Page 7 of Your Soul Is Ours

I brush my hair, trying different styles so my mother doesn’t notice that I haven’t had the ability to get a haircut. Finally, I just tie it up into a high ponytail and style the bangs in a side sweep.Picking up my phone, I order an Uber before walking tomy bedroom. I pull on a black sweater and pair it with burgundy jeans.

On the way to my mother’s house, I consider how to address her. I would like her to stop treating me like I’m a child. It's been five years of me living alone, and I’m ready for her to see me as the adult I have grown into. Lost in my thoughts, I bite the inside of my lip absentmindedly. My concern is that either way my actions will have negative consequences, and she'll blow them out of proportion.

As the Uber pulls into the driveway, I see only my mother’s car. I give the driver a five-dollar bill. “Would you be able to pick me up again? I liked the service you gave.” He nods, and shows me on my phone how I can request certain drivers. I like that he didn’t talk.

The large wooden house stands in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself as I walk to the door and ring the bell. A few minutes pass before she appears at the window in the door. Her pin-straight, dark brown hair is freshly coloured. Her green eyes look at me over her square glasses, her face perfectly made up. Mother opens the door, her cold eyes judging me like they always do. The tension in my jaw increases, and I want to flee, but I stand as tall as I can.

“Glad you could make it on time. How are you?” Her smile is wide, but doesn’t reach her eyes. Most of the time, I feel like we’re puppets in a play. She acts for a camera that doesn’t exist and I do my best to blend in and play the way she wants me to.

“Hey, mom. How are you?” Entering the house of memories, the walls lined with every single lie, every ghost of the past. I follow her up the stairs, glancing down toward the basement, but the door is closed. My brother used to live down in the basement but recently moved out. He is the star child, the one who can do no wrong. Almost as toxic as my mother, even though I’m the oldest. My sister lives around the corner and seems to escapemost of mother’s wrath, but is just like my mom. My sister acts for the camera of life, she dreams of the fans she doesn’t really have and I don’t know why I’m different.

“I’ve been cooking all day. I hope that you still eat turkey.”

Walking into the kitchen, the clutter surrounds me. China cabinets filled to the brim with knick knacks, old pictures, and newspapers stacked high. The house is a contradiction. The outside looks perfectly on display, while the inside is home to more junk than anyone would need in their lifetime.

“Did you cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner?” I look at the bowls of mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn, and a plate of turkey that line the white counter.

“You could just be appreciative. Grab a plate.”

I open the cupboard and pull out a plate, then add mashed potatoes, corn, a tiny amount of green bean casserole and a slice of turkey to it. She shakes her head and glances from my plate to the spread of food.“I guess you can always get seconds,” she says as she fills her plate. We walk around the corner of the kitchen to the dining room.

“What’s new and exciting?” she asks me, and I ponder the question. She’s in a good mood and I allow myself to believe that this is just about dinner.

“I’ve had a bunch of freelance projects and they have been going really well. One of my clients wants to hire me full-time.”

“Did you hear from your sister? She made manager at her job. We’re just so proud of her.” She smiles as she scoops mashed potatoes into her mouth. If only I could matter to her as much as everyone else does.

“I haven’t talked to her yet. Good for her, she’s been working hard.” I reach for the water and pour it into the glass next to my plate.

“Be careful. You don’t want to break that pitcher. It’s been in the family for years.” My hand shakes as the confrontation Iknow is going to happen runs through my body. I take a sip of water and eat a few forkfuls of green bean casserole.

“Mom, I want to talk to you about treating me like an adult. I don’t like it when you treat me like a child. I’m twenty-five and I’ve been living alone successfully for over five years.” I look into her eyes. A darkness passes through them before her face softens.

“Marla, I wouldn’t have to treat you that way if you just took care of yourself. Look at your brother. He’s doing a great job at growing into a respectful adult.”

Cutting into my turkey, I take a bite before I talk again, the haunting whispers telling me to keep the peace flossing through my mind. “I just think, after everything we’ve been through, that you could do this for me.”

She rolls her eyes, and sets down her fork. “I know that it’s hard for you since your father died, but he wasn’t just your dad, he was someone I loved deeply and now it’s up to me to take care of you.”

I set down the fork and knife, keeping them in my hands, the cool metal digging into my palms from holding on so tightly. “Dad doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m talking about. I want you to stop treating me like a child. I’ve been through enough, and I need you to treat me like the adult I’ve become.”

She laughs, the joke is lost on me. “Been through a lot, have you? Because I didn’t praise you enough growing up, or is it because you are jealous of your brother and sister, and you want to paint me as a terrible mother?”I take my phone from my pocket and order myself an Uber.I can’t stay here another moment, the vice on my chest tightens with each breath I take and my heart thumps quicker than it should.

“Are you leaving? You can’t just walk away. We’re in the middle of dinner.”

“I’m full. It’s been lovely, but I have to leave.” The tears build in my chest. She can never love me.

“Marla, sit down right now. You are being so dramatic. What has gotten into you? You have always been the quiet one. Like a shy dog that hangs in the background, that is who you are.”

“Goodbye mom, I’ll call you soon. Love you.”

She grabs my arm before I can leave the kitchen. She spins me towards her, and her palm connects with my cheek. The pain spreads across my face, the tears threaten to fall and my phone pings with an alert that the Uber is here. “You are an ungrateful little cunt.” I stare into her green eyes, and it’s almost as if I can see the mask slip back into place. “I’ll call you soon. Have a good night,” the words drip off her tongue like venom. I know that this will grant me either days of silent treatment or endless calls.

I grab my purse and run down the stairs. Once I’m outside in the cool air, I’m able to breathe again. I get into the back of the Uber and ride home in silence. If only there was a way to quiet my mind. The memories slaughter me, breaking what’s left of my heart, and eat away at my soul.

Back inside my apartment, I lock the door and my knees go weak as I walk to the patio. I sit in the chair and light a cigarette, exhaling as the tears start to pour. I do nothing to stop them as the sobs wrack my body.

Six

---