Cutting Ties

      I knocked on the front door and waited for it to open. It was a luxury she never offered me when she visited my home.  “She” being my mother, of course. Well, my sorry excuse for a mother. This was the night I was going to do something about that.

           I heard footsteps coming from behind the door before it opened. 

“Oh, Zane, how nice to see you!” My mother cooed as she appeared in the entryway. She stepped aside to let me in, and I followed her a few steps into the front foyer to start what would soon be over. Pleasantries had no place in this conversation, so I didn’t bother.

“Rita, I can’t do this anymore,” I stated.

           She was immediately taken aback, shocked. “Don’t you dare call your own mother by her first name!”  I saw the fire flashed behind her eyes. This was not off to a great start, but then again, I didn’t expect it to. 

           “You lost the privilege of bearing the title “mom” a long time ago.” Even I could feel my own words bite at her; sink into her skin.

           Rita rolled her eyes, trying to play it off. Shake off the hurt. “We have had this conversation before, Zane. Multiple times, in fact. Name one time I wasn’t there for you.”  I saw something like accomplishment in her expression, as if she thought she had won the argument with this statement. I am unsure why she always thinks that will end the conversation. I have been waiting for years to wipe that smug look off her face, and I had just the right weapon for it.

           “How about in second grade, when I won the school spelling bee?”

           She didn’t even have to stop and think about that instance, all those years ago. She already had her response prepared. “I had an appointment,” Rita scoffed.

           “You were getting your hair done and you lost track of time,” I corrected.  She hadn’t arrived until after the awards had already been given and was then upset at me because she missed the event. 

           “Okay, well, that was one time…”

           “Rita, I’ve got a list that goes for miles. State championship for track and field, you had a “headache”. All of the birthday parties you conveniently ‘forgot’ to pick me up from? Do you know how humiliating that was for me? How about the time you beat me to the ground for failing a test because you worked me all weekend cleaning the house and moving furniture instead of letting me study? Without so much as a “thank you?” for all the work I did?  Or maybe that’s what the bruises were for.”

There was not a hint of shame or regret on her face. I had saved by best grievance for last.

“Let’s not forget the time you told me to go upstairs and kill myself.” Rita didn’t even blink. 

           “Zane, we’re family. You’re supposed to do favors like that for your family.” I tried to ignore the fact she just called killing myself a “favor” to the family.

           “No, mom. You’re supposed to treat me like a human being, not your slave. If this is how you treat your family, I would hate to see how you treat your enemies.”

           The look of triumph my mother had mere moments before was starting to fade. Her composure was cracking. Just like it did every time I bring up my mother’s countless disappointments. But this time, I was going to get a different outcome. No more of her tearful apologies and promises to “do better.” I am an adult now, and I will not let her dictate my life. She does not get to have a say about who I marry, when I marry, and she sure as hell will never touch my children. This has gone on for too long. It is ending now. 

           “Mom. Rita. I have tried time and time again to reconcile with you. God knows I at least had to try in order to survive my eighteen years of childhood living under your roof, and even the years I have spent living away from you. We have had these conversations a million times; you have never learned from your mistakes.  But I will. I have had enough. Nothing ever changes.  This is it.”

           I could see the tears beginning to build under her wispy eyelashes. I was not falling for that this time. Frankly, I didn’t care what or how she felt, if she felt anything at all. 

           “What do you mean?” She tried to inject a tone of confusion into her words, but I knew it was fake. She followed the same script every time this conversation happened. 

           “You know what I mean, Rita. I’m cutting you off. You are no longer a part of my life. You have been poisoning my life since the day I was born, and I will not let you consume any aspect of my life for any longer. You treated me however you wanted because you were the parent; you were the adult. But now I’m standing up for myself. I am being more of an adult than you ever have.”

           The tears were turning angry now. “You are my own flesh and blood. I birthed you. How do you expect to survive without me?” I almost laughed at the thought of being so dependent on my mother that I couldn’t survive without her. Maybe that was the whole point of her treatment of me: So I could forever be her “momma’s boy.”

           “I know I can survive without you because I have been doing it my whole life.”

           Rita’s mouth opened and closed, and she tried to process what I was telling her. She did not know what to say to that. I had finally shut up my verbal and physical abuser like she had done to me for my entire life. But that wasn’t enough. 

“I won’t let you,” she persisted. 

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

I knew the only way to truly end her abuse and reign over my life would require a more… permanent solution. 

“I’ll do it for you,” I said, with a smile growing on my face. Luckily, I came prepared for this. 

The knife was out of my pocket and slicing into the skin on my mother’s neck before I really knew what was happening. But I wasn’t surprised. That had been the plan all along. I enjoyed watching the life quickly drain away from her like she drained my own life from me. 

           It was messy but effective. Quick but easy. Not that she deserved it.