Like Mother, like...what?
"L, honey, don't leave. Stay here tonight."
Friday afternoon, and I am curled up in my parents' bed with my mom, watching her soap operas. I stopped by after work because I needed to feel close to someone. You know those days, where you just need to be hugged, have your back rubbed, fall asleep under an open window, fading in and out of consciousness, listening to my mom make stupid comments about the plots onscreen.
"Why? I can't sleep on the air mattress, and I might be going out tonight."
My mom sighs, rolls over, and whispers: "Because I need you."
When I left, my heart broke louder than the sound of the front door closing. Sitting in my car at the light to turn back home, I felt hot tears burning their trails down my cheeks. I kept asking myself why I couldn't have stayed. Why I've insisted on being out of the house for so many years. Why going home is a chore I'd rather avoid altogether. Why three hours seems to be my limit.
We are so much alike...she and I. Everyone sees the resemblance. I'm a beautiful amalgam of her good looks, patience, and predisposition to stress and panic. But I love her for all of these things. I look at her, and I wonder why she is still where she is.
I know what she did that night. Same thing she did tonight. She warmed up a hot bath, took a trashy romance novel in with her, came downstairs to warm up some milk, drank it, and fell asleep while my brother and dad are downstairs watching TV. She will wake up tomorrow and go to work, or clean the house, and call me just to say hi.
And I will act like it's a nuisance, like my life is too busy to sit down and talk to the one person I admire more than anyone else in the world. And then I will go out with my friends and have fun, pretending I can keep carrying this burden. Like the past 21 years haven't already dented me.
And then it's my turn to come back to my house...and do the same thing I do every night. Throw myself into the lives of my friends because it's so much easier to listen to their cares than acknowledge that I've been ignoring mine.
She needs me. I rarely acknowledge how much I need her in return.
Friday afternoon, and I am curled up in my parents' bed with my mom, watching her soap operas. I stopped by after work because I needed to feel close to someone. You know those days, where you just need to be hugged, have your back rubbed, fall asleep under an open window, fading in and out of consciousness, listening to my mom make stupid comments about the plots onscreen.
"Why? I can't sleep on the air mattress, and I might be going out tonight."
My mom sighs, rolls over, and whispers: "Because I need you."
When I left, my heart broke louder than the sound of the front door closing. Sitting in my car at the light to turn back home, I felt hot tears burning their trails down my cheeks. I kept asking myself why I couldn't have stayed. Why I've insisted on being out of the house for so many years. Why going home is a chore I'd rather avoid altogether. Why three hours seems to be my limit.
We are so much alike...she and I. Everyone sees the resemblance. I'm a beautiful amalgam of her good looks, patience, and predisposition to stress and panic. But I love her for all of these things. I look at her, and I wonder why she is still where she is.
I know what she did that night. Same thing she did tonight. She warmed up a hot bath, took a trashy romance novel in with her, came downstairs to warm up some milk, drank it, and fell asleep while my brother and dad are downstairs watching TV. She will wake up tomorrow and go to work, or clean the house, and call me just to say hi.
And I will act like it's a nuisance, like my life is too busy to sit down and talk to the one person I admire more than anyone else in the world. And then I will go out with my friends and have fun, pretending I can keep carrying this burden. Like the past 21 years haven't already dented me.
And then it's my turn to come back to my house...and do the same thing I do every night. Throw myself into the lives of my friends because it's so much easier to listen to their cares than acknowledge that I've been ignoring mine.
She needs me. I rarely acknowledge how much I need her in return.
posted by haze at 8:38 PM
1 Comments:
sigh. i wish i could hug you from over here.
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