A Lover's Lament(81)

I fight it with all my might, but a tear makes its way down my cheek. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of her, but since the first once has fallen, it’s as if the floodgates have opened. This is my mother, the woman who is supposed to love me.

The tears fall faster than I can dry them. I dab my shirt against my eyes, hoping that when I pull it away, she will be back in her room. But instead, she’s even closer. My back is flush against the door and she brings her finger to my face, causing me to flinch and draw back. I smack my head against the wall, but that doesn’t stop her. Instead, she slides her pointer from my chin to my eye, collecting some of the tears, and then she pulls her hand back to examine it. She looks down at me and then back at her finger with disgust before wiping it on my shirt as if she could catch something from it.

“Fuck your tears. Do you know how many tears I’ve cried over you stealing my life from me? How many tears I’ve cried because I didn’t listen to your father and get rid of you like he told me to do?” The last part cuts through me like a knife, my heart exposed to the cold, hard world and forever changed because of it.

But I’m not sad anymore, though the tears still pour. No, now I hate her. In fact, right now, I could kill her. I want to erase her from my memory and pretend my mother died a long, long time ago.

Just as I’m about to lose it, she turns and charges back to her room, slamming the door so hard I can hear every picture in her room tumble to the floor. Pushing my door open, I quickly slip inside, shut it behind me and burrow into bed. I bury my face in my hands, and for longer than I’d like to admit, I cry.

The tears begin to dry and I pull a picture from my nightstand, the only one I have of my mother and father together—the only one I have of my father at all. I’m eight years old and seated in both of their laps, all of us with Mickey Mouse ears on. It’s my favorite picture, probably because it’s the last time I remember us being happy. I managed to swipe it from my mother before she burned every picture with my father in it, everything he ever bought or touched or looked at … my childhood literally went up in flames.

I stare at the picture for an eternity, and for the millionth time, I coat it with a fresh layer of tears. Once I’ve cried my last tear, I make my way to the kitchen and pick up the phone, because right now there’s only one person I want to see—the only one that can take this pain away. And she’s the only family I’ll ever need.




“Katie?” A voice tugs at my consciousness, pulling my eyes open, and for a second, I have no idea where I am or who could be talking to me. I rub my palms into my eyes and try to wipe away the fogginess.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Your eyes were open just a few moments ago and you seemed alert.” Really? Alert? My coherence finally returns and I recognize the woman, who sort of looks like my mother, looking very motherly at me. My mother. I’m on a flight. My mother died. I’m heading home.

“How long have we been flying?” I ask.

“A little over six hours. Do you not remember speaking with me a few times along the way?” she asks, sounding concerned.

I scan my brain but come up empty. Then, as if making sure my limbs are still intact, I scan each sleeve of my uniform and both pant legs, and then I look around the plane, taking everything in. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I…” She puts a hand up to stop me.

“Don’t worry about it. I can only imagine what little sleep you all get over there. Thank you for what you do, by the way. I have a lot of family that served and continue to serve. I was actually over in Germany visiting my son and his wife. He’s in the Army and they had their first baby, so I got to see him. Now I’m making my way back to Memphis via JFK.” She pauses briefly, putting a hand to her mouth to capture a yawn, then continues. “Of course, we’ve discussed all that, so sorry if I’m repeating myself.”

I shake my head. She’s not repeating anything, to my knowledge. I’m a little embarrassed and shocked that I had conversations with this woman and don’t even recall them.

“Wait, so what about Katie?” Did I talk to her about Katie? “You sure do talk about her in your sleep … a lot.” She giggles a little and then catches herself.

“Really? What was I saying?”

“Well, you weren’t making a whole lot of sense. It seems you are desperate to get to her though, and judging by the way you were calling out to her, I’d say that you love her very much. I guess that’s why I asked. I’m hoping for a good love story to pass the time. Oh, how I love a good love story!” She smiles at me, squeezing her hands to her chest. I’d rather just settle my head and arms on top of the tray table and go back to sleep, but she’s too damn sweet. I can’t be an ass to her.

“An old flame, I guess you could say.” It’s the only thing that comes to mind. I search for more, but there’s nothing. Nothing my clouded brain can come up with, and nothing I want to share with this complete stranger.

“And are you on your way to see this old flame?” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Gosh, I’m so sorry! Look at me being all nosy and obnoxious!” She shakes her head from side to side, scolding herself under her breath.

“No, you’re fine, ma’am. I know how these long flights can be. I’m sorry I’ve been a rude neighbor.” I force a smile. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure if I’ll see her or not. I hope to, but it’s been a long time and a lot has happened.” Yeah, Wyatt has happened.