Cookies on the path between highs and lows

-"My mother was always stuck in her puberty." she says as she storms in. 

-"Okay." I say surprised. She drops onto the couch and sigs: "Yeah!"

-"And what led you to that conclusion? Did something happen?" I ask curiously.

-"She's emotionally stuck in her teens. That's probably a leftover from her Catholic upbringing." she spits angrily.

-"I do not follow you." I gently let her know.

-"Her family has always swept trauma after trauma under the rug."

I was eager to ask for an explanation but decided to keep my mouth shut and let her vent.

"Every time she's in town, which she is very often, she stays with my sister. Why is she here so often? She lives on the other side of the country. And if I ask her why she´s here, she casually but dramatically replies "I had to get out, I couldn't stand it anymore."

I had to laugh at her impersonation of her mother.

-"She never stays with me. Never! Always with my sister. And then she´s constantly texting me there. Excuse me; bombarding me with her stupid emoji-overloaded texts." she continues.

-"What does she write about? " I ask. She made a waving gesture above her head:

-"That she never has a second to herself, because she´s always on the road with my sister's children. But my sister told me that in the evenings she always borrows my brother-in-law´s car and goes dancing somewhere until the small hours of the morning."

-"Your mother is a nocturnal animal?" I ask smiling.

-"Over breakfast, she sits and endlessly nags at my sister that she should take her children to a sweat lodge ceremony to exorcise the demons."

She pauses and bites at her thumbnail.

-"I've always felt like I was her parent." she pouts.

-"Are you and your sister her only children?! I ask. She rolls her eyes:

-"If only that were true! Well, no, she has three more daughters from her ex. He was an alcoholic."

Before I can ask anything, she continues:

-"Would you like to know what my birthday looks like every year?"

I nod.

-"Every year again, everyone who wants to hear it, or not, must listen to the story of my birth; how I came out of her belly and was filmed by a professional film crew." She sighs and quickly adds, "Not that I've ever seen that movie. Thank God."

She twists curls in her hair and continues:

-"I don't know who should take care of whom anymore. I never really knew. Self-esteem or self-preservation has never been a priority in our family. My mother saw individuality as a disadvantage. She likes to tell tragic stories about her school days, and how she was beaten on her knuckles with a ruler when they thought she was not properly dressed. Her way of gaining self-esteem was sex. And without birth control, that has led to four marriages and six children."

She takes a deep breath and looks at me:

-"Not too long ago she took me to a friend of hers. She just needed a ride, that´s why she asked me, to go because I don't trust her with my car. Some grey musician was supposed to be performing at that friend's place and it was an event she didn’t want to miss When we got there my mom's friend said I could help myself to black bean soup and pumpkin cake in the kitchen.

I hadn't eaten that day, and I generally resort to eating when I'm not comfortable with something. So, I hurried to the kitchen. My mother stayed in the living room and started to talk to a hairy old hippie. I let my mind settle in the kitchen, over soup and a few slices of cake.

After a while, my mother's friend called out that it was time to play games. Games? Oh no, not me! I made myself comfortable in the kitchen.

After half an hour I heard the people in the living room clapping their hands. My mother had won a bag of cookies. She claimed her friend baked them herself, but they looked like they came straight from the supermarket. My mother could never resist moving as soon as a musical note was heard. I was always embarrassed by that. I felt a feeling come up as if I wanted to hit her. Punish her like a child who makes a scene.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has smoked weed. Not in large amounts and she never hid it. In school, everyone always thought I had the coolest mom. That only gave me the feeling that I had to take even more responsibility.

I hated my mom smoking. I had a problem with how ridiculous and stupid she became when she was high. With her almighty pronouncements and wanderings on emotional paths that I preferred to steer clear of."

She giggled a little and hid her face shyly behind her hands:

-"Isn't that saying more about my willingness to put myself in uncomfortable situations than it does about my mother's tendency to act like a teenager?"

