Page 37 of Not Another Yesterday
I stay silent for a while, battling the weight of what’s transpired over the past thirty days. It’s been getting heavier and heavier—the nightmares, the spiraling thoughts, the intrusion by that damn journalist…
Up until August of last year, Miranda was the only person who truly knew what my mother was doing to me. Miranda and I have known each other since I was ten and she was twelve, and we bonded over having parents who treated us badly. Her father—the pastor of my grandparents’ small church in Montana—is a verbally, emotionally abusive. And my mother would regularly beat the living shit out of me while reminding me that I was utterly, fucking worthless.
So, I open the door a little wider; maybe I can relieve just a tiny bit of the burden. I tell Miranda about my grandmother’s unannounced visit, the way she rationalized what my mom did to me, and her suggestion that I search my soul for forgiveness.
Miranda chuffs loudly next to me. “So what I hear you telling me, Rony, is that your grandmother came to the house where your mother inflicted almost two decades’ worth of torture on you, just to make fucking excuses for your mom’s behavior.” Her blue eyes are ablaze with anger.
I nod. “That night I dreamed that I was beating the shit out of Cat, Randi. And I’ve had several more of those fucking dreams. It freaks me out so much. I swear it felt real. What if I hurt her, Randi? I can’t do to my family what my mother did to me, what my grandfather did to his family.” My stomach churns. Each time I have a dreamlike that I wake up not only drenched and clammy, but overcome by nausea that brings me to my knees. I’ve thrown up twice after that nightmare, but I’ve managed to keep from purging my stomach the last few times by sitting on the edge of my bed while hugging my knees and concentrating on slowing my breathing.
“Rony,” Miranda says with an air of amusement, “you can’t seriously think you’d be capable of doing that.”
I clench my teeth, my jaw flexing. I have no idea what I’m capable of. I’ve lost control before, have found myself in situations where I saw nothing but deep, dark red, where violence seemed the only reasonable response to whatever the fuck triggered me. Who’s to say I won’t find myself in a situation like that in the future, that I won’t be set off by something as yet unknown to me? From what I understand, my grandfather didn’t lay a hand on his wife until they were married. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before I… snap.
“What does Cat have to say about all of this?” Miranda asks when I don’t respond.
“I honestly don’t know,” I say sheepishly. “I haven’t talked to her about any of it.”
“Ugh,” Miranda groans. “Why not, Rony? You talk to me about it.”
I throw my hands up, then grip the steering wheel tightly. “You two are so different, Randi. You know what it’s like; you understand the darkness, how fucking broken I am. Cat is… Her love for me is so pure. She’s… whole, and unbroken, and… not… stained like me.”
“You think you’re stained?” Miranda asks, a note of sadness in her voice.
“I don’t… I can’t burden her with this shit,” I say without responding to her question. “I just want to protect her. She’s… God, she cares so much about me. She’s always so considerate and I… I don’t want her to forget herself or be anchored down by me or…” I don’t think my ramblings make any sense at all.
Heavy silence engulfs us for what feels like an eternity while Miranda studies me. “Can I tell you what I think?” she finally asks.
My jaw ticks. “Since when do you require my permission to word vomit all over me?” I ask dryly.
“I just thought I’d be polite,” she says with a small giggle, but immediately turns serious again. “Two things, Rony. One, when it comes to Cat, you have to remember that she’s been through the thick of it with you already. She’s not ignorant to your pain. You guys have been together for quite a while now and she’s seen you when you were at your most broken, right?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I was gone; I was in Montana. Those months when I couldn’t drag myself out of bed, when I couldn’t eat, when I had nonstop nightmares, when I tried to figure out a new normal, a life without fear and violence—I was in Montana, away from Cat. I didn’t even get to talk to her while I was at my lowest. She may have an idea, but she doesn’t really know how bad it was, how close I got to just… ending it all.”
“She knows, Rony,” Miranda says. “And if she doesn’t, I’d say she deserves to know. What’s the point of swallowing it all? If she loves you the way you love her, then she’ll also love the not-so-perfect pieces of you, the broken parts, the darkness that’s still inside you that I know you’re working hard every day to keep at bay, because I do it, too,” she says, her voice warm. “And two, when it comes to the shit your grandmother piled onto your already overburdened shoulders, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve known you for a long time, and you don’t have violent tendencies.”
Except I do. It just has to be drawn out of me, which obviously can be done. It’s happened before, and it can happen again.“But what if I just fucking snap one day? What if something happens and I lose control? I could never undo that.”
“Rony, you were so sad when your grandpa hauled off that cow for culling when we were little. Do you remember that?” she asks with a smile, and I nod. “You have such a goodheart. You’ve always been there for me. For crying out loud, you saved my dad’s life! You really think someone capable of hurting the person they love most would drop everything to drive thirteen hours and dothis? I don’t. Someone like that wouldn’t do mouth-to-mouth on a drunk person who was choking on his puke.”
“You’ve always been like that; you’ve always been there for the people who needed you, even while your own life lay in ruins. That’s… that’s so damn selfless. How many times have I told you how damn good you are, Rony? That wasn’t just bullshit. I know I say a lot of stupid shit, but I don’t lie. You know me, I say it how I see it, and I know you’re good. You don’t have a malicious bone in that sexy-ass body of yours,” she says with a grin and a wink.
I’m not convinced, but I also don’t want to argue her point right now. I know none of us are only ever just good or evil. My grandfather obviously had some redeeming qualities, and even my mom was respected and well-liked by others.
My mom never touched my brother. And even when she hurt me, she’d clean me up after. Apologize. Say she didn’t want to hurt me. That’s what fucked me up the most: how abuse and care came in the same breath. That’s what made life with her such a damn mind-fuck. It wasn’t just black and white. It was very,verygray. And I’m well aware that I, too, have a switch that can be flipped under just the right circumstances. The problem is, I don’t know myself enough to understand what those circumstances are. I can’t guarantee that I’ll never lose my shit on anyone I love.
I only shrug. “Alright, if you say so.”
Miranda studies me a moment longer, then flashes a grin that’s equal parts mischief and mercy. “Okay. Mood reset. Can I see more sexy pictures of your girlfriend?”
I shake my head at her with a half-smile on my lips. “You’d like that, huh?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t discriminate, and she’s really nice to look at. How tall is she?”
“I’ve never asked her, but probably around five nine?”
“Damn, she’s tall!”
“Yeah, I definitely don’t throw my back out trying to kiss her,” I say with a smirk.
