Fallen Snow Flake

1.

The giggling and fooling around, the smell of a roast potatoes in the evening that had been lathered in oil and herbs, the warmness of the fire as I sat around drinking hot cocoa while Mum guzzled back whisky at Christmas time. It was just us and it was a blissful period before things began to deteriorate. Yet now realizing it had started well before and I was just too young to acknowledge it.

An icy day brought snowflakes down onto my windowsill. With each drop my eyes followed the white icy droplets. As they fell onto the floor, they melted into nothing; they had served their purpose and now they ceased to exist.

Maybe it was the same for me.

2.

Years went by and the gaping hole I felt in my stomach only got deeper and deeper, remembering that day she left me like it was yesterday, the intoxicated look in her eyes, her gentle slurring of the word goodbye. It was all so familiar but surprised me one last time. As she held her hand out to touch mine, I walked away with not a single word. Down the hall were two new parents; foster parents that promised me a home.

Yet 8 years on, I still felt alone. Somehow still craving home.

100’s of miles away and now 21 I tried to create my own life, moving from familiarity and the people I knew best, I found myself creeping into my Mothers old habits, the drinking and smoking, the occasional dabbling in drugs; my god I hoped I did not turn anymore into her.

I found myself in stranger’s homes, unsure of the night before, staggering to my apartment in the early AM; my room mates were getting tired of my late nights and questionable friends; I did not blame them. 

3.

Like a needle through my ear, my alarm sounded with a certain sharpness. It seemed angry, like it was tired of the effort of waking me up every morning in such misery.

With crusty eyes and aching legs, my feet planted on to the floor. Determined to make this Monday successful, one without any liquid other than water and coffee. As I stared into the mirror, I saw the dark bags and gaunt face; unhealthily skinny.

This was it, the push I needed to make a change, I opened my bedroom door and with a smile plastered on my face I was convinced myself I was ready to take control. Strolling with purpose down to the coffee shop on the corner I ordered a full breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast, orange juice and a croissant. If I were to take my mind of booze my stomach needed to be full and satisfied.

With each bite I grew more confident, feeling my eyes dwindling with opportunity, I took a shot. As I went to pay, I buttoned up my shirt and uncrumpled the bottom of my trousers.

“Hi there, my name is Kathy. You are hardly looking for any new staff, are you?”

“For a matter of fact we are Kathy, any experience?”

“Some. I used to work at small café back home, I am a wiz behind the coffee machine.”

“Okay. We are desperate. However, one week probation. You start 9am sharp tomorrow. I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I won’t let you down.”

Striding out the shop, not able to help the grin sprawled across my face. With such little money for such a long time, having to scrape bills with money saved away from a previous job and the little allowance I received from the dole. From being always late with rent and often having nothing for dinner just so I would have enough for a bottle of booze.

Yet the success was quickly dampened by the reality of knowing that there was no one to share it with. The thug who sold me drugs was hardly going to care.

4.

Up before the break of dawn, showered and fed. With so many hours till I had to leave I made a ham and cheese sandwich for my lunch break.

 Arriving 20 minutes early waiting for my shift to start I eagerly sat outside the front door, I could not help but feel a slight pang of nervous tension as the other staff arrived.

A long side a girl named Marie; her infectious smile made me feel at ease. She had a certain sensitivity to her, seeming so approachable and kind. Ambling around managing to fulfill coffee orders and serve tables, I felt as though the first day was an utter success and when I got home the feet went up with a certain sense of pride.

Tomorrow would be even better, I just knew it. Not once thinking about alcohol or drugs all day.

I am starving.

5.

Flicking by the months seemed to fly by even faster than the days. Becoming friendly with regular customers and even getting asked on a few dates by the local lads. Marie and I became close, even venturing to the movies and for food once or twice. Finally, a true friend apart from my disgruntled roommates.

