Forgetting Roman

{nine}

{nine}

                Leaning against the dark brick of the building behind me, I flicked my lighter on and held the flame to the tip of my cigarette. Taking a drag, I let the smoke linger in my lungs and let my eyes close. It had been awhile since I had last smoked a cigarette. It was a sort of substitution for smoking weed that had stuck with me over the months.

                Releasing the smoke in my lungs, I reopened my eyes and noticed a familiar figure walking down the street. Dressed in a long red coat, my mother’s dark hair fell in natural curls and bounced with each step she took towards me.

                “Aspen, honey.” She greeted as she stopped before me. With her hands stuffed into her coat pockets, I figured a hug wasn’t going to follow her greeting.

                “Hey,” I replied as I took one last drag of my cigarette before dropping it onto the pavement and stepping it out with the tip of my shoe.

                “I thought you quit smoking,” she said as she watched me with distaste as I fixed my black sweater.

                “I did,” I replied as I met her gaze, “I quit smoking weed.”

                Stuffing my hands into my sweater pockets, I cleared my throat and angled my body towards the main entrance and ignored the look of disgust that crossed over her facial features at my words, “So are we going to this or not?” I asked as I started walking towards the main doors.

++

                For the first time in months, my mother and I were sitting across from each other trying to have a decent lunch- one without arguments or mentions of the past. We hadn’t started off with a great start and we had already spent half of the time sitting in silence as we ate our meals. I wasn’t sure why we were trying to act civilized when hurtful words were on the tip of her tongue.

I knew the real reason why she asked me here today.

                She was trying to keep up her appearance as the caring mother trying to be there for her ‘suicidal’ daughter. I internally scoffed.

What a load of bullshit.

                “How’s school?” she asked after she took a sip from her glass of red wine.

                “Fine,” I replied feeling as if were in one of my sessions with Dr. James. “School’s fine.”

                With a single nod, my mother continued to eat her lunch while I picked at mine.

                “Your father is coming back,”

                At her words, I glanced up at my mother and noticed just how much she had aged. Ever since their divorce, things have only gotten worse for our family. After their divorce and Parker’s deployment, my rebellion and breaking point had slowly aged her.

                “When?” I asked as I slowly set my fork down.

                “His flight is scheduled to arrive Sunday at noon,” she answered without hesitation and just like that she was back to looking young. With her shoulders squared and her back straight, she was back to being the mother who only cared about status. “He wants to see you.”

                The thing about my father was that even when he and my mother were still together, he was never around. Being a pilot, his absence was required a lot of the time, and his presence around the house was rare.

                The times he was home though, were only dreadful. Loud shouting would be heard in the middle of the night, accusations thrown left and right, and threats of divorce were mixed in, from time to time. It would go on like that for a few hours until finally, the front door would slam shut and the house would only be filled with the soft cries of my mother locked away in her bedroom.

                It was during those nights that the voices in my head took advantage of the situation and began whispering. It was because of me that their marriage was falling apart, that it was because of me that my mother would force my father to come home at random times of the year. It was because of me that they would argue.

                I never understood why my mother forced him to come home. When he was here, interaction between the two of us was minimal. A simple ‘good morning’, ‘hey’, or ‘good night’ were the only words said between the two of us.

                It was pointless that she forced him to come home. He didn’t want to be here and it was evident in his attitude. So that was why I found it so difficult to wrap the idea of him wanting to see me around my head.

                “Why?” I asked, unsure about how to go on with this.

                Taking another sip from her wine glass, my mother met my gaze and licked her already wet lips. “You’re his daughter, why wouldn’t he want to see you?”

                “Because I tried to kill myself,” I responded emotionlessly, “and he found me.”