The Pain of a Mother(Revised)

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.  Your parents yelling, throwing objects, and you trying to run; trying to find the blackness of a hole, where everything disappears. 1

Who would have known that the fighting, yelling, and pain would still be happening?  You thought the entire clamor in your household was finished, done with and to never sprout again.  Your perception and hypothesis concluded wrong.  You wake to a screaming, hysterical mother yelling at her boyfriend who she has recently found.  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.  You hear your mother hitting him and wonder what has just gone on.  You jump out of bed and try to listen from your heating vent and right above the two figures.  You are astonished to hear your mother has just punched his face.  3

You think back to a time where she had ever hit one of her lovers’ in that manner, you think of none.  True hysteria was heard and felt in her voice.  How could your mother do such a thing, this outburst of rage?  For the first time your mother scares you, she frightens you.   To your recollection, never has she hit so violently and carelessly.  You recall when you were three up to eight years old, the episodes of dire times your mother has had.  The men that beat her and you hiding under the kitchen table, afraid that that strange man would come after you next after killing your mother.  Or standing in the living room, 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, they all replay like a movie inside your head.4

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 the rage in his eyes, but does nothing to stop the punching.  5

Where is your mother now?  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 lock your door and hear your mother crying now.  “Yeah, my life is so shitty, right!” your mother retorts to her boyfriend.  You listen to the muffled conversation, your eavesdropping unaware by them. 6

First, you wake up with a startle, waking to the thundering screaming, then you listen, hurt and in shock.  You concentrate on their conversation, getting angered at your mother for each word you hear, not being able to perceive it nor wanting to hear 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!!?” 7

Slamming the door and locking it, you crash to the floor.  In one fluid motion you roll into a ball, your head rocking with your knees, tears rolling down your cherry cheeks, your breathe in hysterical whimpers.  You stop to see what outcome has arisen from your sudden outburst.  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.8

As you write this at three-fifth teen in the morning, the yelling, screaming, crying and talking of whispered voices have stopped.  Just the apparent piercing of the words you type.  The catastrophe has ended to your relief, even though your pain has.  Are your mother and Ron just sitting on the couch, listening to the typing of the rhythmic clicks of the keyboard, the creaking of the floor as you adjust yourself on a bed that you use as a desk?                       As you finish this story, you will have to walk across the room to sleep in your bed and have the floor creek beneath you.  Your mother and Ron 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. 9

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 also, 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.  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.  10

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. 11