Broken Read Free Page A

having you home.  The house is so quiet now.”  I do as I’m told grudgingly and try to enjoy the dark aroma of my coffee.  “So do you know where this came from?”
     
    “Where what came from?” I know what she’s talking about but I pretend not to.
     
    “The basket silly.”  Can she be any more cheerful?  I swear sometimes I wonder if maybe I was adopted. 
     
    “Some neighbor dropped it off before you came.”
     
    “Oh how nice.  So what did this neighbor look like?  Come on, girlfriend, talk.  There was a time when I couldn’t shut you up.”  I hate when she tries to sound like she’s my friend instead of my mother.  Or maybe I just hate life period. 
     
    “Mom, the only time I talked nonstop was when I was five.  Besides, there’s nothing to tell.  His name is David and he has a little girl.  End of story.”
     
    “Oh honey.”  I can see the concern on her face.  She knows how I get around little kids.  That’s one of the reasons I no longer work as a teacher.  Being a writer gives me the advantage of never having to face the world.  There are no little kids in my writing cave to remind me of my past. Just me and darkness. 
     
    “It’s ok, Mom.  I’m ok.”
     
    “Do you want to talk about it?”  We both know the answer to that question, yet she asks me all the time. 
     
    “If I haven’t talked about it in the last five years, why would I want to talk about it now?  How is me telling the world that I lost my unborn baby on that awful night when some fucking assholes decided to break into our home, kill my husband, beat the shit out of me, and rape me over and over again, going to make me feel better?  How Mom?  TELL ME?”  She looks at me with wide eyes, uncertain of how to react.  The minute the words escape my mouth, I know I’m in trouble.  She’ll immediately know I haven’t taken my medication and I fear of what she’s going to do.  She surprises us both by staying calm and I watch her get a cup of coffee for herself.
     
    “I’m sorry, Mom.  I didn’t mean to yell.”
     
    “No baby.  I’m glad you did.  You need to yell and let it all out.  Keeping all that inside will only kill you.  And it kills me, honey, because I know you’re hurting and I can’t do anything about it.”  We stay silent for a while, neither one of us knowing what to say next.  Eventually Mom is the first to speak.  “When your dad died, I thought my world would end.  Oh, it was the worst time of my life.  I used to wait for you to go to school, then I would close myself in the bathroom and scream until no air was left in my lungs.  I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call the cops on me,” she laughs lightly, but I know better.  She’s hurting, even now, recalling those times.
     
    “Remember how I used to sleep all day on weekends?  I didn’t want to wake up.  It was selfish of me, and I know I wasn’t a good mother during those times, but I didn’t know any better.  Eventually Irene—remember her, the lady that owned the bakery next to your dad’s office?  Well, she came over one day and I was so embarrassed that the house was a mess and I looked like I hadn’t showered in months.  She didn’t say anything. Instead she started cleaning the kitchen while she forced me to take a bath.  She cooked us dinner that night and after you went to bed, the two of us stayed up all night talking.  That was the night I got my life back together. What I’m trying to tell you sweetheart is that we all have had a broken heart.  Some cuts are deeper than others, but we must go on.  You can’t let life pass you by. The only way you’ll be able to move on is by talking about it.  Talk to yourself if you have to; just let it out.”
     
    How can I make her understand that I can’t do that?  There is no way to compare what happened to me and Sam to what happened to Dad.  I didn’t get to have my husband for fifteen years.  We had only been