The leaves on the trees danced aggressively in the wind as it howled against window panes. Rain droplets fell sporadically with little tinks. The dark sky hinted that far more was to come, filling with light every so often. The sharp crack of thunder sent a shiver down Amelia’s spine every time. She worried over her flowers. She’d just planted them that morning and already they were swaying dangerously in the wind. Tulips, daffodils, daisies, and an assortment of others twisted and turned, violently touching the ground with their petals. Amelia could feel her muscles clench and pulled herself away from the window. There wasn’t much she could do about it besides wait out the storm. She worried about flooding and over watering and even though she wasn’t looking at them she felt more anxious than when she had been. She needed these flowers to survive, she was unsure why, but she did.
It occurred to her that there was an option, a ridiculous one. That didn’t matter as long as it worked; she just had to be quick. The tinks on the windows quickened into a roar. She ground her teeth as she dug through the garbage, pulling out all the containers the flowers had come in. Amelia grabbed her raincoat, a ratty old thing and ran out the door leaving it ajar.
Her fingers numbed against the cool rain. It felt silly that it had been 90 degrees that day and now she was shivering as droplets dripped off her chin. I’ll save you. I have to. Despite the numbness in her fingers, she worked fast, gingerly pulling up the flowers and placing them back in their plastic homes. A thought mingled on the outer reaches of her brain: am I really going to do this every storm? She pushed it away and focused on the task at hand. Other storms would surely come, but at that point the flowers would be stronger, right? What if it rained tomorrow?
Amelia shook her head, water flying off her curls. The rain was heavy and unforgiving. She plucked as fast as her careful intentions would allow. After an eternity, all the flowers were back where they started when she bought them from the garden store. She gathered them into her arms, stumbling towards the door she was grateful she had left open. The rain dragged the salt from her skin into her eyes and she squeezed them closed. Except she’d forgotten about the crack in the path leading to the front door and her bare toes caught it. Pain shot up her leg as she felt herself falling. In a mistake that wasn’t quite worth it, she held on to the flowers, falling hard on her knees; the jolt causing her to drop them anyway.
She lay on the ground in pain–physical and spiritual–for an indeterminate amount of time. Finally she assessed the damage to the flowers which seemed more important than her physical damage. The concrete was littered with petals and broken stems, the spilled dirt already turning to mud, but it could all be salvaged, right? She turned towards her body and grimaced at her bloody toes and knees. Her knees were already turning colors and she couldn’t flex her toes. That would have to wait. She gathered up the flowers, returning them to their pots and walked back inside with her eyes open this time.
Once inside, she gathered plates and set the flowers in the bay window so if the sun ever came back out, they would have a chance. Now she could really feel the pain pulsing through her veins and knew the ER would be a good idea, but she wasn’t full of those lately. Like the funeral. Instead she went into the kitchen, fiddled with the ice maker, and placed some makeshift ice packs on her knees and elevated toes. The cold stung her skin, but soon it turned to a dull numb. She knew she’d broken a couple toes and contemplated the doctor and how useless it would be. They would tape her toes and send her off with a prescription for narcotics without even checking her file. It would be far too easy to go down that path. Wine would do just fine.
However, with a bottle of wine came at least a few cigarettes. The smoke coiled around the room and she knew she was going to regret that stale smell in the morning, but if a few broken toes and two messed up knees didn’t warrant some nicotine, she wasn’t sure what did. The wine didn’t just numb the pain, it brought back memories. A different sort of pain. The funeral flashed before Amelia’s eyes and she cringed at the memory. The tendrils of the event snaked through her mind drilling in. Her head began to ache as she saw flashes of the whole ordeal.
The funeral had been last year and drinking seven mini bottles of varying alcohol she’d found in the back of her cupboard beforehand had sounded like a good idea. She needed to be numb to all the tears over her father. Nobody knew about the abuse and if they did, they didn’t believe her. But he was such a sweetheart! Funny how sweethearts will knock your teeth out for laughing when they fall down the stairs in a drunken rage. Maybe it was her fault for laughing because it sure didn’t seem so funny now.
