Find me a little Oblivion - Originally written 5/29/09

She was mad again.

It seemed lately we had more arguments and bad days, than the long talks we used to have when I was a little girl.

It had been different back then. She hugged me a lot more, and we'd talk for hours laying on her bed with the sound of the fan slowly buzzing in the background. We'd try not to move too much, with all the humidity and heat of those rainy island afternoons, you'd be sticking to the sheets in less than 2 minutes. So in the middle of the humid haze and the symphony our old fan produced...long talks of poetry, stories of her childhood and the ones of generations before her would send my mind drifting into a world I never lived in, yet knew so well.

We were so close, her and I. She'd confide in me, at such a young age, knowing that I understood what she meant...I understood the meaning of love, hate, life...loss. I was her best friend and she was mine. We would whisper and giggle about silly things, or look at the ceiling quiet and just hold each other's hand if it was a sad memory or poem we were reciting. Her love for literature was something so overwhelming that I could not help but want to be like her, having a verse for every ocassion. Having a poem for every memory, her brilliant mind stuck in this dull life of being a housewife and mother...nothing else. I envied that she got to go to college and get a BA before she had me, and that now she had a home, husband, daughter AND an education.

She was so close to me. I would study the way her eyes brightened or saddened as we talked...the way her lips moved. I'd play with her hair, long back then and wondered how long would I have her for. I'd burst into tears sometimes just imagining the day she would leave me and I would see her no more. I used to do that a lot when I was little, imagine how it would be like when one of my parents would die...I would upset myself almost daily. We were so close.

Not now...now she was angry again. I was 16 and wanted my hair dyed for the first time, who else would I trust by mom to do it. Why was she so angry?? Maybe it's because I look so much like my dad...it's like she had to stare at his face all day, and relive her nightmare. But I was not my dad, I didn't leave her, I didn't make her get on her knees and beg me to stay. No woman should have to do that, but she-the proudest woman I had ever known, the most unforgiving-had gotten on her knees as a last resort, clutched at his shirt and begged. "Mom? Your pulling my hair really hard, it hurts." I had said quietly, trying not to cry...it really did hurt. Her brows pulled even closer together and I swear I could see her nostrils flaring...she pulled my hair even rougher. I fought back tears, but lost. Why did she hate me? I was with her, taking care of her and going to high school at the same time. Being her psychologist and the adult for the time being. Making sure she got out of bed to eat, making sure she didn't close in on herself...keeping her mind occupied.

I let out a quiet hiccup sob and she lost her mind for the next 15 minutes. Yanking my hair and screaming at me for being lazy and irresponsible, that I wasn't a child anymore and that I had to stop depending on other people to do shit for me...what?! She tells me that I needed to make something of my life so I wouldn't end up like her, dealing with betrayal. Why is she taking it out on me? I'm hurting too! I miss him too! I hate him too! Yes...I still loved him too. That's what she couldn't handle, that she had loved someone so much that it STILL hurt even after he commited the ultimate betrayal. That she would've taken him back in a heartbeat. She stops with my hair and takes her gloves off, stomping upstairs to her room and slamming the door and yelling to fix my own damn hair. I sit in the middle of the dining room, on a lone chair looking out the window into the snow covered streets outside. Crying loudly, and now angry, I slam my chair against the wall and go to the kitchen sink. Washing the dye out and coughing my tears down the drain. I scream loudly into the towel, this time not caring if she hears me breakdown. I had held it in so long, and now I couldn't stop. I felt my hands shaking, my face burning and my lungs collapsing in my chest...but the scream wouldn't stop.

It turned into a growl. It turned into a loud, crashing "MOM! WHY?!". But I didn't want an answer, I wanted to go. I grabbed a vial of pills from the top of the fridge, my dad's high blood pressure ones...and unscrewed it in less than a second, shoving them all down my throat. No water needed, they were small, they went without a fight.

Three seconds later I'm on my knees in front of the fridge crying quietly, numb...at peace. Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Blinking between my tears I look at the bottom of the stairs, where she's sitting staring at me her face showing the emotion range of a dead robot zombie (oh yeah, really dead like). Even then, I thought she was just going to watch me fade away...but something awoke inside of her. I saw the transformation completely happen in a fraction of a second...when she suddenly jumped on her feet and grabbed my face, shoving her fingers inside my mouth and saying "did you swallow them?? Yari?? DID YOU??". But I couldn't answer...I was so surprised that she was what my mom used to be years ago, I was afraid of even moving and things going back to deadville. She started crying and saying what was I thinking, why would I do that to her ... to try to throw them up, try Yari. She picks up the phone and calls my dad, fuck 9-1-1 let's call the deadbeat...Anyways, Dad appears at our doorstep 5 minutes later and I'm not quite sure between the both of them shove me in the car and take me to the ER. Stomach pumped...nasty feeling...yet...mentally, I was so clear. Mom was slowly being mom again...Dad left us at our doorstep hours later and promised to be there tomorrow to take me to the shrink's office they set me up with for an emergency consult.

The next day, with my hair half dyed and disheveled, matching the dark circles under my eyes...I sat in the shrink's office. I stared at the pale yellow walls, I wondered why it smelled like lysol and so sterile...was he a surgeon too? Could he crack into my head and snip a few memories away from my brain? A 2 for 1 deal? I sat there...holding my mom's hand...smiling. Just her and me...and it was going to be ok.

It will always be...her and me.