Catch

Catch

By Jennifer David

“I’m not leaving you. I’m leaving him,” she'd say as our family minivan pulled away.

Those words meant what when she’d literally leave me? Nothing. Those are words that she’d say to live with herself. But we all know they don’t make any sense. Yet, we all know at least one person like her. 

Someone who religiously practices unintelligible stupidity. Maybe it's a friend who buys disposable water bottles to throw away, but refills anyways because they don’t want to waste. Or even a family member who says they won’t relax their hair because it’s damaging; but they flat iron it daily. Things like this make me want to rip out my own hair. But they also make us love or hate a person. For me, in this situation, I couldn’t confidently say which.

On weekends she reminded me of freshly peeled peach slices in a sugary batter with a dash of cinnamon. It’d take hours to bake but instantly put a smile on my face. She was warm like an oven and so was her bed. So on Saturdays I’d wake up, jump in, and  we’d watch movies all day. Sundays before church, she’d wake us by playing hide and seek. She'd creep around the bedroom pretending not to know where we were. But we were always in the closet, silencing giggles and hugging each other while hiding from our favorite yellow bear hungry for honey. 

And during the week, she was like my least favorite sandwich with a side of fruit snacks. Eating the turkey sandwich seemed to take forever. The wheat bread had too many seeds. And I frequently got the wrong cheese, the nasty kind with holes in it. But I ate it anyways; since, I knew when it was done there was a sweet treat waiting for me. The only downside was that the small pack of fruit snacks was gone before I realized. Like how we’d wait all day to see her. Everyone would pile in the van to pick her up from work. And it might have taken a while before she came out but she always did, and most of the time, with surprises. Then we would get home, eat dinner, clean up, make fun of each other, and watch TV. But by the time we were done she was already asleep.

She filled each day with unimaginable excitement and delight. She’d do crazy things like throw her heart at me and it was impossible not to throw mine back. Her character forced me to love her. And so on nights after she left, I’d miss her. I missed the resplendent smile that she painted on my face, mirroring hers. I missed the girls trips to the mall or breakfast, instead of going to school. I longed to prank call her during lunch again or send her one more  funny text during class. I missed her so much that I felt like I was begging her to come back, waiting by the front door on my knees with my heart in my hands. I could only wish that she’d play catch with me one more time.

However, it wasn’t just one time that she left. It happened a lot. It was almost on a cycle. And each time she’d leave it was a little harder get on my knees. But the last time was different; they were raw. They were bleeding and my skin was rubbed away. And my heart, it was frozen.

That last night after she left, I laid awake in my blackened white room; I didn’t care if my eyes were open, it didn’t make a difference. The darkness was still the same. And sleep was only a dream. 

I wouldn’t sleep because I was too afraid to dream. I was too scared to think of how it felt to hear her heavy heels hit the sidewalk, with the sunsetting around us, as we picked her up from work. I didn’t want remember the ache in my cheeks laughing with her. And I wished that her smile wouldn’t haunt me.

Senseless. It was senseless to remember the way she slept with the television on and looked up when we turned it off. Ridiculous to think about sticking our fingers in her belly button. Pointless to dream about the little girl who would run to hide under her long dresses. 

So, I wanted to be mad. I wished that coffee stained teeth and peach gobbler would repulse me. I wanted to gag when I saw fruit snacks. I needed to beat the pain of my trust being taken away. Because when it really mattered, when my world was foggy, my faith was only what my eyes could see, and my mind terrorized by dreams, she’d leave. But it’s harder than it seems to stop yourself from trying one last time to hold on to what used to be. And I never even thought she'd leave in the first place. I wasn’t ready. Who would be?

And nothing could've prepared me for the pain that hit me that day. The last day that I threw my heart. And it left me dead in darkness, cursed by the memory of her speeding down the street.

That day, she pulled out of the driveway and I was desperate for her not to leave. So I ran onto the porch and threw my heart with everything within me. I watched it spiral through the air as the sun melted away some of the ice, and the distance closed to the car. I knew she’d miss it, but hoped she’d pick it up off the street. I was so certain that it would'nt shatter. So I prayed that she'd hold it tight in one hand one, while throwing hers back with the other. 

Instead, it hit the windshield and she swatted at the mess with the wipers until the tiny chips and chunks mixed with pebbles and rocks across the pavement. I was so sicked. I could only watch.

I blinked. Once. I couldn't breathe. Twice. A tear dropped. And by the third, my mom was gone.