Monster

   'Diane, I want you to take a look at this. It's really important. " Elizabeth Murphy, was 89 yrs old. and the mother of Diane Clark, her 57 yr old widowed daughter. Her oldest child. Her first born. Her handicapped child. 

    Diane walked over to look at the picture and it was a picture of herself, Diane . She had to be about 4 yrs old in that picture. 

    Elizabeth Murphy pointed to the picture and said, "See how your right leg looks much shorter than the left leg. See. Your brother was saying, just the other day how there was something wrong with all the girls on the Murphy side. All of you, Jane, Kara and you." Elizabeth put the picture on the table where she propped it up in front of a picture of the grandchild who was her favorite grandchild. She smiled at her daughter. Proud of herself. 

   Diane glanced briefly a second time at the photo and walked away. Elizabeth had a tiny grin on her face. She enjoyed seeing the way her daughter walked. Limping.

"Just more proof of the bad blood on your father's side of the family," she yelled to her daughter's retreating back . 

" How many times is she going to do this to me? " Diane whispered softly to herself as she walked upstairs. Her stomach aching. It was becoming something of a daily event. 

"She is a monster and she is turning me into a monster. She is teaching me to hate. I am learning to hate. I hate her." God help me, she is my mother and I hate her."  

   She stayed upstairs for the rest of the night. In bed, while the sun was still out. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary in this house. 'The house where I grew up,' thought Diane. 'It hasn't changed. She hasn't changed. Once a torture chamber, still a torture chamber. I thought I was doing the right thing by moving in here. I felt sorry for her. Her partner died. My husband was gone. She doesn't drive. She takes prescriptions. I really thought this was the right thing to do. And what a kick in the ass I got. What a kick in the ass. I'm dying here..one day at a time. One day at a time. Every time I turn around she is using that mean mouth of hers on me." Making me feel like less has always been how she makes herself feel like more. It's one knife in the back after another.. And she's my mother." Tears filled Diane's eyes. And how many times a day did this scenario repeat?

   That was Diane's final thought as she drifted off to sleep. Her sleep was restless, fitfull. At 5:45 the next morning her eyes shot open. Right on cue. She had trained herself to do this. She loved waking up early. Her mother was a late sleeper, and Diane treasured those few hours of privacy she was able to enjoy before her mother woke up. Before the day began. 

   Her childhood had been a difficult one. Surgeries, hospitalizations, doctors and her mother. Not necessarily in that order. 'It was a mistake to move back in here after my mother lost her partner,' Diane thought. "It was a mistake.' I got punished for doing the right thing. I got punished.'

   She took a bowl down from the cupboard over the sink and poured in corn flakes. Next, she ran the cold water, grabbed the carafe from the coffee machine, dropped a filter into the filter basket , measured out, then poured in, enough water for 2 cups of coffee. She spooned 2 tablespoons of dark roast into the filter basket and hit the button for strong and dark. She sprinkled a teaspoon of sugar onto her cornflakes and took the milk out of the fridge.  

   She had a small appetite but she knew she needed to eat. Food is strength, and to live in this house you needed strength. She was spooning up the last 2 mouthfuls of cornflakes when the coffee machine beeped. Strong dark coffee was one of her pleasures.  

   At 8:00 sharp Elizabeth walked into the kitchen. She did a quick scan of the kitchen to make sure everything was in its place and there was a place for everything. Diane had quickly learned the value of leaving everything the way she had found it.  

   Everyone considered Elizabeth to be a saint....thought Diane. She speaks so well of herself, so highly , telling people how good-hearted she is. How kind she is. What a generous, moral person she is. They had no idea how she had always treated her handicapped child. No one ever knew what went on behind closed doors. House Devil...Street Angel. That was Elizabeth. To a 'T."

    Diane cringed under mother's angry black eyes. "She even wakes up in an ugly mood," thought Diane. She put her coffee cup her spoon and bowl in the sink. Elizabeth skinned her eyes at the sink." Oh," she said, "I see you had coffee. I was getting ready to throw the coffee machine out." It doesn't work right for me." 

   Diane stared at her mother. Elizabeth had a small smile on her face. There was nothing wrong with the coffee machine. Diane knew that for a fact. The cruelty was the point. Elizabeth enjoyed cruelty. And she was good at it. She continuesly jabbed at her daughter in a lot of little ways, and big ways, too.

   Diane took a deep breath and headed for the living room thinking, 'Well, I guess it's the convenience store every morning for coffee, now. Great. And their coffee sucks." 

   My poor father. What he put up with from this woman! Abusing him and cheating on him. A gold digger with the biggest claws imaginable. Hooked herself a small business-owner. Spent years belittling and making fun of him. After pushing him to sign over several assets she pushed him out the door, too. Or did he run for his life?

   My heart aches for my poor father. I can't think of anyone who deserves heaven more than he does. And that is where he is. I know it for a fact." Diane comforted herself as she settled on the smaller of the two couches. She grabbed the remote and pushed the buttons for her favorite news channel. 

   A moment later she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. Diane was used to her mother mocking something she was reading about in the newspaper . That, too, was a daily event. Elizabeth's newspaper was placed sharply on the top step outside the kitchen door. Elizabeth had called the newspaper delivery boy specifically, just for that, years ago when she decided to have the newspaper delivered instead of going out to buy a copy. 

   Diane continued watching the news, as the sounds coming from the kitchen grew louder. She turned up the volume confident that she would hear all about it, at some future point. Her mother liked to rant and rave about total strangers. Her mother liked to rant and rave about a lot of things.

   Diane had always believed that was how she expended her aggression and hatred for others. The yelling and arm waving and feet stamping and racing around was intimidating. Diane had never been a physical person and her mother's conduct had always frightened her. Many times she had pleaded with her mother to get some halp. And every time she did that, she made an enemy, all over again. Elizabeth had way too much ego to ever admit her 

   instabilities, her psychological problems, her issues. That was never going to happen. Not Elizabeth. 

   Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother heading toward her and she cringed. Elizabeth's mouth hung open and she was breathing harshly. Small grunting gasping sounds were coming from her throat . One whole side of her face hung slack. 

    "Oh my God" yelled Diane you are having a stroke!" She ran for the phone and before she picked it up, she turned to look at her mother who was right behind her. Following her closely. Holding onto the back of her shirt. She hesitated, hand in midair and she continued to look at her mother. On her face, a tiny grin.