I
reached my hand toward the radio dial apprehensively, eager to break
up the cloudy thoughts in my mind with some mainstream pop. A few
notes from a song which I immediately recognized as “Say Something”
by A Great Big World came meekly through the speakers. I love this
song.
As I turn my hand
to increase the volume, my mother reaches over, pushes my hand away,
and turns off the radio.
“No.” she said.
“Bu-”
“I said no.”
I lacked the energy
to be firmer with my protestations. Typically this same scenario
would have resulted in a verbal bloodbath, with me hurling the most
creatively violent phrases my 15-year-old vocabulary could summon.
But the brief but sharp exchange of syllables cut through my brain
and reverberated in my head among the cloudy thoughts. I was already
defeated. So was she. Asking either of us to arm ourselves for
battle against each other was like trying to engage a wounded animal
– mostly they just lie there consumed by their own pain, defending
themselves only with brief outbursts of truly deadly aggression
before they eventually collapse.
So
… not today.
Green
light.
The
car didn’t move, though. I looked over at my mother again, her
knuckles white on the steering wheel and her eyes glassy with tears
of anger and disappointment … but mostly anger. She still will not
look at me. I open my mouth and the intake of breath before I speak
sounds like a scream in my head, but my mother responds by slamming
on the gas before I say a single word. My head jerks back against
the seat.
“Ow!”
I
had said it before I even meant to. I wasn’t actually hurt, just
surprised. My mother now has a funny look on her face; as if she’s
holding something back? I watch her intently as her scowl turns to a
smirk.
Her
face finally breaks and she lets out a loud and intense laugh.
“Haha,
wow … you should have seen the look on your face!”
She
continues laughing until the tears fall down her cheeks. I don’t
know whether to laugh along with her or fear for my life at this
point. She wipes away the tears and finally looks at me. Her smile
fades, and her face goes somber again.
She
lets out a long sigh.
“I’m
sorry, mom.” I say, once again before thinking.
She
does not respond.
She
pulls into a parking space and stops the car, pushing the gear shift
all the way up to “park” and turning the key toward her to kill
the engine. I hear her release the brake and we wobble a bit as she
does.
A
small black sign sits just outside my passenger-side window and reads
“Preterm”. The building is huge, with several stories and walls
of glass. I could see our car, my mother, and myself, in a
reflection on the side of the building. It both disturbed and made
sense to me … because in this moment I was Alice and this building
my looking glass.
The
clouds in my head started to dissipate as rain fell from my eyes, and
now something rose from the pit of my stomach; tight and burning.
I
opened the door and vomited on the pavement."
