My mother spoke to herself. Not just little bits to remind or cajole, but long drawn out conversations. She remained lost in arguments and discussions with another self as she muttered around the house picking up after an entire family of sloth like creatures.
“That’s what they told me, I know. You said”.
Some bits of pieces of times and places I’d never see were always forefront in her mind. Other times I’d hear her shouting and would run to her just in case, only to see her gesticulating about the room, alone in her wildness.
“Mom! MOM!!!”
It was always a to see who could get her attention first: the baby would throw a bottle; my brother would draw out the “MOM”, until it was so warped that everyone stopped to listen to it. That usually got her, and she would snap to attention and a huge smile would break from the shadows.
“Huh? Why do you kids always feel that louder is better?” my mom would ask.
How could I explain to her, that she actually left this planet from time to time? That we children sometimes felt like we were just dangling from her apron strings? Holding her down at times, trying to keep her with us.
She wasn’t a fragile woman, when I was a child. Pieces of cake and broken glass still litter the never-ending nightmare that was my childhood. His birthday had come up and she searched the city looking for the perfect cake.
“CAKE!”
He sat like a king on the bed, lolling about and grinning. Pistachio ice cream cake was what she had, having hit all the Baskin Robbins in a 30 mile radius. It was already 11 o’clock at night, and I was tired. Dragging my blanket behind me after such a long day, I sat down in anticipation next to Him.
“Lori!” He shouted from the bed.
“All they had was pistachio ice cream cake, no chocolate ones,” she shouted from the kitchen.
Taking it from the box, she carefully placed the sweating cake on our largest glass plate.
Staring at His giant face, I saw the rage begin to erupt. He kept smiling though, that usual smile that was a jab, a chuckle, and an insult.
“Well you obviously didn’t try hard enough!” he shouted launching himself toward the cake.
“This cake is CRAP, you can’t even follow simple INSTRUCTIONS!” he shouted. “Can You, Can YOU, Can YOU?”
My mother with her Strong self, she looked at the cake and she looked at me.