Misalignment | ✔

laugh

We pull up seats
at the kitchen table;
she sits
and I stand
with my arms crossed
over the back of my chair.

My mother fiddles
with her fingers
as I wait for her
to explain.
She fidgets
in her seat
and picks at a loose string
on her sweater -
and still makes no move
to say
anything.

So I do.

"Well?"
I finally ask.
She jumps
as if I had
startled her
before looking up at me
with a guilty expression.

"Well, what?"
She attempts to
act as though
she had no idea
what was going on,
but even she can see
that she's failed
miserably.

"Don't even try
to tell me that
there's nothing wrong.
You've been feeling
horrible
since we went to
the hospital -
I can tell.
Was it because of
Grandmother
or not?"

She's silent for
a long moment -
no doubt trying to
formulate
a suitable excuse
for her behavior.
She soon sighs, though,
giving it up.

"Yes..."
she mutters at last,
like a guilty child.
"But not for
the reasons
you might think."

"You know,
I think you were
wrong
to say what you did
to her.
Not that she
didn't deserve it,
but compounding the problem
like that -
returning like for like -
never really solves
anything."

It's the same as with those
braindead bullies
at school.
If I said something
as cold and cruel
to them
as what my mother
had said to Grandmother,
it might feel nice
for a moment
because I finally
would be
standing up for myself.
But in the end,
I would still feel guilty
for being so harsh,
despite being in the right.

It would be like
our roles had been
reversed -
and I never
would want to hurt
anyone
the way that they
hurt me.

I think it's the same way
for my mother.
It's a natural instinct
for the two of us
to fight back against bullies
like the kids at school
and Grandmother -
but my mother is,
and always will be,
a kindhearted woman.
I can't imagine that
she would feel
anything but guilty
for her words
right now.

"I think so,
too,"
she says at last,
looking rather relieved.
Tears have begun
to gather in her eyes
like fallen stars,
bits of sadness
coalesced into
physical form.
"But what do I do?
She won't want to
see me again.
That's just how she is.
You've seen it -
she shuts herself off
from what hurts
or offends her.
I've already tried
calling the hospital,
but she won't agree
to speak with me.
Talking in person
would be a disaster too,
I think.
So what do I..."

"I'll talk to her."
I didn't even
meant to say it -
but I did say it,
and there's no
backing out now.
My mother
looks up at me
in shock
as we both register
my offer.

"Really?"
she asks
incredulously.

"Sure,
I guess...
She doesn't really
know me, and
I obviously
don't know her.
Maybe it'll be good for
both of us."
And as an afterthought:
"All I really
know about her
is that she doesn't like
my hair..."

My mother looks
so hopeful
and childlike
as I speak
that I can't help but
smile.
Then, an
uncomfortable
thought comes:
what if my mother
had been like her mother
and had treated me
horribly
all my life?
What if we
hadn't grown as close
as we are now?
What if she had
despised me -
hated me, even -
as her own mother
seems to hate her?

I don't know how
my mother has
taken it all
without crumbling to pieces.
I know that I wouldn't
be able to
in her situation.
I can't imagine how her
cheerful and sunshiny disposition
has survived
all the hardships
she's been through.
I suppose it's a testament
to how strong
she really is,
despite all appearances
to the contrary.

She pulls me into her arms
as I move to stand
in front of her;
I can feel the
damp trails of
old tears
on her cheeks
as she lays her head
against my shoulder.

"I never could have
asked
for a better kid
than you,
Cam,"
she murmurs.
"I never would have
made it this far
without you."

"What -
because I agree
to do all your
dirty work
for you?"
I ask -
but she only laughs,
and it makes my heart
melt
because it feels like
it's been so long
since the last time
she's laughed so sincerely.
More than anything,
I wish I could ensure
that she always
can laugh like this -
with no mothers
or ex-husbands
or anything of the sort
to weigh her down.

If it was in my power,
I'd do it in
a heartbeat.

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