Maybe the problem was that she drank them too fast. Back to back to back to back. That ended up working out for her though because Shelly tapped on her window just as she’d thrown the last empty under her seat. Shelly always had great timing.
“How ya holding up?” Her eyes were wet and sorrowful. Had she already forgotten all the bruises Amelia had endured?
“I’m fine.” Amelia climbed out of the car already a little unsteady on her feet.
Shelly immediately pulled her into a hug, smashing her face into her large breasts and essentially suffocating her. “It’s okay to be emotional. I know you two had a rocky relationship, but he was your dad.” It was annoying that Shelly of all people could be forgiving towards him. She was her mother’s sister and she had heard it all. Maybe her mother was that good at covering up bruises and scars. Amelia never had been. But Amelia was also known for being an untrustworthy source. It’s hard to be taken seriously when lying comes naturally. It was common to hear the words “pathological liar” wafting through the air and finding their way into her bedroom as she hid herself away.
Amelia pushed Shelly away, perhaps too aggressively because Shelly looked a bit shocked. “Yeah, I know.” Perhaps the words had come out a bit rough as well because tears dripped down Shelly’s cheeks, pooling under her chin. “Sorry,” Amelia mumbled as she turned to walk into the church, stumbling up the steps.
Once inside, she couldn’t breathe. There were too many people and all of them looked distraught. She heard snippets of how the world had lost such a wonderful man and she felt her fists balled at her sides. How could they not know? How could no one (not even Shelly it seemed) believe her? She collapsed into a pew at the back and then realized how odd that looked. His only daughter sitting at the back? She folded her arms over her chest and scowled throwing a tantrum against herself. But I don’t wanna go up there! The whine in her head bounced around until she couldn’t take it anymore and just to escape it, stood back up.
Everyone was looking at her at this point. Could they tell she was drunk? Had she been talking to herself out loud again? It was all in her mind, her anxiety running a muck. She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen to drink when it honestly did anything but relax her. She could see a finger wag in her mind’s eye followed by a punch to the gut. She felt herself bend at the waist even though no one had actually hit her–this time at least.
The time had come to grit her teeth and move to the front. A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump and she whipped around half expecting to see her late father. But no, it was just the priest.
“Do you have your eulogy ready?”
Eulogy. She’d known she’d forgotten something. “Do I really have to do that?”
The priest raised his eyebrows, but his face softened. “I know it’s hard, but it’s the best goodbye you can give. Don’t be shy. It’s about you and him.”
Amelia wanted to tell him that he didn’t understand, but those warm, welcoming eyes scared her away from the truth. She’d figure something out. She always did. Fight or flight.
Unfortunately, Amelia was one for flight–especially when she’d been drinking. Her ankles wobbled as she pushed her way out of the church. People tried to offer their condolences, but Amelia shrugged them off and danced around them almost effortlessly. When she got outside, she was blinded by the sun. The sun. Weren’t funerals supposed to be rainy and overcast affairs? She’d never pictured the sun would be out and so aggressively at that. She took it as a sign. Things were going to be better now that he was gone. She could heal from the trauma and no longer grit her teeth with phone calls from the nursing home about missed payments. “Oh no, I have the money; I just don’t care.”
Amelia fell into her car and put her key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it. Drunk driving, really? How predictable and pitiful have you become? She took out the key and tapped her fingers against the steering wheel in an asymmetrical rhythm. Ding! Her phone vibrated in her purse, gyrating against forgotten tubes of lipstick and decade old gum. Uber! To live in the future was magical. She clicked away the text from Shelly (she knew where she was and she knew she didn’t want Shelly to know where she was) and opened the Uber app. She doesn’t really remember the rest of that day. Amelia knows that the next day was absolute hell with the angry texts and calls from Shelly and other relatives aggravating her absurd hangover. But one conclusion they had all come to: they weren’t surprised. In fact, it was somewhat expected considering they had a back up on standby: Shelly ended up giving the eulogy which made even the hardest of hearts cry. At least that’s what Amelia had heard.