The steady income allowed me to live a little, and the job kept me busy and tired. I thought about my foster parents from time to time and wondered if they missed me at all. I had not heard from them since I had been away, there coldness and money grabbing mentality left me feeling resentful towards them. I had needed parents, ones that could take care of me and love me after I feeling so abandoned. But for them I was a source of income, a charity piece that they sat on the mantle piece.

It might not have seemed like it now but Mum had cared for me and loved me, at least in the beginning; maybe she still did.

"I wonder where she is now?"

Sometimes even wishing to go home to that house, smell the roast potatoes and listen to mum chatting nonsense in the kitchen, but I knew it was something that could not be. I was so far away now and so was she.

6.

“SHIT”

Springing out of bed, having slept through my alarm, staying up late the night before, I had been sucked into a world of words. My mind and the time had run away with me, my thoughts spilling out on to the page, finally after months or even years of blockage. Always having loved writing stories, I had lost my love for it, feeling like such an outsider from the world. A mind foggy with substance and self-loathing.

Once at work all I could think of was getting home to pour words back on to the page, having organized to go for dinner with Marie I had to politely re -schedule and with her temperament and hatred for bailers; she was not too happy. Yet I could not let the opportunity to slip. This time was precious all my memories were flooding through my mind. Feeling as though I had a purpose again.

7.

“My story- Kathy McCabe.”

In awe never would I have thought that the newspaper would even appreciate my story, let alone publish it. I read each word like they were not my own and criticized it just as intensely. The sudden realization that other people would too be reading it daunted on me and left me feeling anxious.

What would happen if Mum saw it? Or worse, my foster parents.

I had not thought it through, however some of the details I left hazy, leaving out the parts about the drugged-up boyfriends and abusive partners. It was only a small newspaper anyway, I am sure no one will see it.

8.

The letter sat on my kitchen table. I had not seen her name in so long. How had she even found my address? The hand writing was weird, looking almost too neat.

To scared to open it, I gave it too Marie. As she tore open the left corner my heart pounded, feeling myself become dizzy I decided to sit down.

“She wants to meet with you, her number is here...”

Unsure and uneasy I stood up with haste, what would she be like now? For all I knew she could be the same crazy drunk she once was or even worse. Maybe she just wanted money or a bail out. Who knew but I was intrigued to find out.

9.

Dialing her number was the hardest thing I have ever done. My fingers felt frozen like I was some how unable to use them. Finally with some courage the phone rang on my end, and after what felt like forever, she answered, and I spoke.

“It is Kathy, Your daughter.”

“Oh, my dear girl...”

10.

Flattening my collar down I felt as though I was going to a job interview. Meeting my mother again was not something I thought I would ever do. Let alone going to my old house, my home.

With what felt like a rock in my chest, I started my journey, back home.

From across the station, I saw her, long skirt, and messy hair. She stood the same way she used too; feet turned out and hands closely kept to her side.

However, she looked different, not as gaunt, and pale, she had life in her face. With a strong embrace we chatted like old friends, there was never going to be a mother daughter relationship but there was a connection of some kind. Talking off how she was now clean for years and had sort out help. She was also single and happy that way and how glad I was too hear that.

She was heart broken to hear of my struggles and kept apologizing for all her mistakes,

“Your story Kathy. It broke my heart, but it was so amazing. I feel so much pain for what I put you through. I have wanted you back in my life for so long I just never knew how to start.”

“I missed you too Mum.”

11.

Arriving at the house, there was butterfly’s in both our stomachs, what would it be like now and who was living there? Was the family normal or were they dysfunctional like us?

The land stood flat, like an open field of dust, all that was there was a crane and a few empty cans, the house had been demolished. I grabbed mum and let her sob in to my shoulder. I just stared at what used to be home and realized, there was no going back, that time was over, and home was gone. But life was not over, home was some where else now and at least Mum was back in my life, clean and sober.

“We are back together mum, that’s all the home we need.”

“I adore you Kathy McCabe.”