"When you get ready."
"Can I sleep for, like.. 5 more minutes?"
"Yeah."
In my head, I tell her to sleep for 5 more hours. I don't want to "go to the store." Like it's some big event that we have to put our finest clothes on, layer our eyelashes with vast amounts of mascara. Just so the "people at the store," like they are an entity that we must be afraid of , or worried about, will think we are halfway human.
I sip my second cup of coffee, hoping my right hand will soon enough get warm, so it will soon get the feeling it has been used to for so long. Fall is coming. It reminds me of so many falls before. Another season so many are excited for, until we get into the midst of it, once again, and hope for spring, believing that it might never come.
I take my shoes off once I sit down. I'm attached to the wall because I've drained the lifeforce from my laptop. As the dog pushes her dry nose into the even more dry water bowl, I wish to myself that she had hands, so she could take the waterbowl over to the sink and fill it, as I just got somewhat comfortable. I look down, to find my shoes- I won't walk across the floor without them-and begrudgingly haul myself up to retrieve her water. She thanks me by sniffing my feet and licking my pink sweatpants just once. Surely she can't smell anything on them, as I just found them in the bottom of a drawer where they had been sleeping the entire summer. Just waiting on fall like I have been. Like you have been.
I look around the small room as I try to figure out this strange feeling that has been with me since I opened my eyes to the dark room around me. We went to the mall last night. So..normal. I tried to explain in my best mother voice, why we had come all the way to the mall on a Saturday afternoon to get 'winter' clothes. If they had wanted short sleeves, to look in places they already knew existed. It didn't make very much sense to them. We trudged out of the mall with mostly short sleeves. I lost that battle. I'll remind them of my efforts the next chilly morning. Today won't be that day. Today, the need for a warm sweatshirt is only because I'll be stomping through the grocery store, trying to figure something that resembles good parenting, something to feed them so they won't have to feed themselves. Something in the frozen food section, I'm sure, while debating with myself the merits of frozen vs. fresh vegetables.
I remember a time when I was normal. When I gathered my babies, after having bathed them all, made sure they were bright and shiny and clean, just to take them outside to plant some sunflower seeds on a bright February afternoon. Paul Bunyans.. that was the name of the seed. Indeed, they finally grew to taller than an average man, poking their little yellow heads towards the bright sunlight of August. That same February, I gathered up my sleepy babies after hearing there would be a meteor shower, and threw them in robes and coats, hats and mittens and stuffed them warmly beside me in between heavy layers of blankets on the driveway. We laid there, them and I, and watched the night's sky as hundreds of meteors zoomed toward the earth at lightning speed. Each a miracle, just like those snuggly warm chubby bodies lying next to me.
I have a hard time believing they are still them, and I am still me. Time has made me disbelieve my reality. Who are these people whose limbs have grown longer than mine? Who are these people who laugh at me and tell me I would just never understand? Who are these people who forgot that night in the driveway? Should I remind them, or just let them be? When they tell me I'm just old, should I believe them? Should I forget my hope and dreams because another generation thinks I should? Should I stop and become so complacent, like so many mothers that I abhor? Should I give in, gain a bunch of weight and just drive a mini van because I don't matter anymore? Should I buy those fresh vegetables and stand at a hot stove and stir away until they resemble a green mush just so I can feel pacified that I'm doing the 'right thing?'
Eventually, the one person you never thought would tell you that you are crazy, does. Eventually, you ask yourself if they are right. The problem with this, though, is this: Once that person tells you so, you try to go above and beyond proving them wrong, which in turn makes you seem even more crazy.
Then one day, you wake up, after a normal night at a mall and you remember memories as vivid as they used to be. You remember how you felt when life wasn't so bad. You breathe in the same chilly air outside on a fall morning. You remember that it isn't the first time your hand was so cold it was numb. You look around the dark room and remember painting it that color. You remember all the reasons why you've come to this part of your life. You remember that he was always closer than you never knew until he reminded you. You wish he would have peeked over that new fence and walked up that driveway. You realize you still matter, and you realize that you never again have to worry about those layers of mascara. That mall trips are still normal. That you really aren't crazy after all, that you're just human. That dreams can still come true, no matter what the next generation selfishly tries to have you believe. You and your mother can still have a decent conversation and your sister is still your best friend. You realize you have come a long way in 20 years, even if you're the only one who knows that to be true. You finally realize that you're still a good person sitting there in pink sweatpants. You realize that it's okay to start over because you are valuable and worth finding happy. You realize that all those bad habits that you've kicked really are worth it. You realize that some people claim to know you, but never really did. You realize when the sunbeams hit your eyes like a long lost love coming home from the battle, that life is worth it. You realize you've found your muse, and that book is ready to be written. You stop reading other's stories, and find time to write your own.
"Whatcha doin, Mister?"
"I'm passing the time until she realizes I'm never leaving."
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