Mother, Dearest

1

I walk out to the living space to see if my parents are awake, so I can get something to drink. I woke up with that scratchy feeling in my throat again. Mommy says that I might be getting sick. I don't want to be sick. If I'm sick, my mom and dad won't let me go over to aunty Thalia's for the weekend. I want to be able to go play with my cousin, Kyle. I don't have any friends other than Kyle because I'm home-schooled. I want more friends, but mommy says that the outside world is too dangerous of a place for a little girl like me.

"Mommy?" I say to my mom, who is sitting on the couch with her laptop open.

Mom looks up to me from her laptop. "What are you doing out of bed, my sweet angel? Little nine-year-old girls need their beauty rest. Especially the sick little girls."

I rock back and forth on my heels. "My throat itches." I say as I rub my throat.

"Again?" My mom puts the back of her hand on my forehead. "Still no fever, so that's good." Mom gets up and makes her way to our kitchen.

I follow behind her. "I hope this clears up before the weekend, or you may not be able to go over to Cousin Kyle's house." Mom says as she hands me a cup of water.

I sigh, taking the glass from her hand. "I know." I drink the cup of water, until there's no longer anything left in it.

I hear blood curdling screams coming from the living space. It startles me so bad, that I dropped the glass onto the kitchen floor. "Mommy?" I look over to where my mom had been standing. She's no longer there. What's going on?

"Twyla!" My dad calls for me from the living space.

I slowly make my way to the living space. To my horror, my father is knelt over my mother. Blood covers her entire body. Her skull is cracked open, and her face is completely mangled.

"Mommy?! Momma no! Daddy, fix her! Do something." I close my eyes and begin to bawl. I feel the panic arising in my stomach. This couldn't be happening. I don't even know what's happening, all I know is that my mommy is hurt.

I open my eyes so I can see what's happening.

"There's nobody there. I'm left standing there, by myself. I've been having this same dream for the past three nights." I explain to my therapist.

"It is quite common for people with post traumatic stress disorder to have reoccurring dreams that are trauma related. The anniversary of your mother's death is coming up in a few short days. How have you been handling these emotions?" She scribbles away in her note pad.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh. "I mean, I haven't been handling them. I've been so busy with Satanica, that I haven't really had time to sort through them or process them." I explain to her.

"That could also be another reason that you keep having these dreams. You're not taking care of yourself, and you need to be. I know that being a mother, always comes first. Sometimes, you must take a step back and call the village for help. It wouldn't make you a bad mother to ask for a break. It is my understanding that you haven't taken the time for yourself at all since this baby has been born."

"No, I haven't. I wouldn't even know who to ask for help with her." I say to her.

"What about your husband, or your aunt?" She asks me.

"My husband is never home; he's always working late. By the time he gets home, she's already asleep. My aunt has been so busy with work that I don't want to bother her with anything that isn't dire."

I can't help but pick at my nails. The thought of asking anybody for help gives me anxiety. I don't want anybody knowing that I'm struggling to hold it together, I've always been the strong and resilient one. I don't want them to think that has changed.

"I see. Well, our time is up for this session. I'll see you here next week on the seventeenth, same time. Remember to utilize your healthy coping skills. Find a way to take care of yourself."

I give my therapist a smile. "I'll do my best. Thank you, Carly."

"You're welcome, please close the door on your way out." Carly waves her hand.

I sit in my car for what seems like hours, just staring ahead of me. I can't bring myself to turn it on. I keep thinking about what Carly said. She was right, the anniversary of my mother's death is coming up soon. I should be taking care of myself in this time. I wouldn't even know who to ask, or how to ask my husband to watch the baby so I can take care of me. She is his child also, but he also works a bunch. Thalia has also been consumed by work, so I couldn't ask her. That only leaves one person left, that I would trust to watch my child. Kyle.

Kyle and I never speak to each other, and we really haven't spoken all that much after my parents' deaths. I would feel like a terrible friend to reach out to him for favors after not speaking for all this time. But I guess it really wouldn't hurt to try.