No Strings

CHAPTER 15--GIRL DEALS WITH CLOGS

William came back from Florida. He didn't look like a happy camper when I found him in the living room. I didn't comment. I settled on the recliner like usual and stared at the TV.

"The bathroom sink is clogged," I said.

"How symbolic," he muttered.

"Bad?" I asked.

"Yup. I argued with the contractors and the engineer on the project. The whole experience was fabulous all around. I hate these petty assignments and travel, but it pays the mortgage."

"Are you planning to strike it out on your own after you get the license?" I asked.

"Not sure. I'd like to head a few more projects first."

He sighed. Wrinkles had appeared on his face where there were none before. I had a hard time to believing that he was the one demanding glue from me when we first got married.

"Let's get that sink," he said.

He reappeared in a t-shirt and jeans holding a snake, a wrench, a bucket, a flashlight and a few rags. He looked at me from the doorway. I turned off the television understanding his broad hint. He wanted my help. He had me hold the rags as he maneuvered under the sink. He turned off the water. Then with the wrench tried to open the pipe.

"Damn it," he yelled as the wrench slipped.

He turned the wrench again, and lost his grip halfway through.

"Bloody hell."

I snickered. He stared at me, not in the least pleased.

He got the offending trap loose. He snaked the other end of the hole which was releasing an obnoxious smell.

He dumped the contents. The majority of the clog was my hair, but I found two of the missing toothpaste caps I'd been looking for. I stared at their blackened shape. There was no way they could have gone down the drain unless someone removed the stopper in the sink. I stared at William. What did he do in the mornings that they would end up down there?

He took out the bucket. William replaced the pipe, grunting as he put all of the pieces back into place.

I tried to not wince at the smell from the bucket.

"Not bad."

His hands were dirty, but he was smiling. I smiled back, amused. I guess it was his stress management.

I took the bucket outside while he washed his hands in the bathtub.

I dumped it into the street.

I returned. He was already cleaning the floor and under the sink. I washed my hands in the tub. The water was still tepid. He sprayed the tub.

Soon after that he took a deep breath and left for work. I guess he had to still report to the office.

***

My mother was on my doorstep looking at her watch. After the last time, I wasn't sure I wanted to answer the door, but I hadn't paid a therapist thousands of dollars to flush it down the toilet. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that forgiving wasn't reconciling. I opened the door and then saw her crying.

The tears were running down her face. I hesitated. I didn't know how to deal with this person in front of me. She was the one that would tell me not to cry because my eyes would get puffy. She was the one who refused to give me hugs because she said it was awkward and weak. But I couldn't stand there and ignore her. I took a deep breath and remembered what I was taught.

I said words I always wanted to hear, "What's wrong?"

"Your father and I have filed for divorce."

I didn't know why she had come all this way to tell me those words. Perhaps she wanted comfort. My heart hurt. I hesitated, but hugged her with one arm. I doubted the sincerity of my gesture. She wasn't going to change. That was my forgiveness to her. I repeated this thought to myself. But I could change and give what I needed without expecting anything back. That was the forgiveness to myself.

I let her in, leading her by the arm. I helped her sit down on the couch.

"Do you want to talk about why?" I asked, trying to be gentle and open. I couldn't treat her with fear. I ran this through my head a few times too. The inconsolable sobs didn't stop.

After the sobs calmed down she started to talk about the recent fights. I didn't know why she had chosen me. She had friends, but I couldn't tell her to leave. I tried my best to comfort her, but I lost the reason why I was doing it.

"But I was thinking, it was when I had you that things got bad." She wiped her eye with a handkerchief. "It was fine before you were born."

"That hurts when you say that, " I said.

"Dear, I know it's not your fault, but your father always looked at you more than he did me. Do you remember when you were three and you chose him over me? He talked about it for weeks. I'm sure you didn't mean it since you were a child back then and we both know how children don't know anything."

She was the one that had talked about it for weeks. She hadn't forgiven me for it.

"Please, don't say things like that. It hurts when you say I'm not smart because I am a child. It hurts when you talk about Dad like that. Please don't."

"I never blamed you, dear. Don't take it like that. It's that he will always choose you over me."

"You can't stay if you are going to put me down. You are welcome to cry, you are welcome to talk, but please don't put me down and put Dad down."

"I didn't say anything like that." Her voice had thickened and stiffened.

"You said Dad chose me over you. That hurts when you say that."

"I never said that. I came here for comfort and you do this--you accuse me of something I never did."

Her lips were thinning and turning white.

"I understand you feel bad right now that your marriage isn't doing well, but I don't think I can handle it right now. If you can't stop putting me and Dad down in front of me, then I'll have to leave the room."

I tried to say it in a calm and even voice, but my insides were quivering and my voice quavered despite my best efforts. I wished things were easier. I corrected that thought. I wasn't going to waste thousands of dollars. Everyone had hardships. Everyone.

I looked straight at her so she would know I was being serious.

"You'll leave me alone? But then who will talk to me?"

"How about a friend? Jennifer?"

"But none of my friends will understand like you do, honey."

It was an echo of one of the phrases my ex-boyfriends would say. I bashed down my anger from hearing the phrase from her lips.

"If it's bad and you need to talk, perhaps a therapist will help, but I can't."

"A head doctor? Me? I don't need it. You need it. You are the one accusing me of things I never did. And you're kicking out your mother like this."

She was inventing things I never said. She had stopped listening.

I got up to leave as I said I would, but I found her pushing past me and going for the door. I didn't go after her. I heard her words echo back at me. "It's clear you don't love me."

The door shut and clicked behind her. I couldn't do anything now.

My father called a week later. He said the words, "Don't blame her." Before I could say anything, he said goodbye and hung up the phone. A proud man to the very last.