A place to call home

(Scene I)

As I skimmed through the report, I could hear the clock ticking, my palms glistened with sweat and my eyes kept darting back to the clock which adorned my office. It was as if my senses had heightened and every particle of my being screamed at me to run. Each passing second brought me closer to the dreaded meet. It was pointless, I knew, to dream that she wouldn’t show up but I kept praying for it anyways, to a deity I didn’t believe in. I knew that my prayers were unanswered when my secretary ushered in the woman. I smiled grimly as I stood up to greet her.

“Hello, mother.”

Looking at her after so many years brought back overwhelming emotions that threatened to engulf me whole. It was as if the clock had stopped ticking and we were magically transported back to that small, dingy place we liked to call “home” (although it never felt like one to me). Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself repeating over and over again in my head that it was going to be alright. Looking closely, I realized that even though she was skinnier and paler than before, she still had that gleam in her eyes. I hated her for that, and I hated myself for hating her. 

 “My child-” “Don’t. Don’t. Just don’t. What do you want?”

The question came out a lot harsher than I intended it to be. Composing myself I repeated my question but even then my voice betrayed me. I guess years of suppressed feelings would do that to you. She looked small, foreign standing at the foot of the door of my Manhattan office but I knew that she would fit into this world better than I have. I smile bitterly at the irony of that and momentarily wondered if that is what she wants. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears and false promises and for a moment I felt as if we were back into that rotting hellhole.

“I have told you-” “you had abandoned me and now after all these years you want to mend our ‘broken relationship’. We do NOT have any relationship neither do I want one with you”

I interrupted her again as I raised my voice. Years of suppressed anger and resentment, like a volcano, were about to erupt. She looked so fragile and for a second I imagined how my hands would feel around her neck. That thought frightened me and I dismissed it as quickly as possible. I could not and I WOULD not become like ‘them’, I reminded myself of the promise I had made all those years back. 

As I stood there, I was starting to get scared, for me and of me. Before my thoughts could have submerged me, my phone rang. I had never been gladder to hear the phone ring in my entire life. 

“It is my boss. I have go-there is this very important meeting I can’t miss”-that was a lie-“I would offer you a place to stay but, um… I don’t want to see your face again today. We can meet again tomorrow at this café called ‘Della-es-te’ but until then ……I need time to think. I’ll ask Jenna to have a place arranged for you. Good day.” 

I picked up the report which was lying neglected on my desk and pushing aside my mother I left the strained ambiance of my office.

(Scene II)

Chucking down another swig of vodka I appreciated the bitter taste that it left in my mouth. Taking a deep sigh I could not help but remember the events which took place today. Biting my lips to drown the strangled scream which threatened to escape my throat, I gazed soullessly at the dazzling lights of New York from my penthouse apartment. They had never failed to amaze me, maybe because it was so different from the place I had grown up in. The dazzling lights, the high skyscrapers, and limitless opportunities, this was the place that I had grown to love, a place, which for the first time in my life, I could call home.

Home- the word was foreign to me as a kid. It was not because we never had the four walls, no, I always had had a roof over my head. It was that I had never belonged in the place, in that house. Thinking of the time when I was afraid that I would live to see another day, I finally let the tears fall in the solitude of my own home. My dog, Dean was fast asleep and there was nobody else to interrupt the memories of my hell. 

I hated growing up, not because of my tough childhood but because I never really had the chance to be a child. I learned fear before I could truly understand love, had to learn how to run and hide in the dark before I knew of the game ‘hide and seek’ and whimper quietly while holding my bleeding elbow so that he could not find me in the dead of the night after he was done with my mother. I really should not blame her for abandoning me; after all, he would have killed her had she stayed, I understood that as a grown woman but her daughter did not forgive her for leaving her all alone in that hellhole. 

Wailing into my pillow to muffle my screams, I took a deep breath to calm myself. Until now I had not realized that I was shivering and sobbing, it was a miracle that Dean was still asleep. I let out a dry laugh, as I looked around my apartment, after all, who could have thought that the daughter of a cheap drunk could be one of the most prestigious lawyers in the country. Well, certainly not my old man after all he did say that the daughter of a whore could only become a whore, and I remember that day as clearly as one remembers the moon for it is forever etched into my memory. Now then, for all he knows or cares about I am a whore who abandoned him and the ‘love of his life’, the woman who added fuel to our already miserable life, the woman he was ready to kill my mother for. My hatred towards that woman is still as fresh as it was the day I had met her and it still consumes every fiber of my being.

