One

 

O N E

 

 

The first time I saw my mother cry was when I was six years old. It was evening, nearly night, and I was waiting on the couch in our small living room for someone to come out and get me something to eat.

We were living with Grandma then and she usually cooked dinner, rather than my mother. My mother"she never did much of anything, but she did do a lot of going out. Whenever she went out I never saw her again until the wee hours of the morning, during which she seemed groggy and disheveled. Sometimes her eyes were red, other times her hair fuzzy and pushed awkwardly to one side, as if the wind hadn’t been satisfied until it had had its way. I was always asleep during these times, of course, but I would be awakened by the sound of the front door busting open and banging against the wall behind it. I would know then that she was home.

 

But, that day, she didn’t go out. In fact, she didn’t even come out of her room, which was unlike her. I decided to investigate. So, as soon as Grandma came out of her room and began moving about in the kitchen, banging pots and pans against each other"a sure sign she was ready to prepare dinner"I crept out of the living room and found myself standing in front of my mother’s brown door. I knocked once, twice, three times. There was no answer. I tried the knob and the door creaked open. Inside, the room was pitch dark. There was a light switch beside me on the wall, I could feel it. I flicked it upward and the room exploded into blindingly bright light.

On the bed was the Thing That Was Not My Mother. Its legs were splayed apart, so far apart that I could see its pink underwear. As I could came closer, I could also see that its hair was covering its face, that its hands on its stomach were a sickening shade of white that made my throat tighten.

My hands were shaking as I went to touch its face and smooth away the hair as if even they had a mind of its own and were afraid of what they might uncover.

The skin of its forehead was cold, that much I could feel through the thick curtain of hair and, suddenly, I had an image in my head of me pushing that curtain away and finding cold, lifeless, eyes staring back at me and suddenly it was hard for me to breathe and I was shaking her awake by the shoulders.

“Sydney!” My mother came back to life, gripping my shoulders firmly. Her eyes stared down into my soul. “Stop. Just stop”. And then her fingers were slipping off of me and she was laying back down, looking more lifeless than ever.

I didn’t notice it at first. I didn’t hear it, because she had turned her head into her pillow. I only knew because her shoulders were shaking.

It was only strange because my mother never cried. Never. Not when we were watching sad movies, like Titanic. Not even when Grandpa died suddenly the year before. Maybe there was a method to her not shedding a tear. Maybe she had a reason for it. Maybe she didn’t. All I knew was that at that moment I became so angry"so angry at whoever had made her cry, because I was sure that whoever had managed to make her crack had to be the most horrible person there was.

And so in the most controlled voice I could muster I asked, “What"who did this to you?”

She had turned to face me so that I could see her bloodshot red eyes, her glistening cheeks. “Life,” she said, turned back over.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“And then what happened?” The therapist in the cow skinned chair asks eagerly. Her name is Marcella.

I blink at her, coming back to the present, ten years later since then,  leaving behind the long gone past. For a moment I don't know what else to say, my mouth is dry.

Silence.

And then the phlegm is cleared from my throat, I say "And that’s when things changed drastically”.

Reviews

[EverEmma]

This really hit me hard. I first read it a week ago and I loved it, now I understand it. Kristen, the way you write is so similar to the New York Times Bestseller, Sarah Dessen it took me aback. I ADORE her and I LOVE you. I always knew that you would be a famous writer someday but, now, I think that is more certain than ever.

Love ya, Kristen...you stay strong

[Bridget Mcmaken]

wow wonderful way to start a chapter, it got me hooked right away and couldn't stop reading till the page ended. It's nicely written bit could have just a little more detail. Other then that it's a great chapter and I woulds like to see more to this book.

[zappy]

Loads of feelings/power Is what really made this story great.

[Alex Thomas]

Very dark beginning. The power of the conclusion leaves your reader anxious for more. I felt that there could have been more detail, but there was a sufficient amount to get a feel for the scene. The flashback leads an excellent trail into your story. An excellent start.