Dream Girl's True Identity

If secrets were threads, your mother had a collection of crimson turtle-necked sweaters. Trophy wife to the neighbors, considerate saint in church, and your father’s best friend- titles she rigorously upheld. But you could always sense that none of them suited her. You could always tell that something, beneath the peach lip-stick, and porcelain smiles, there was just… something. It clawed at her core, poking its impish head out to him when she thought no one was looking.

At times it possessed her, freezing you dead in your tracks, like a rat squirming in a sewage pipe. You might have been painting or flying your plastic airplane in the sky, and she would give you that look from across the hallway. Crow lines would crinkle her beautiful face. Her eyes ablaze, cruel brown pinpricks that could slice tendons. Then she would walk out the door. No wallet or purse or even a phone. She would stalk away, as if a chain was dragging her feet. She wouldn’t return until six hours, exactly.

When you asked her about it, she warned you never talk to her when she entered that phase, that when ‘Mommy had too much on her plate, she would become a different person’.

At first it rarely happened, but nowadays it was every alternative week. Your father was never there when that thing possessed her, but he was never really there when you needed him anyways. The frequency alarmed you, apprehension prickling your skin, like honey hardening into a spiky layer. But the instances themselves never bothered you until today.

Until the day ‘the thing’ finally decided to meet with you.

You were just watching tv, when ‘it’ strolled in. four hours in, and the thing altered your mother completely. If anybody were to ask you to describe ‘it’, it would be a train that crashed through a silk and cigarette factory.  Instead of the bunny slippers your mother wore around the house, silk socks adorned her feet. A slinky peach dress, revealed ‘its’ ample cleavage and the bruises spotting its collarbone. Your mother may have worn modest clothing, but no high collar or long sleeves could conceal the ruddy purple bruise from cheek to neck.  Long nails were chipped, yet longer than your mother’s ever could be. Neon green-your mother hated green. Raven curly hair replaced you r mother’s tasteful grey streaks and brown hair. Bile rose in your throat, churning your stomach.

She strutted to the couch and sat next to you. A cooking show was on teaching viewers a stir-fry pepper dish which absolutely anybody can whip up , even with zero cooking skills. ‘It’ crossed her arms over her chest, sinking into the cushions, as if ‘it’ wanted them to sink into the cushions. Your heart pounded in your chest as its tacky perfume assaulted your nostrils.

Summoning all the courage in your being, you turned to ‘it’. ‘It’ stared right back at you, not with the overwhelming hate from before. Just…exhaustion.

"Just say it," you silently reminded yourself. You knew you'd regret it if you didn't.

" Why are you here" You asked.

Then the tears fell down ‘its’ false eyelashes. ‘It’ sobbed, burying ‘its’ head into delicate palms, as if trying to hold the tears back, as if letting them flow was shameful and utterly painful.

Pity welled in your throat, as you wrapped your arms over her. ‘It’ was softer than your mother who was more skin than meat. You were holding a more alive shadow of your mother.

“I’m coming out, more often… Edwina is gonna lose herself at this rate.” ‘It’ whimpered.

“How do I stop that?” You asked.

“Teach her how to let go.” ‘It said,” Teach her to be herself, because she’s trying too hard.”

You let ‘it’ cry into your chest, the tears terribly cold on your blue t-shirt.

You always knew how much your mother, Edwina restrained herself. She was always tried to be beyond perfect. Alluring yet modest. Kind, but never a doormat. Sensitive yet not overly emotional. She tried to be that. Desperately tried uphold this idealistic version your father boasted about to his colleagues. But even you knew, at the age of six, that was never her. And never would be.

***

While she was reading a book, you dropped a duffel bag onto her lap. She looked up, with widened eyes.

“Mom, let’s go camping.” You said, with no room for argument.

One of the few things you were grateful to inherit from your father was the no-nonsense tone.

“Okay!” She smiled, “But just give me an hour to pack-“

“Nope, I got whatever you need.” You said.

You dreaded using this stern tone that caused even her to flinch.

The wilderness calmed your mother. One of the few times your father took the two of you on a trip was in the woods and you’ve never seen your mother so genuinely content in her life. While you and your father complained about the heat and mosquitoes, she would laugh it off and just admire everything around her.

You drove with the windows open, letting the fresh air pass through. Without her noticing, you let her hair fall to her shoulders. The trees were swaying slightly. Mildew was still fresh on the grass. Clouds darkened the horizon slightly as the sun beamed from behind.

When you reached the camping site, she immediately started setting up.

“Just relax. Take a walk, I’ll do the rest.”

Her eyes went up as you took out the tent from the garage. She just stared at you, hands on her chest, uncertain.

“Just do what you want.” You said

Her hazel eyes stiffen, as if saying ‘I don’t know how.’

“Mom, just try and be.”You smiled in reassurance, “

worked hard.”

Worked hard for far too long.

***

You would check up on her. She would dip her feet in the cool lakes, singing a tune you only heard in your most fleeting dreams, dancing a bit. Her shoes were discarded. For the first time, she was actually enjoying herself, without any setbacks. You let have her alone time in the safe part of the forest.

“Mom why do you restrain yourself?” You asked as she was kicking her feet in the water.

“I don’t.” She giggled, flippantly.

“Yes you do.” You bark, “And it’s hurting you so much, you can barely take it.”

She stared at her lap,” You wouldn’t understand dear.”

“Please Mom I’m all grown up now.” You placed your hands on her shoulders.

She was growing thinner by the day.

“You can tell me anything. Dad isn’t here to judge you and I won’t either.” You said

Silence was thick in the air for the rest of evening. She pondered and pondered, looking at the woods, in yearning.

Then the downpour came. Rain drummed down on your skin as you raced to the tent.

Your mother instead rushed further into the forest, on bare feet. She slipped a bit, mud tainting her white skirt as you followed her. She ran, and ran, not letting you catch up for a second, until she was at the edge of a cliff. Her soaking hair stuck to her forehead. Her back  was facing you, so meek and unbreakable, like the back of a cracked statue.

Once she reached the edge, she screamed. Screamed so loud the rain hitting their shoulders couldn’t block it out. Not human in the least.

She turned back at you, her eyes doe-like. Antlers extended out of her scalp. The threads of her dress morphed into Belladonna petals. Her hair curled at odd ends.

You stood there, mouth agape.

“Your father made a contract with me to marry him and I loved him back then.”She sighed to herself,” But I’m a spirit of the woods and spending my life as a human was driving me…”

You embraced her, inhaling her lavender perfume.

“Why didn’t you leave?” You asked.

But you already knew the answer.

“Because I loved you.”

She wrapped her arms over you, ruffling your drenched hair, just like when you were younger.

“Be free, Mom. Don’t force yourself to be human for me…I’ll visit you.” You clutched her tighter.

“Promise?’

“Promise.”