Amelia shifted the ice packs slightly, enjoying the numbed feeling. She could still feel the throbbing throughout her legs, but if she concentrated on the cool of the ice, she could almost distract herself. Thinking about the funeral got her thinking about her mother. While she didn’t blame her mother for leaving, she sure as hell blamed her for leaving her behind. Amelia never bothered to try and find her mother because she knew it would only lead to bad things. But now that he was gone, she figured asking Shelly about her might not be the worst idea. She made a mental note to get together with Shelly first thing in the morning. She polished off the bottle and left half a cigarette burning in the ashtray as her eyelids grew heavy and she drifted off into a restless sleep.
For once Amelia followed through with something and got together with her aunt over breakfast.
“Of course I know where she is, we write each other every now and then.” Shelly shrugged her shoulders as if this was well known information. Then again it could have been, Amelia just never bothered to listen. “She was disappointed she couldn’t make the funeral.”
Amelia shook her head as if clearing water from her ears. Disappointed? Her mother had run away from him, why would she want to come back? As if reading her mind, Shelly continued, “Sometimes you need closure and to properly say your farewells.” As if that was a good enough explanation. Shelly started to prattle on about something else, but Amelia was stuck. Her mother wanted to attend the funeral of a man she’d left due to his abuse? At least Amelia knew she was alive; that’d always been a worry in the back of her mind.
“Where is she?” Amelia interrupted Shelly.
Shelly looked slightly shocked at the sudden interjection. Amelia wondered if what she had been saying was important. “Not too far from here. But I don’t know if this idea you’re forming is a good one.”
She realized that Shelly wasn’t going to give up the information easily–if at all. “Please. She’s my mother.” Amelia never pictured herself as one to beg, but this was important and if the situation called for it, well, might as well deliver. “Shelly, I need to talk to her.”
Shelly ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know if she wants to see you.”
That stung probably more than intended. She was her daughter and she hadn’t seen her in at least twenty years. Wasn’t she curious how her little girl turned out? Or maybe she was the cold, heartless person Amelia had imagined all these years. The one that left her behind at only ten years old with a mad man. It took her three years to escape him; she finally convinced a friend’s family to let her move in. After all that, her mother didn’t want to see her?
“I didn’t say for sure,” Shelly backtracked. Amelia realized her eyes were starting to water and her cheeks felt warm. “I’ll think about it.”
“At least talk to her about it,” Amelia said putting a hard emphasis on the word “her”. She abruptly pushed her chair back, stood, and left Shelly’s house. It seemed lately that Shelly was grating on her nerves as if on purpose. Ever since the funeral, she’d been given the cold shoulder, but disguised as a warm one. It was the cool undertones she had to look out for. Amelia figured Shelly would have understood her drunken hesitancy at the funeral considering all her father had put her through, but it was as if his death had washed away his sins.
Amelia drove home, her mind swimming with the possibility of being able to sit down with her mother, ask her the questions that had been nagging at her for twenty years. She just needed to get past Shelly, the gatekeeper. Sometimes Shelly appeared as a master manipulator, but other times a sympathetic friend. Amelia had a strange relationship with her aunt, but she did know that somehow, some way, Shelly always got her way. She probably had wanted to give the eulogy and was secretly elated that Amelia fell through. The thought burned Amelia’s insides. Shelly’s love for her father was always painful. As her mother’s sister it was also impossible to understand. Shelly had convinced Amelia’s mother to leave her father. Her mother always looked to her older sister for advice, for the final decision, and Shelly had convinced her to leave. And maybe, Amelia now realized, that wasn’t completely altruistic.
Shelly not only loved Amelia’s father, but was in love with him; Amelia knew that already–it was obvious. The question of how he had gotten two women to fall for him swirled around in her mind. As an abusive alcoholic, it was a miracle to Amelia that he’d found anyone to love him. Especially the sister of the woman he’d abused most. Amelia’s mother must have confided in her; they must have had long whispered conversations about it (Amelia vaguely remembered their hushed voices). However despite her mother’s inevitable experience, Amelia also remembered the story of the beginning of her relationship with her father. Amelia knew that her mother’s parents had passed in a nasty car accident not long after her mother had met her father. They’d gone on one coffee shop date and one dinner date and the next week, the accident happened: hit by a sliding semi in a wicked snow storm. At first, Amelia’s mother avoided her eventual father, but he persisted. He called her every day until she agreed to meet up with him and everything that had happened tumbled out of her, her tears dripping into a coffee cup. He’d promised to protect her after that.
