The Struggle

"Don't touch that," Jaq yelled as her mother grabbed one of her teacups and saucers.

"What do you mean? I wasn't touching anything. I wanted to make sure this didn't fall since the pile of papers you just put down and shoved caused the cups and saucers to move across the table," her mother said.

"That's touching," Jaq said, breathing long and loudly at her mother. Then, she got between her and the table. Rolled her eyes and made a growling noise.

Her mother saw her daughter for the first time in the natural sunlight that came through the dining room window. Her grey hair was greasy and long, and she hadn't brushed it in weeks. Her face and teeth looked like neither of them had been cleaned in a while, either. Her thin bag of bones frame was half hidden by hair that saw her as either a member of ZZ Top or Cousin It's cousin, but which her mother couldn't be sure of.

"I don't care what your reason is. Don't touch my stuff. I don't want anything moved because I'll know if it has been moved." She nodded her head as she looked down at her mother's face. She grits her teeth and flares her nostrils.

"'I don't care what your reason is. Don't touch my stuff?' What kind of response is that to say to your mother?"

"If the situation calls for it, then that's what you get told," Jaq said. And then she shook her head behind her mother's head.

The two moved from the kitchen into the dining room. On the way, Jaq saw that the cookbooks on the corner of the dining room table had been moved.

"Where did my cookbooks go?" She glared at her mother. "I told you before to leave my stuff alone and stop picking up on everything you want done in this house now that it's mine."

"That's enough; I don't want to listen to any of your remarks anymore about what is important and needs to be here versus the stuff that isn't here and isn't important," her mother said. "That's so nice of you to be concerned about what I do, but listen to me well when I tell you that you need to be worried about yourself and your hoarding. Nobody I've ever met does what you do."

"Yeah, and what's that?" Jaq said.

"Your stops and pickups from the end of driveways and the side of the roads where you cannot drive past without stopping to pick things up has got to be the worst habit I've ever seen you do," she said.

"You don't understand what it means to me to pick up whatever I want and know that I can decide whether to control if it comes home," Jaq said. "Me, nobody else." She had her fist closed except for a thumb pointed to her chest.

"Is that something that makes you happy?" Her mother asked her.

"Since I was a small child, you've been telling me what to do and ensuring that I do everything the way you want it done and when now I call the shots. So, yeah, it does make me feel better."

"To call the shots means that you know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. Do you believe that you do that well?" Her mother asked her another question.

"I sure do," Jaq said.

"Well, I have some news for you. I called 'Just Junk,' and they're on their way out here to take away everything that I don't want anymore and that your brother and sister don't want either."

Jaq flew into a rage. "What do you mean? You asked them before you asked me? Why would you do that? And now you're not asking me. You're just getting rid of these things?"

"Yes, that's what I'm doing."

"I'm not letting them in. Don't let them in my house. I'll call the police," Jaq said.

"This won't be good if you do something like that," her mother said.

"I don't care what it's like. I'll do what I want." Jaq smiled, entered the dining room, and slammed the door between it and the second living room. Her mother followed after her. "Nobody knows what it's like to struggle and wish you didn't. But not being able to stop yourself from being impulsive and pick up items that catch your eye," Jaq said.

"How can we help you? Talk to us." Her mother said.

"I'm not trying to get you to help me. I want you to leave me alone. Let me do my thing, my way. And mind your business," Jaq told her.

"I beg your pardon?" Her mother said.

"I'm sick of you and your righteous ways; I hated being your kid, and what's worse is living with you as an adult and having to still put up with your crap about the way I want to live my life," Jaq said.

They parted ways, and Jaq remained in the second living room, sorting two tables' worth of stuff. Her mother could not understand why Jaq had the things in the first place. Her mother returned with two cups of tea. She handed one to Jaq.

"Do you believe you kept a good household and left us to fend for ourselves?" Jaq said.

"I did what I thought I should be doing then; whether it was right to do it that way was my decision. Maybe it wasn't good, but I made it for all three of you kids," her mother said.

"Well, now you understand why I have a connection to all kinds of things that, when we were kids, we weren't allowed to have," Jaq said. "Now I don't have to keep things away from my wanting it anymore."

"That's crazy, Jaq," her mother said. "Do you realize we are all family and want the best for you? We don't want you to believe this is how family behaves?"

"I want to believe you, but your actions speak and have spoken much louder than your words for years," Jaq said.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"Send them away, or I'll make sure they don't get in," Jaq said.

"You'll make sure they don't get in? Hmm?"

"I mean it. Tell them to go away." She breaks out in a sweat and has her hands up to her head.