The Mother, The Therapist, and The Tragedy

The Mother, The Therapist, and The Tragedy

She told me she loved me. I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted her to love me. I’m broken.

***

It was a rainy day. The pellets were drizzling against the pane of the glass. I could hardly focus on anything. The pictures on the walls seemed only squares of colors. The jaw of my therapist was rampant and entirely useless to me. His fountain pen scribbled down observations of my behavior, as he would touch his index finger to the frame of his glasses, pushing them towards his cranium. It was obtrusive that this was his meeting; not mine. I noticed the glaze of the mirror to my left. The silver shadow pierced my eyesight, as distracted as I was. It was luring me, mocking me; possibly even discovering me. Week after week the mirror never taunted, nor hardly revealed itself. But that day was raining hard, and the pellets on the windows were nothing but a bore. The mirror, however, captivated my integral fears and displayed them. The pen moved, the jaw squawked and my eyes dilated.

***

Sometimes my mother would cradle my head in her arms. "Love is a myth baby," she would say, rocking my skull back and forth to sounds of Beethoven. String quartets diluted my head, and the Moonlight Sonata stole my sun. "I won’t let love hurt you baby," she would say. Then she left, every time, she’d leave, pulling the yarn that ceased the light, and left me alone in the closet where I was to slumber, only to be released to the dark night.

And how did this make you feel?

Invincible.

***

I told her not to fucking love me. I didn’t want this. I never wanted her to love me. I’m broken, but she claimed to be a "fixer." She said I wasn’t broken, but I didn’t believe her. All I wanted was to skip on the stars.

***

The rain egged me on, dancing along the fiery trim of the swarthy red building. The framed colors started to swirl, and my therapist’s jaw fell off, down to the floor. His tongue conformed to his pointed jaw lines; his speech perverted and contorted. The mirror attacked the lenses of the spotted brown frame of his glasses. His eyes were now my fears. They stared at me, stabbing through me, and the rain continued to egg me on. I had no choice but to hold the hand of thunder.
***

My mother used to comb my hair after bathing. She would slick it back and tell me I was handsome; too handsome for love. "Love will steal your hair baby," she would say. "I’ll make sure you’ll never go bald baby," she promised. She would curl the ends of my black, shoulder length dew, and smooth out the top with her young hands. Then she would place both hands on my head and mess up my freshly combed hair until I cried. "This is how love hurts baby," she would say, and then comb it back to comfort until I stopped crying and eradicated the feelings that made me cry in the first place. After a while I stopped crying completely.

And how did this make you feel?

Unbeatable.

***

We sat in the closet with the light off. "I just don’t understand," she said- repeatedly. There was nothing I could do to explain. It couldn’t be explained. It wasn’t possible. Her hand nestled its way into the underside of my cross legged knee. Her phalanges protruded through the crease of my thigh and lower leg. My clammy skin couldn’t even detour her passion. I tensed up and waited for the darkness to save me. But it never did. I waited for something, for anything; for a tear, or a throb, or a skip of a beat from my heart. But I felt nothing. I couldn’t even apologize, because I didn’t care about hurting her. I was invincible, and unbeatable. "I never asked for you to love me," I said. "I never wanted you to love me," I was saying as the tips of her fingers touched my skin for the last time. She rose to her feet, pulling the yarn that filled the closet with light. A salty tear ran down my face but it wasn’t mine. I heard a soft whisper of words: I love you. The door opened and slammed, and a silvery shadow captivated my attention.

***

The thunder erased the sounds of the room. The swirly frames of colors stopped. My therapist’s tongue withered away into grain, resembling sand, and sprinkled the floor. The powerful rumble cracked the mirrored lenses, and his spotted brown frame cracked in half. The pen exploded and ink slowly dripped from his extended index finger- the finger that pointed at me. The thunder, still holding my hand, gently guided me to the window where the rain had subsided. The pane slithered up and showed me the clouds that rendered from blue to black. And then, as if it knew…as if it recognized my transformation- the universe sent a bolt of lightning that penetrated me.

***

On the last day my mother told me not to worry. She stroked my neatly combed hair as my head rested in her arms. "You’re so handsome baby," she said. "Just stay away from the day and love can’t hurt you," she promised. She released my head and adjusted my posture. "You can sit straight now baby," she said. "You can sit straight and comb your own hair. You can take your own baths and open your own doors. You can do all this without me. And you won’t need to cry when I’m gone. And you won’t have to worry about love, because love is just a myth baby." She said. "And now mama is going to take her own bath." The next night, when it was my turn to wash, I stood up by myself. I turned off the light and opened the door by myself. I walked down the hall and into the bathroom. The bath was already filled, waiting for me. It was filled with red water, and the lifeless body of my mother.

And how did this make you feel?

It didn’t.

***
I looked into the mirror; never before had I noticed its reflection. A small pellet of tear raced down my cheek to my mouth. My tongue forced its way through my lips and caught it. It tasted like her. Like what I would imagine her to taste. And then either the mirror, or my face, started to crack. At first it was a small crack with slow movement. I could follow the lines with my eyes, until my eyes started to breach. A small pellet of blood dropped down my cheek, and again my tongue forced its way out of my mouth and caught it. And again, it tasted like her. This aggravated something inside me. My splitting eyes started gushing red tears. I stood up and opened the door by myself. I ran down the hall, past the bathroom and opened the door to the outside. The day light hit me like a cannon, stealing the short breaths I exalted. I attempted to block the blinding sun with my forearm. Through the hazy illuminated blast I was presented with an outline of a figure. It was her- the girl I never wanted to love. I released my arm and lowered my gaze to the ground, where I was surrounded by a halo of hair. She screamed from a foot away.

How does this make you feel?

Loved.