So, he had comforted her and been there for her family. He was the hero they needed, taking care of mundane household tasks and holding her mother’s hand as she cried through the memories. Amelia assumed Shelly was not far (the sisters were very close) watching as the relationship blossomed. She must have been jealous of Amelia’s mother’s support system. She must have been jealous watching her loved in such a tender way as she grieved. Shelly told Amelia that she’d been there a lot with the two of them and watching their love bloom was magical. Her mother hardly remembered it at all as time went on. Amelia asked to hear the story a lot as a child, a glimpse at her dad as the man he used to be, or at least the one he presented to society, not the man he was at home. In the year before her mother left, the details became more and more vague and soon her mother was too tired to tell the story at all.
Shelly was always one to reminisce and soon Amelia was going to her to hear the story of her father as a white knight. Shelly always had kind things to say. Amelia enjoyed her visits because her father was different and Shelly could convince her, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t the nightmare he turned into at night.
It was no secret to Amelia that Shelly had orbited around her father for the last twenty years. It was something they didn’t discuss, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t know about it. The sense of betrayal started when she was eleven, trying desperately to get away from the violence and the fear, and Shelly wouldn’t let her move in with her. She implied that Amelia was exaggerating and making it up, even after Amelia pointed out the bruises. “You’re a child, I’m sure those are from roughhousing and playing outside.” The dismissal was even more painful than the bruises themselves. Amelia tried for three years to convince Shelly, but Shelly always brushed off the subject as if it was merely dust on her shirt. “Your father is just under a lot of pressure.” or “Your father is just really stressed by being a single dad.” or “He just misses your mother.” His drinking got worse and the bruises got darker until one of her friend’s parents took her in. They were appalled and wanted to call CPS, but Amelia insisted that moving out was all that was necessary. It was as if Shelly’s excuses had burrowed into her brain and taken up residence. They reluctantly respected her wishes especially since her father made minimal effort to keep in contact. He didn’t even fight her leaving, telling her she was always a burden to him anyway. At least that’s what she thinks he said. His slurring had gotten pretty bad at that point.
But through it all, Shelly stood strong as a sentinel at his side. It always baffled Amelia, but it was something that she’d accepted over the past twenty years. Now it was time for Shelly to back down and reunite Amelia and her mother. The fact that she was hiding her mother from her was odd and Amelia felt something dark and heavy in the pit of her stomach. Something wasn’t right. But Amelia persisted. She called Shelly almost every day. Finally Shelly broke down, “Okay, okay, but this is a bad idea and you can’t say I never warned you.”
Even with Shelly’s ominous warning Amelia was excited; she felt giddiness bubbling up in her stomach. It was an odd feeling to feel something akin to happiness over something that was bound to be a dark conversation, but this is what she needed. She needed her mom, she needed her to explain why she left her behind, but that she always loved her and thought about her. She needed that.
Shelly knocked on the door and the woman that answered was different than Amelia remembered. She was… smaller. That was the word that kept coming to mind. She wasn’t horribly thin, but the way she carried herself looked fragile. It wasn’t surprising that this woman got herself stuck in an abusive relationship. She avoided eye contact, her eyes constantly moving downward or to the sides as if the floor and the walls were far more interesting than the people in front of her. She looked like she hadn’t showered in a few days, her hair lank and greasy, hanging haphazardly around her shoulders. She dressed like a much older woman in a shawl and pants that had the stretchy bit rather than a zipper and button. Amelia felt her teeth smashing together. She felt uncomfortable. She felt like she was in a room with a stranger. “Mom?” Even the word sounded unfamiliar.
