The Pain of a Mother

Who would have thought that all of the troubles and hurting of your childhood that you tried to forget about, comes back and starts right over in your older years. The yelling of your parents, throwing of objects, and you, trying to run; Running away from the crying and yelling and from your scared, weeping of younger siblings. They yell and they scream, they don’t really seem to bother you that much as to cry. You just want to get away from all the worry and pain.1

Who would know that the fighting and yelling and pain would still be going on? You thought the entire clamor in your household was finished, done with and to never sprout again. You guessed wrong. You wake to a screaming, hysterical mother, yelling at her new boyfriend that she just recently found. She has just gotten divorced…again. You like your mom’s new boyfriend, for you know him from work. 2

You wake at two o’clock in the morning, hearing your mom blow up in his face. His name is Ron, Ronnie to your mother. They are both downstairs. You hear your mother hitting him and wander what as just gone on. You jump out of bed and try to listen from your heating vent that is open and right above the two figures. You are astonished to hear that your mother has just punched his face. 3

You think back to a time when she has ever hit one of her lovers’ in that manner. You think of none. The way she yelled, the tone in her voice. True hysteria, that was, as you are restrained from doing nothing. How could your mother do such a thing, this outburst of rage? For the first time, your mother scares you. She frightens you. You are worried to death about her.4

Never, in a time has she hit so violently and carelessly. Yes, you have seen episodes when you were about three, all the way up to eight, where you remember the dire times your mother has had. The men that beat her and you hiding under the kitchen table hiding, afraid that that strange man would come after you next after killing your mother. Or the standing in the living room, watching, forced to watch by another man. Wanting you to know how powerful he really was. All the pain and suffering, you had to watch from your eyes. You want to shut them, but don’t. The blood and scratches, the bruises and cuts.5

As your mind flips through these awful memories, you think, nothing is as worse as right now. Your mother, hitting and beating on this one man that is recoiled. You see in his eyes he gets mad, but does nothing to stop the punching. He knows that he would hurt her and he would never do that. You know this. 6

Where is your mother? She has gone. She is not here at all. Even though you stare with foggy eyes and wet cheeks, at the top of her brown head. This is not your mother acting in such a manner. You think she gave up. She left. But where did she leave to, so you could go and retrieve her and bring her back to reality. You lock your door and hear your mother crying now. “Yeah, my life is so shitty, right!” your mother retorts to her boyfriend. You hear the conversation. Them, unaware of your eavesdropping.7

First, you wake up with a start, waking to the thundering screaming. Then you listen, hurt and in shock. You hear more, angry at your mother at what she had just done and how she could ever do something that traumatic. How her life is really shitty at that point and of you being dragged in the middle of all of it. Angrier and angrier, you scream as loud as you could, mustering up all the air in your lungs and yelling as if the whole world could hear, “Yeah, we do have one shitty life, don’t we!!?” 8

Slamming the door and locking it, you crash to the floor. Knees on head, tears rolling down cheeks, breathe in hysterical whimpers. You stop to see what outcome has arisen from that sudden outburst from you. You could not hear what the two of them were saying. You didn’t want to move, afraid of the world braking at any sudden or slow movement. You hold your raspy and hesitant breathing to listen closer. Nothing.9

School starts tomorrow. It’s now 3:15 in the morning of your last day of school for that week. You will go to school, trying to hide what has happened in your household. Putting on a fake smile, no one knowing the real truth of how you and your heart really feel. Your best friend would be the only person to notice your pain in your eyes. You would be very tired and your eyes would have bags under them. You would blame crankiness with the attitude you burst out to some people, snapping at them, as to shield yourself from any more anguish and hurt.10

But right now, as you write this, the yelling and screaming and crying and talking of whispered voices, has just stopped. Nothing now, but just the apparent piercing of the words you type. The catastrophe has ended, for now at least. Your mother and her boyfriend are not in their bedroom across from you. They are on the first floor of this house, on the couch. Are they just sitting there, listening to the typing of the rhythmic clicks of the keyboard? The creaking of the floor as you adjust yourself on one of the many beds you have. There are two bunk beds in your room. Four beds all to yourself, until one of your friends’ fill it in. Which you only have two true friends that would ever come over to stay the night.11

Your usual bed you sleep in is across from the one you are typing on now. Your computer is on the bed, for there is no desk to put it on. You have just moved into your new home across town, by the high school. Even though you do not think of it as a home. As you finish this story, you will have to walk across the room and have the floor creek beneath you. Your mother and her boyfriend would wonder why you were still awake, but do nothing to investigate, just sit there. By the end of this typing, your mother and Ron would probably be making-up or have already since. 12

But as the computer shuts down, you would like to go with it, not wanting to care for anything in the world. As the screen clicks to the empty, blackness, you will have a part of your heart that has turned black. From anger, hatred, and pain. This one little part is for your mother. You will wake up in the morning, a start of a new beginning of that day. But the feelings you have now of your mother, the person who bore you into this world, you will never think of as the same. She will be the same person as the night you woke with a startle.13

So now you turn this miraculous machine, off. As you would like to do, yourself. Computers have an easy life. You wish the same for yours.