Mother's Day

It was one of those kinds of days when waking is the last thing in the world you want to do. A day that would be best greeted with fantastic leisure, with a stretch and roll and a chance to luxuriate in awareness without actually leaving the bliss of sleep. And verily, in hindsight, I should never have awakened, for the day did indeed prove terrible.

My mother was there; we shared a breakfast of coffee, orange juice and cereal. To finish off the morning ritual together we smoked Vantage lights. I never really cared for the smoking, but luckily mom didn't overindulge, thereby relieving my obligation to partake in any more secondhand toxins.

I don't know if it was the juice, coffee, milk or smokes that did it, nor do I think it relevant, but vomiting was the order of midmorning. While she knelt hunched over the bowl retching, I could feel her anguish; the squeezing followed by the heaving then the shuddering when finally the release came. Mom coughed and sputtered seemingly beset with ague. I felt for her as much as for myself and bit down on my knuckles awaiting the end of the torturous episode. I would have liked to return to the peace of slumber and the sweetness of dreaming good dreams; however, Mother's pain was my pain so I remained awake with her.

Later, I did rest my eyes whilst my mother and my Aunt Tina prattled about the accursed illness. Apparently Mom had tried many remedies to calm her stomach, though none had thus far worked. The humdrum sound of Tina's voice helped to lull me into a deeper restfulness. After much deliberation over Tina's last suggestion, Mom drank down the glass of wine Tina offered. Initially I had agreed with my aunt's dictum, for I partook of the merest amount and felt plenty relaxed. My head was loose on my shoulders as though my neck had been transformed into an overused spring.

Then, after a few sips more, I began to doubt Tina's wisdom because regardless of the warming haze that issued through my veins, the feeling in my head was akin to the swooning that takes place when Mom drinks two or three glasses of water then rocks in the rocking chair; the fluid swooshes within the stomach's confines crashing up against the walls until the eventuality is another bout with nausea and vomiting. When we spent the better part of the afternoon in the lavatory, I was proven correct.

As Mom groaned, her illness echoing off of the walls of the bathroom, Tina coaxed by talking to Mom, telling her the things she was going to do. "Here," my aunt said, "let me hold your hair back." Then, "Isn't that better?"

Water ran strong before Tina said, "Sit back, I'll wipe your face and neck with this cool cloth." Mom stretched her form, feeling relief, and sat against the tub's side letting her arms and legs go limp against the floor. Mom seemed less inclined to wail while Tina was there. Tina was close to Mom and commented on the putrid-sweet smell permeating her olfactory.

Mom hiccuped a laugh-type sound, then said the taste in her mouth was far worse than the smell.

"When's your appointment?" Tina asked.

"Three twenty, I think." Mom replied.

"Well, that's not so long."

"I guess that is a plus." Mom sighed greatly then, in relief, so I allowed myself to relax a bit, unkinking my spine in an arch. It felt good.

The drive wasn't as pleasant as usual. Aunt Tina was driving which made Mom uncomfortable. I knew this because her muscles kept tensing and she would grab her abdomen. The drive was a short one, it never did take long but with Tina driving, time indubitably flew by, though not without a hail of expletives from my mother.

In the doctor's office, Mom lay back on the examination table. I wasn't really fond of these visits, especially in the beginning, because I always found the doctor's exam intrusive, but I was accustomed to them by now.

"Okay." His voice boomed. "Are you ready to have this done with today?"

"Ah huh." Mom answered.

Another ricochet of his tone had the nurse administering the gas. A few deep breaths and Mom relaxed further. She became languid under the effects of the canistered pain reliever.

I took the opportunity to stretch my length, a rare chance, and one best taken advantage of when it comes. A uterus is, after all, a very cramped dwelling. Only a moment passed when a feeling of lackluster overcame me, it was near the same reeling that I had felt after the wine, though more intense. I suckled my thumb and index finger, enjoying the respite from the day's torment.

I felt the jarring, like ripples all around me, of the doctor's prodding. Then, a squishing sound like that of renting flesh. Everything seemed further away than normal. My senses were dulled.

Then there was the sound, a sound I can only equate to the rumble of the vacuum that mom used every other day; it was the loudest, albeit muffled by the safe walls of my home and nay doubt by the effects of being drugged.

When it grew louder and was much closer, I was then afraid. The noise had never been this close before! I didn't like it! The warmth of my world was turning cold: the fluids that had kept me safe were rushing out into the unknown place where my mother dwelt with my Aunt Tina.

I curled into myself, wanting to secure my heat. I bunched up my face, I could feel the heat of displeasure redden my flesh, my lips opened wide, I wanted to inform them of my need . . . it was a futile attempt. I felt myself tearing apart: my arms and my legs and then my center were taken. I wanted to tell them . . . I tried, but then, all around me was that sound, it was even greater than it had been, and I knew then that they wouldn't hear me.

It was my mother's day to commit murder and my day to be her victim. I really do wish that I had been able to sleep through that day; don't we all wish to die in our sleep, without pain?

I wonder why she killed me. Sometimes I think I know the answer, but really I don't. I can't.

I would have been beautiful. My hair would have been dark and curly; I would have had big brown eyes and pretty peach-colored lips. I might have cried sometimes but not so very much.

And if she'd asked, I would have promised to be good, not to be too much trouble. I would have liked to get the chance to try anyway.

It might have been nice there, in the world that I'd heard so much about.

I loved her, I didn't mean to make her sick. And I'm sad she couldn't love me.

I suppose it's not so bad here in this place.

I'll never fall and skin my knees, or knock my head while learning to walk. I won't have to play silly games like peek-a-boo, or get all messy finger-painting. I guess that's good.

I guess.