TheBanyanTree: I AM A BAD MOTHER-THE THIRD PEICE

[Sharon Mack]

I AM A BAD MOTHER-THE THIRD PEICE

She was in my bedroom.

"Get over here."  My voice was low and guttural.  "You little bitch.  Did he
come to you?  Or did you entice him.  He was your sister's boyfriend.  You
don't do that.  It's low, it's deceitful.  I hate deceit.  You know I hate.I
detest deceit."

She was silent.  Her dark eyes large, her face white with the knowledge of
what was to come and knowing there was no stopping it no matter what she
said, no matter what she did.

"Who do you think you are?  We're supposed to be Christians here.  You go to
a Christian school; we all attend the same church.  You embarrass me.  You
shame me."

"She's small, she's young," something whispered to me.  I shook it off.  My
fists were clenched.  I was ready to go.  The fire burned inside my brain.
The hot inside the black hole like charcoal, dark embers flaking into white,
hotter ashes touching a 'no return' button.

I came off the bed and hit her.  I hit her...and hit her....and hit
her....until she slid down the wall and slumped onto the carpet.  Grabbing
her thin arm with great strength, I pulled her toward her bedroom, dragging
her across carpet roughly, burning her skin in the bare places.  I dragged
her up two flights of stairs until there was no struggle left, and finally,
reaching the bedroom I threw her across the bed.  I hit her one more time
for good measure and with my face no more than one inch away from hers,
glared at her with my demonic frenzy into her eyes.  Gritting my teeth, I
said, "Never again!  You understand me?  I don't want to see your face again
until morning.  Got that!"  She didn't answer.  

I screamed like a banshee wanting her attention--all of it, and with one
last smack to her face, she acquiesced and I left the room slamming the door
behind me.  I could hear my daughter's sobs. They were small--those of a
young child and seemed to last for hours.  Something inside me would not let
me care.  I'd hurt her, I knew that, but the hardness in my heart did not
dissolve--would not let care.  

Yet I did care.  Under all the hardness I did, indeed, care.  People looking
at me from the outside would never believe that.  The surface was hard, the
surface was like glass.  I registered no emotion at all. The fire was too
hot, too strong, too disconnected from the incident.  The frenzy had
everything to do with the inside of me, and not the impetus that had brought
it on.  Something was not working right, something was terribly wrong
upstairs in my brain and I knew it.  But what does one do about such a
thing?   I had no answers and neither did anyone else.  

Not until the fire died at last in my own bed. When sleep and the black hole
of depression escaped me and the threat of going back out into a world I was
so unfamiliar with the next morning to work and to support my four children.
To face the abandonment of my husband, and the children's fathers.  It
filled me with a terror so deep and a sorrow so wide, I thought I would die
if I moved.  So, I did not move.  I barely breathed.  Guilt consumed me
regarding the children..  Filled my lungs.  Stunk in my nostrils.  My
mother's finger pointed at me, my shame gathered at the edge of my brain.  I
could hear my father's voice of reason that could never bring reason to
either me or my mother when we were at the edge.. I wanted the black hole.
The black hole lets you sleep.  I wanted out of the rev.  I wanted to lose
the energy, because like a drug, when you come down, it makes you mean and
wicked.  It makes you want to kill someone, most of all, yourself.  Suicide
is a pleasant thought and you dream about how you will do it and it gives
you peace.

I got cold and crawled beneath the covers and waited for the sun.  It never
came.