Shark Eyes

Why is she getting in the van, it’s 12:30 at night?

I peered through the blinds on my bedroom window, careful not to let her see me. She sat in the blue minivan, dressed in a blouse, hair and bangs curled in her 1980s style, as if she were headed to practice. Slowly, she backed out of the driveway and sped off down the street. 

I stared at our now empty driveway. Where would she go this time of night? Daddy is out of town. 

“So I was looking through your phone earlier…” Mommy said as we raced down the 5, surrounded by grass and nothing else. 

I gulped.

“Why did you have pictures of my messages?” she inquired coolly and without emotion.

With my hands under my thighs, I dug my nail into my hamstring, feeling a jolt in my stomach and lump forming behind my windpipe. “I, uh, was going to ask you who that was.” 

She continued staring straight ahead, overcorrecting the steering wheel that she gripped with white knuckles. 

“That’s just someone who my family used to visit in the summers when I was growing up. A family friend.” 

No further explanation. I did not push the issue. But I figured. 

I guess I could have seen this coming...she isn’t particularly nice to Daddy. She does always roll her eyes at him, and she always scolds him when he tries to make jokes. I just thought she was on her period when that happened…

Does anyone else know about this? Shit, if she knows that I saw her...

Hours passed, with the black of the night comforting me as I stared at the ceiling, contemplating my discovery. What am I supposed to do with this information? I can’t tell my brothers--they won’t get it. I can’t tell my sister--she’s in New York, and won’t be able to help. She has her own things to worry about. 

How am I supposed to look at Mommy again? Especially after what happened last time...What will she do this time?

3:30 am. I heard the van creep up into the driveway, parked precisely where she had left it. Do I dare look? 

Anxiously, I hopped out of bed again, careful not to make my separation of the blinds on my window too noticeable. She looked less put together, her curls dampened. Oh God. I feel like I’m gonna throw up. 

She made her way to the front door. Shit. I better get back in bed. She can’t know I’m up.

I hopped back into bed, slipping under my covers, just in time for Mommy to quietly stalk up the steps. With the covers pulled over my head, I was sure she couldn’t tell I was awake, despite my open door. 

Was my door open when she left?

She seemed to notice the door left ajar, leading her to slither to my door frame and stare with shark eyes. Could she tell I wasn't asleep? But she left without a word, quietly closing the door behind her.

The next morning, I woke up groggy. I tried to convince myself that what I saw last night was just a dream. It must’ve been. I mean, I was so tired, I probably just imagined things. Just a bad dream. Nothing more. 

Dragging myself downstairs for breakfast, my hair a rat’s nest, I found my mother assuming her typical position on the couch with her nose in her phone. 

I bet she’s messaging him right now. 

Making my way to the kitchen for some much needed coffee, my mom called, “You’re up early.”

I scrunched my face. She knows. “Not really, it’s 9 o’clock” Don’t provide any more detail. She’ll know if she doesn’t already.

My mom shrugged. 

I grabbed my favorite creamer, precisely pouring it into my Mickey Mouse mug in order to avoid any further conversation with my mother. As I prepared my coffee, she continued to make suggestive sighs, as if she wanted to break my silence. 

Just as my coffee finished brewing and I began mixing my concoction, she added, “I didn’t sleep much last night.” 

“Okay…” I responded, suspicious of her extra detail. 

“...But you probably already knew that,” she responded, her eyes glued to the Facebook post she was pretending to read. 

I stopped mixing my coffee. Take a sip, act natural. 

“Why would I know that?” I asked before taking a big swig of coffee in an attempt to hide my anxiety. 

She shrugged again, finally taking her eyes off of her phone and looking straight into mine. “Oh, no reason.” 

During the trip, Mommy acted normal. Lots of Mom-selfies, asking if I wanted any extra souvenirs like that Mickey Mouse mug Daddy bought me last time, laughing and bragging about me to waiters and the hotel staff. The employees told me I was lucky to have a mom like her, one who loved me oh-so-much. I was used to it. That's whate everyone told me. I guess she is a good mom, I'm probably being ungrateful.

Maybe she’d let the whole debacle pass?

On the drive home, her mood changed. Eyes solely focused on the problems that lay ahead of her now that her daughter knew about her infidelity, rather than the four lane highway we barreled down.

“I need to take your phone,” she snipped, breaking the silence we’d fostered for nearly three hours. 

“Okay…” I handed her my cell phone, which she ungracefully shoved into her large purse. One of the rhinestones on the case fell to the car floor. I stepped on it until it seemed to be absorbed by the bottom of my tennis shoe. 

“And you need to help out more around the house, alright. I’m very stressed. Very stressed. You kids drive me crazy.” 

“Alright…”

Now wouldn’t be a good time to bring up how gymnastics makes me miserable, huh. I'd wanted to discuss it for a while; I'd hoped maybe I'd have some leverage over her thanks to my whole discovery...was that bad? Maybe I deserved this...I probably do, what kind of a terrible daughter would do something like that... I should probably just suck it up and go. I need to lose weight anyway. I'm up to 105 now. That won't do.

As if reading my mind, she barked, “And you better be going to those optional practices for gymnastics, you'll need it. You need to get ready for regionals, and I’m not sure this trip helped you out," she sneered as she pinched my thigh.

Tears welling up. I deserve this. Do I deserve this?

“I don’t want to keep going though,” I admitted quietly, my voice cracking. 

“Well too bad!” she screamed suddenly, jerking the van and nearly side-swiping the truck to our left. “You shoulda thought about that before you decided to go through my fucking phone! You’re gonna suck it up and do as I say, you got it! You’re not going to ruin my reputation!”

“You know, if you want to quit gymnastics now, you can,” she said out of nowhere as I munched on my toast. 

“Really?” Why is she changing her mind? This isn't good.

She continued staring at her phone. She took several moments to respond. “As long as you don’t say anything,” she said, turning to me. Shark eyes. “But I signed you up for the wrestling team.  You’re getting a little chunky. Plus Coach Mike wants more girls on the team."

Again with her reputation. If she could get more girls on the team, she'd be congratulated, could become the team mom like she was for gymnastics. Good job, Anna! You're such a great mom, Anna! You're so dedicated, Anna! What a hard worker Anna is! You're lucky to have a mom like her, Jean. You should really count your blessings.

Here I am, protecting the image that I keep discovering is untrue. I understand her shark eyes now. She’s no mother. She’s a monster.