daniel, think about
me. Your mother was in a similar situation. She lived in an abusive household
and she needed to do what was best for her. She’s a person with dreams and
faults too.”
“But you didn’t
abandon Ella to Herch’s whims.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You are a good
person. She isn’t.”
“All she is trying to
do is have a relationship with you now,” Chantel said.
“Well, I don’t want
one now or ever,” I said. My hands reached for the tools and gears. I wanted to
leave and not come back. Mom living with me was something I never wanted. I had
always wanted to be alone. I loved Ella and Chantel was tolerable but this was
becoming a headache. Seeing mom reminded me of my childhood and our home life.
How was I supposed to raise Ella with mom around?
Being a parent was a
harrowing experience. I supposed I understood a minuscule amount of what mom
went through. Growing up, the destructive personality of an alcoholic is
discharged into the bodies that exist in the house. Our house was never warm
and comforting like the scent of roasted chestnuts. There were three layers to
my house. The first layer was the artificial, sickly-sweet layer. It’s the
layer that shows everything is fine. We were a perfectly normal family. Nothing
to see here. The second layer was the one we usually lived in. Hushed tones
sanctified our ears, secrets were the only words that left our lips, and
tension decorated the air. The third layer was dangerous. This layer always
simmered under the second layer like a volcano about to blow. The third layer
was the constant threat of violence. It was comprised of alcohol being dumped
in the sewer and bottles being smashed in the sink. It was always accompanied
by the worst screaming in the world; raw, visceral, and throat-scraping. The
kind of anger that’s reserved for primal catharsis of the soul. There was the
slight hope that they would kill each other and maybe kill me too. Maybe there
wouldn’t be peace until we were all dead.
I didn’t want any of
that for Ella. I wanted to just take Ella and move away from this small,
corrupt town and my fucked-up family. Mom could make all the amends she wanted;
I preferred dad. I knew how to deal with dad. There was a routine built into my
blood. Mom was unpredictable and prone to bouts of crazy. There were times
where she would pack my lunch, take me to school and when I returned, she would
have a wild look in her eyes. Her worried brown eyes would become bright and
take on a feral sheen. During those times, I did anything she asked. I scrubbed
the floors until they were blinding white. I recited her favorite plays. I
would calm her down when she thought aliens were spying on her. She would hear
voices whisper. I handed her cigarette after cigarette until the living room
had so much smoke I couldn’t see. Sometimes the crazy seemed to last forever. I
spent a lot of time with Graycen when that happened.
The refrigerator
buzzed and the light blinked on.
I loved machines more
than my mother.