I know that my mother had never wanted me. I also know that she never wanted to marry him. Her father forced her into marrying an animal slightly better than himself and I was a product of cheap liquor, some fists, and forcefulness. I knew that their marriage was not a happy one and quite often I was on receiving end of his wrath. My mother, as long as she was into my life, always stood between me and him but what can a person do when they are knocked out cold. There were not many places to hide in that hell and the ones those were, he already knew of them. Maybe that’s why I started running out in the night, and I guess that’s why I am ‘Nyctophile’, for darkness provided me with shelter and safety. What child is afraid of demons in the dark when they have already seen ones who walk in the light?  He never worked my mother did and after she was gone, I did. He just snatched took away whatever we had earned to live his life, and later on his mistresses’, rather lavishly and then ‘complained’ that we did not earn enough. 

I could still remember that night, and it was rather warm to die. I guess he never had heard of divorce or he just opted for the ‘easy’ way out or that awful bitch woman orchestrated all of that but it was the first time I saw the devil he was. There was blood and screams and I ran into the night, afraid to go back to the house and even more terrified of what I would find if I did go back there. The moment I saw his face as he came out of the house, I was damn sure I would be motherless if I survive the night. In a manner of speaking, I was. I guess he thought so too because he had started searching for me. I remember holding my breath as he passed by me and thanking the darkness that surrounded me. I think I fell asleep in the bushes. The next morning, as far as I could recall, there was a lot of blood and no mother to be found, just a note saying that she had left, that she was sorry and that she loved me. Heh!

I guess the only reason he did not kill me was that she was still alive out there. I guess I have to thank his messed up logic for letting me live.

Thinking about my past always took a toll on me and as I closed my eyes, tired from my thoughts and events of the day, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

(Scene III)

She was already waiting for me at the café ‘Della-es-te’. It was a small, quiet place where I often visited when I needed a break from my stressful life. The coffee was good, the people friendly and its unique name had grown on me. I motioned the barista to make my regular order as I sat in front of my mother. Neither of us knew how to proceed or even start and an uncomfortable silence prevailed.

Looking at her, she still had that gleam in her eyes- the will to live- and for a second, before my disdain of her engulfed me, I admired her. I admired her strength, her resilience, her determination, and most importantly her optimizing look towards life, even when she had suffered so much throughout the years. As I waited for hatred to flow through my veins I looked, actually looked, at the person sitting in front of me and for the first time in years, I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know about her, not as my mother (okay maybe as my mother), but as a woman who had lived through hell and could still muster a smile.

“So…..umm…..What have you been doing since….you know” 

She looked at me and she smiled. The audacity, for that smile, made me want to smile.

 “I am a real estate agent”, she said bobbing her head. Before the forceful silence could return, she spoke.

“Well you know I have never been a woman of many words so I just want to say that I am sorry I left and-”. With unshed tears in my eyes and somber expression which I had no idea how I was able to maintain I replied, “I am not angry that you left. I am angry that you left without me… that you left me to rot in that hellhole”

“My love, I…I did NOT know where I was going. I did not know whether I was going to live or not. Many times I did not have anything to eat. Once I almost died of starvation. I had to do things, had to go through things which no women should have to just so that I could eat cold soup. When I left I had no money, no place to go and nobody to call. I know that life has been tough with you my love, but it has not been easy for me too. And you should know that not a single day goes by where I do not regret leaving half a piece of my heart behind. My love, I know that I cannot undo the past, believe me, if I could I would. But I want to make a future with you. I cannot spend the rest of my life knowing that my only daughter is angry at me. I know you cannot forgive me right away, and neither can I but I would like for us to take a step in that direction. Please. Please…. I beg of you”

As tears fell uncontrollably from my eyes, I looked down to hide them. I did not have to look up to know she, herself was bawling her eyes out. I could hear it. As a notification lit up my phone screen, I saw a picture of myself and Dean. Maybe it is time I let someone else in my life except Dean and looking at the woman facing me, I hoped that it was her.