“Hello Amelia,” she said, her voice lacking any sort of warmth. She opened the door wide enough for Shelly and Amelia to enter then sunk into an arm chair. Amelia sat gingerly on the couch across from it. Shelly stood behind the couch as if watching over Amelia. Her face was tight, her nostrils flared and lips a thin line.
“Hi,” Amelia started. Her mouth opened and closed trying to form the words she wanted to accuse her mother with, ‘Why did you leave me behind?’ Instead she asked, “How are you doing?”
“I am just fine.” Everything her mother said sounded final. As if that was all she needed to say. Amelia realized her mother was a stranger–a stranger that didn’t have any interest in her.
Amelia squeezed her hands together, they turned white from the pressure. “Don’t you care?” she whispered.
“What? Speak up.” The words weren’t quite harsh, but distracted.
“Don’t you care?” Amelia’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “It’s been twenty years. Don’t you care how your daughter is doing? Don’t you care that you abandoned her? Don’t you care about how that affected her? Don’t you care about how she’s grown up, if she’s been okay?”
Her mother finally made eye contact, but only briefly. “You are a reminder.” She sighed and studied the wall just over Amelia’s shoulder. “You remind me of him. You have his nose, you know.”
Amelia’s fingers gently brushed her nose. She hadn’t heard that. She’d never heard she carried any resemblance to him or her mother. It was as if people pretended she was adopted. But she could see her mother in herself. Her bright eyes, the way the corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly, her high cheekbones, but her nose… she supposed her crooked nose did resemble her father’s. “You’re my mom,” she whispered.
Her mother ran her fingers through her hair and looked deflated. “Yeah. I always wanted a child; I always wanted to be a mother.” She twisted her fingers through the fringe in the shawl. “Then he started drinking a lot, more than he had been. He had only hit me twice before you were born. I do not think he was ready for a baby. He always seemed irritated and did not help much with your care. I knew I could not leave you alone with him.”
“But–“
“I know. But, I did. I did when you were old enough to defend yourself. I called CPS, you know that? But they started asking too many questions and turning the investigation on me as if I was the abuser. I hung up.” Her eyes studied Amelia’s face only for a moment, then they drifted to the floor. “Anyway, I didn’t want to be a mother anymore. My child turned the man I loved into a monster and I didn’t understand. I needed to leave both of you. I needed to start new.” Her voice shook, but her eyes were suspiciously dry. “Not that that worked. I think I was too exhausted and old to create a new life. So I decided to hide away. I am disappointed in the way my life turned out. I did not need to drag you into it.”
Amelia processed her words, grinding her teeth as if chewing on them. There was a silence that weighed on them. “That’s crap.” Amelia felt tense as if every one of her muscles were clenched at the same time. “That’s such crap. You’re a coward.” She stood up, towering over her mother. “I wanted answers, but you’re too far gone, you’ve lied to yourself too long to give them to me.”
Shelly moved around the couch and grasped her sister’s hands, mouthed “I’m sorry.” and followed Amelia out. The two descended the stairs in silence. When they plopped into the car, Shelly turned to Amelia, “I warned you.” Shelly had always been an ‘I told you so’ kind of person. The problem was, she was almost always right.
“Yeah,” Amelia replied sinking further into the passenger seat, sliding down as if she could melt into the floor of the car and cease to exist. That would be nice.
“I know it wasn’t what you expected, but at least now you know, I guess.” Shelly shrugged and started the car.
She wasn’t wrong. As poorly as the interaction went, it was somewhat of a relief. Now Amelia knew. She knew she had a mother, but never a mom. Shelly was far more of a mom than her actual mother as much as Amelia hated to admit it. “Thanks, Shelly.”
Shelly looked over at her with a slight nod before backing out of the parking space. It was a silent journey home. Shelly dropped her off, giving her a long squeeze before letting her exit the car. “It’ll be okay, hun,” she said out the window. Amelia nodded and Shelly pulled away. She watched the car drive off, uneasy in being alone, but Shelly was never one to be comforting.
Walking up the path, Amelia looked at the holes and stray dirt lining the path. She turned her face towards the sky and the sun warmed her cheeks. It would be a good day to replant the flowers.
Crazy Cat Lady Writes 