Future Days

Daughter

  It's been a slow dreary day here in Seattle. The trademark rain and thick frigid air has kept most of the sane people barricaded indoors. Since I've gotten out of my wheelchair and onto some crutches Chris and I have been coming in and working at the shop preparing for all the latest album releases including a little band called Pearl Jam and a new upcoming band that call themselves Temple Of The Dog.

We haven't gotten very much business today, it's mainly been Chris and I taking inventory and logging things into his new office computer. Rooster has been at a training facility for the past few days after Chris suggested we get him registered as my emotional support animal and Stone recommended a friend of his that he promised would take good care of our boy. Although I am happy he'll be able to help me even more after he's registered, I am missing him like absolute crazy while he's away.

After much convincing, Chris went to a meeting at A&M Records to discuss the album releasing in two weeks. This is the first time I've really been on my own since the incident, and I'm feeling pretty okay about it. Occasionally I'll get that looming feeling of what lies above me. I've yet to take a step into my apartment. Chris assures me it looks as if nothing ever happened, but my memories haven't exactly healed the way my apartment has. For now though, I'm content just being back in this vinyl heaven.

I sat barefoot and cross legged on the countertop with Chris' ragged old fender resting comfortably in my lap. I picked at the strings and hummed along to a melody that's been stuck in my head for days. Getting lost into the music, and blissfully unaware of my surroundings I started scribbling down some lyrics to go with the melody only half acknowledging the bell above the door had chimed, indicating a new customers arrival.

The all too familiar feeling swept my body sending a rush of chills down my spine. Someone was watching me. I could barely bring myself to raise my eyes up to see the culprit. My hand was struggling to grip the guitar pic through the trembling my fingers were doing. 
She stood casually leaning against a rack classic rock of vinyls. Her clothes were much too large and sagging off of her malnourished body. Her low hanging jeans giving peeks of her prominent hip bones. Her bleach blonde hair was tangled and oily appearing severely unwashed. She looked at me with subtle hints of amusement in her sunken in dark green orbs. She took a long drag of her cigarette she had smoked down past the filter before chunking it to the record store floor, not even bothering to step on it to put out the embers. A smile that once mirrored my own, now reveals years of prolonged tooth decay, a result of her chosen lifestyle.

"Well looky here. Ain't you just all set up and cozy." She blew a steady stream of stale smoke in my direction.

"You need to fucking leave, right now." My voice surprisingly strong.

"Now, C'mon Sydney, dear. That's no way to speak to your momma." She snickered amongst herself, absentmindedly scratching at the back of her arm.

"You're not my fucking mother. You're nothing to me. You're fucking nothing." I growled, jumping down off the countertop. The adrenaline keeping my focus from my wounded feet.

"Look at you, you got yourself some mooch money and now you thinkin' you're better than me? I got news for ya honey, me and you are cut from the same shit stained cloth. I been in your shoes. Pretty, young little blonde thing that all them rockstars fawned over. You can fight it all you want, but you are your mothers daughter." She stepped closer, no doubt attempting to intimidate me.

"Let me put this as simple as I can for all two of your brain cells to fucking comprehend. You're not my mother. You have never been a mother to me. I wanted to die every day of my life I spent with you. You let bad people do unimaginable shit to me, all so you could score another rock. You let me go days without being fed, because you were too fucked up to care for yourself, let alone for your child who didn't fucking ask to be born. You kept me from my truths my entire fucking life. You lied to me about my father, and who I am. I know for a fact it was you who tipped off Sam as to how to find me. For what? Money? Did he pay you off? He tried to fucking kill me but that doesn't matter, right? As long as you got to shoot up that day, right?
I spent so much fucking time as a kid begging for your attention and your approval. You of all people, can you believe that? Because you WERE my mother. I thought you were just sick. You needed help. So I took care of you. I was a child parent to a piece of shit but I loved you anyways, because you were my mom, and I fucking needed you.
I needed you!
Do you know what it's like seeing moms walk around Seattle hand in hand with their daughters? Seeing them laughing and playing in the parks. In movies you always see mothers and daughters who are best friends. The daughter can call the mom just to talk or cry or whatever they need. Or the mom will call just because. Just to know how they're doing. How their day is going. As much as I wish I had a mother like that, or wish you could've been that for me, I realize now that you're incapable of love. Not only are you incapable, you're also undeserving of it. It's your loss, not being in my life. It's your loss not having me as your daughter.
I want you to know that that whatever love I had for you, has long since been gone. You're dead to me." I stepped closer to her now, showing I'm not backing down and she can't scare me anymore. I feel empowered and as if a boulder has been lifted off of my shoulders.