Don't Cry Out (7)
I carefully tucked the sheet into the cushions and started sweeping. Having barely managed to gather the large pieces of grass, I heard a knock at the door. Dropping the broom behind the door, straightening my clothes as I went, I descended the stairs. “Hi, mom.” “Hello.” “Come in, I live upstairs. Head on up; I’ll be right there.” I clicked the lock closed on the door, took a deep breath, and followed her up the stairs. She walked in the open door at the top and turned the corner, out of sight. I paused briefly, to gather my thoughts, and continued in. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?” “Sure. Coffee?” “Ok. I’ll be right back.” Hurrying off to the kitchen, I tried to calm myself. The tension was very high, but not hostile. The voices continued their relentless taunting, but I simply focused on the task at hand. While the coffee brewed, I returned to the living room. Mom sat in the chair where the carburetor previously had been. Taking a seat on the couch, I braced for whatever came next. “Did you have any problems finding the place?” “No, not at all. There was a little more traffic than I thought there might be though. That slowed me down a bit.” “Well, at least you didn’t get lost. I was a little late getting home from work, so it was probably for the best.” “True. I might have thought I had the wrong place if I knocked and nobody answered.” “Heather would have answered the door, but then you would’ve had to wait.” Plus, then you would have seen the living room junkyard. “True. So heather must be your neighbor then?” “Yeah. Heather and Bruce live downstairs. Bruce is my landlord.” “Ah, I see.” We chatted for quite a while, and we were cordial throughout. We drank coffee together, talked, and never raised our voices. It isn’t how I imagine most mothers and daughters would act, but we didn’t exactly fit the standard mod to begin with. After a couple hours, and two pots of coffee, we said our goodbyes. By the time the door closed behind her, one of the voices was gone. I’d faced my first fear, and was none the worse for wear. The cups were washed and put away, floor swept, chair cleaned, and table scrubbed by the time Denis returned. I was soaking in the bathtub when I heard him call my name. “What? I’m in the tub.” “Well get out of the tub and come here.” “No. You want to talk to me? Then you come here and talk.” I’d put up with all I was going to. The attitude in the morning, the mess when I returned, and now he expects me to come when he calls, like a pet? If he’s pissed, fine. I was ready for him. I heard him throw his keys against the wall before marching toward me. At first the realization of what was coming scared me, but I pushed the feeling quickly aside. I knew I had every right to be angry. I wasn’t going to back down this time. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!” he announced as he threw open the bathroom door. “What? I have nerve? What about you?” “Where’s my stuff?” “Right where I put it. Why?” “You had no business touching any of it. Now you get up and put everything back.” “No.” “What?” “I said no. What right do you think you have to leave your crap lying around my house? In case you forgot, this is my house. I decided I don’t want your shit in my living room.” He flew across the room. I knew what he had planned for me. He had the look in his eyes. A black, cavernous look you only see before the blows find their mark. As he reached the tub, I sat up. His fist rose in the air, preparing to stifle my debate. Something inside me snapped. Denis hesitated at the sight. A fire was consuming my mind, and the voices chanted loudly. Don’t Cry Out! Don’t Cry Out! But I did “Hit me. Go ahead. Hit me. You know you want it. You know you do. Well? Something wrong? Something stopping you? Go ahead. Do your best. You better too. Know why? Because you will never hit me again. Never. I’ll kill you. I swear I will. So do it. Go ahead. Do it, and I will send you to hell for it.” His fist dropped to his side, and his eyes told me why. He believed me. Something in him knew I could do it. And the voices fell silent. Tiny voices, Always digging, Throwing dirt inside my head. Do you hear them? Do you hear them? I can hear them all the time. They keep poking, Always prodding, Telling me how wrong I am. Do you hear them? I can hear them. Are they hiding in my mind? Please get them out. They whisper things, Evil, hurtful little jabs. Do you hear them? How I fear them. Dishing out more doubts and dread. Hands keep twitching, Brain is swelling, Putrid voices in my head. Do you hear them? If you hear them, Do they tell you truth, or lies? 6 I felt pretty good. My mother wasn’t controlling my life. Denis wasn’t controlling my life. I had taken a step forward, and didn’t fall. How could things possibly be any better? Then there was Pat. I knew the situation. I knew he was about to be a father. I knew he had a life without me. I knew how much I counted on him. I also knew I had to start to count on me. Everything could change drastically and time. It just wasn’t safe to hang my future on him any more. There was a chorus of voices telling me different things to do. Some thought it best to leave well enough alone. Others were more daring, suggesting a total change and leaving both Pat and Denis behind. Then there were the voices in the middle. They felt most comfortable with one challenge at a time. Denis avoided me as much as possible for a while. I stood up for myself, leaving him wondering what else I could do if pushed to it. He hadn’t expected the change, and was slow to adapt to it. Pat showed up on Tuesday night, after Denis left for school, like normal. Knowing what I’d decided didn’t make it easy. Pat and I were over, and it was time to end the games. “Want some coffee? We need to talk.” “Sure. What’s going on?” “Let me get the coffee first.” I poured the coffee, took a deep breath, and went back to the living room. After setting the cups on the table, I sat next to Pat and prepared to give the hardest speech of my life. “What’s up?” “Well, I think it’s time to be honest with each other, really honest. You see, it’s like this, I can’t keep doing what we have been. It isn’t fair to anyone involved. I have to plan a future for myself, and my future can’t involve you. It is nice to pretend we could work things out, but I think we both know the truth.” “Ok. What are you trying to say?” “I’m saying we can’t keep seeing each other any more. I’m saying you shouldn’t come over here, and I won’t call. I’m saying it’s over, completely. I would love to be your friend, and I hope you feel the same. It would break my heart to loose your friendship, but the way things are now is killing me.” “Oh. Let me ask you something. Why the sudden change? I thought things were pretty good. Was I wrong? Did I do something?” Now what are you going to say? You know you can’t tell him the truth. “Denis.” “What?” “Ah, Denis. He and I are trying to work things out. Really it’s pretty good, and I think it could be even better if I wasn’t splitting myself up to be with you too. I have to give him a chance. Besides, you have Sue. Don’t you think maybe you should try giving her a chance?” Liar, liar, liar. “I guess. Maybe you’re right. I guess I should try with her. I’m glad you and Denis are doing better.” “Yeah, we’re doing a lot better, really. He’s been trying so hard. I just don’t think it’s right not to give him a chance.” Who are you trying to convince? “Ok then. I’ll back off.” He started to stand up. On the inside I was screaming, “wait, don’t go,” but I held it back. “Are you going to at least drink your coffee?’ “No, I better go. I have things I should do anyhow.” I couldn’t say goodbye. I just looked at his back as he walked out the door. My heart was pounding, and I felt like I couldn’t breath. When the downstairs door closed, the floodgates opened and the tears flowed. I cried until I made myself sick, then I cried some more. I thought about what I’d said. Maybe I should see if I could work things out with Denis. He wasn’t so bad, and I did know he cared about me. The least I could do was try.
Copyright © 2003 Sylvia Browne |