I smiled but didn't answer. She took a breath and continued her story:

-"My mother's friend gave me a bag of cookies as well, but mine looked different. I started eating them while listening to a young woman sing songs. After fifteen minutes or so, I started to feel light in my head. My eyes grew heavy. I went outside to get some fresh air. It was cool and clear in the garden. The sky was studded with stars. I sat staring at the moon. The moon seemed to breathe, and I suddenly became so sad for the man on the moon, sitting there all alone in the cold. I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them again the moon looked at me with furrowed brows.

In the distance, I saw my mother sitting in a rocking chair. She felt so far away.

Mom! I screamed; I don't feel well. She chuckled. Can you believe it: she chuckled. I shouted to her that I meant it. I felt weird, and her attitude made me angry.

Finally, I was able to persuade her to leave. She said she knew a good place where they sold the best donuts. She thought I should eat something because it always helped her when she wasn't feeling well. My reality began to fade even more, but of course, my mother was oblivious to my state of mind. She asked what I wanted to eat as we walked into a small eatery. While my mother was ordering, I felt everyone's eyes on me. I began to suspect that I had been tricked into eating space cookies and that my mother was behind it. She has always been very good at manipulating people, and she always knows how to get them where she wants them.

When the food came, my mother immediately started putting huge globs in her mouth, muttering unintelligible words. For as long as I can remember, I've always told her not to talk and eat at the same time. God knows where I learned my manners.

When her plate was empty, my mother asked for the check. I stumbled out of the restaurant into the cold night air. It finally dawned on her that something was wrong with me. I hadn't touched my food and besides, I felt horrible. I just wanted to go home and go to sleep.

Of course, I was unable to drive. My mom took my car keys: We're going to drive around a bit until you feel better, she said. I yelled at her that I wasn't drunk.

What's wrong with you then, she asked innocently. I had no idea why my body felt like blubber.

She opened the car and told me to lie down in the backseat. I asked her where she was going, and she replied that she had left her coat.

I was afraid that if she left, she wouldn't come back. I had felt that feeling a long time ago. I had become that little girl again, hoping her mother would stay with her instead of disappearing to a rock concert for four days. I don't remember if I cried then. I was scared. I was angry. I was sad.

What was so important that she had to leave me and my sister alone for so many days in a row?

-"Did you ever ask her?" I wanted to know. She shook her head sadly.

-"So much remains unsaid between my mother and me. We never possessed the ability to connect with each other. And the gap has widened over the years.

I believe she was deeply unhappy when I was born. Especially since my father had left her. I think as a baby I must have felt instinctively that I would have to pick up the pieces.

She hates it when I tell her what to do, and I hate it too. I'm sure a part of her got stuck in her adolescence. Over the years she has always tried to solve her problems with a man and having a baby, which she had no idea what to do with. So that failed every time, and then she rebelled.

That night there in the parking lot of that little diner, she told me she'd be right back, and I was convinced she'd stay away and started blaming myself for pushing her away. You know, I was always afraid she would make me a replica of her: angry, alone, stubborn.

I have always been ashamed of the thought that I would be relieved if she died. I thought such horrible things. But my thoughts were never fully formed because I was afraid to hear them. Fear grew in me that mocked my subconsciousness.

I swung open the car door and started screaming: Devils! Mama, devils are coming for me.

She came back and lifted my head onto her lap, right there in the backseat of my car. She stroked my hair, and because I was shivering, she pulled her jacket over me and hummed a song.

I think we sat there for a long time. I can't remember ever putting my head in her lap. I had been a grown-up for so long.

I didn't want her to know I needed her. I became very good at disciplining my mother over time. In return, she punished me for a long time because I made it clear to her that I didn't need her. But I did. I definitely needed her.

And that night we sat there. I allowed myself to need her. She kept stroking my hair and singing songs.

Finally, she asked me, do you have any more of those cookies? You didn´t eat them all, did you?