Letter to My Mother
pillowphat
read some of your excellent fiction and critiques. This piece was written
when I was an overworked, stressed-out teenager as a letter to my mother. I
never gave it to her, but she has read parts of it. Thanks, I look forward
to reading some more!
Thanks -
Pillowphat
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http://www.homestead.com/allusions/allusions.html
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Letter to My Mother
Mom,
I just got home from work and decided not to wake you this time. I looked
in on you and Dad, and he was snoring so loudly I knew I should just let you
have your oblivious sleep. I snuck into Josh's room to see if my answering
machine had taken any important calls. Somewhere between one call and
other, I glanced over at Josh and he looked huge! When did he get so big?
I had no idea. It's funny how you let the important things happen unnoticed
when you're busy.
That older guy I've been seeing asked if you had said anything about him and
I couldn't answer, because I couldn't remember the last time I had talked to
you other than a sleepy, "Yeah! I'm awake!" or an annoyed, "No, no
breakfast thanks!" or "See you tomorrow, I'm working late tonight." Dad
works about as much as I go to school and work, and how do you two find any
time at all to talk or even function?
Today, I ate a quick supper at Mickey D's (yes, I know how much fat.)
between school and workI know, you'll tell me all the money I'm wasting on
pure junk. What a lifestyle I've created for myself. While I was eating, I
stared out the window and 'people watched' like you and I always used to do.
There was what looked like the ending of a family reunion in the parking
lot. My first instinct was to feel pity for all those middle-aged plump
overall figures out there, making such a meaningful departure in a greasy
parking lot. I wondered if they had all just been inside eating Big Macs.
Then I thought it was kind of endearing and stereotypically small-townish.
What character people have who can appreciate one another in such shallow,
dingy, small-town paleness. I thought of how that could apply to my own
life if I felt I had the time.
At work, I was what most people know as my normal self, but of course I
scared most of my co-workers with my openness. It had been a while since
I'd been around such closed-minded people. They told me I made cartoon
characters like Goofy look serious. That reminded me of a story you tell
from when I was about 5 years old. You asked me to remember something for
you in case you forgot and I replied pertly, "Why, Mother? Because you
don't think you have enough brains?" I only wish I (and everyone) could
have gone on looking at the world through such unshaded eyes.
On the way home from work, the roads were very slippery. It was like
driving on a giant air hockey board, (my car being the puck.) I found
myself sliding from left to right without control and nearly stopped the car
to call you from the car phone you insisted much to my annoyance I have,
and call you to come save me. Then I got once again that terrible feeling
of wonder, that question I find inescapable sometimes when I drive alone.I
wonder what would happen if I merely turned my wheel toward that tree, or
that drop-off, or that ditch. What would have happened had the snow allowed
me tonight?
Have you ever seen those advertisements for mental counseling they have all
over the place? They always include a list of symptoms and say at the end,
"If you display any 2 or more of these symptoms, you are in need of
emotional help." It's so cut and dry. But who is it Dad? who's always
telling me that nothing in this world is that absolute. Well, that's a good
thing to believe, because I display all those things, except for a loss in
appetite. It seems my hunger has grown to represent much more than my
stomach, but my entire body, my hunger for.what? Because that's where I get
stuck and I can't hypothesize anymore.
How is Grandpa? I heard he was visiting but got home too late and will get
up too early to see him. I miss being a little girl sitting on his lap when
he would bump my forehead with his and call them "Grandpa kisses". And his
wife? Has her forgetting gotten worse? How sad to realize you should know
something, yet simply can't. I know it sounds terrible, but there have been
times when I've wished on myself that terrible disease, thinking it might
help me escape my own thoughts. I'm at school now, and just saw
Jamie walking up the stairs, probably to talk to me. I hope not. My
friends and I just don't have much to say to each other these days. I feel
that lately, my life has been divided among school, work, and sleep; the
left over amount is to be carefully measured and distributed among my few
remaining friends and family. How do other teenagers do this? How could
they possibly do it voluntarily, much less willingly? I guess I'm just not
a normal kid. Who else would spend her sleeping time worrying about such
things as I do?
Well, Mom, I've enjoyed this talk. You did always say I talked a lot.
Remember when I was little and you asked me, "J, did you know you talk a
lot?" And I said, "I'm a child, Mother. Children do that." And I returned
to babbling without missing a beat. How could you stand such an obnoxious
child?
Have I grown up since then? I hope so. Although it's kind of funny that,
when I was younger, people thought I was much older than I am now. Some
people even thought I was Josh's mother. But now that I'm older, people
take me for younger than I am. Did I overcompensate because I felt I should
'act' younger? But I don't feel young. I guess it's kind of like how I
have days when I just feel plain ugly and then I have days of feeling
pretty. Maybe this is just a long phase of feeling old that I'm going
through. Promise me something? If I ever look as old as I'm feeling right
now, will you please remember that I don't want life support?
Mr. Scott just told me that if I were his daughter he would lock me away
from all them men in the world until I was old and ugly. That reminds me of
all the conflicting boys in my life right now. My ex-boyfriend and I just
began talking again. When I think of him, I am filled with a warm,
comforting feeling, but also a wistful feeling that I couldn't sustain the
relationship. It all seems so long ago, but just one year ago I hardly knew
him. Do things always seem to fly by in your memory, too?
I'm going to bed now, hopefully to dream of quiet, boring, young things that
just aren't in my life right now. If I ever get the chance to really talk
to you or Dad again I'm going to try to get some of these questions
answered. And I'm sure I'll have even more by then.
Love,
your daughter
J Carol
through on reading your "letter to mom." Your writing drew me in. I
remember so much my own feelings as a teenager. How I struggled to
understand mom or maybe I didn't struggle enough. And now that I've
transfused into one of those middle age figures, I have so much more
understanding.
As for critiques, on first read, I've not much to say. I loved reading it.
I identified with both the writer and mom. How funny is that? To be ultra
picky, I didn't care for the phrase "stereotypically small-townish." If I
was going to save it, I'd prefer stereotypical of small towns (but I'd
probably drop it entirely in search of a better, more concrete phrase).
Jo Carol