To save precious reading time, this disclaimer applies to all chapters hereon:
To cover all tenses, I do not own the Mentalist, I have never owned the Mentalist, and I doubt I ever will own the Mentalist. Bruno Heller is adamant that the Mentalist and all its characters and events belong to him, no matter what clever trickery I use to find some sort of loophole. So: Sorry, things aren't looking too hopeful. So far I only own this storyline and any characters and events you haven't seen on the TV. Shame, huh?
Hope you enjoy, and remember: a review a day keeps the doctor away!
Mommy, by Psychedelica
Chapter One
Mommy Smelt of Lavender
I was three years old when my mother left, and even though my memory and factual recall is above average, I cannot remember a single thing about her.
She was allergic to shellfish. That's one thing Dad told me about her. I also know she smelt of lavender, because I had one of her old cardigans that I kept under my bed and would take out and sniff in times of distress. It lost most of its smell by the time I was six, and when I threw up on it when I was seven my dad finally threw it out. To this day, I haven't forgiven him for that. But no, I don't actually remember her smell. For all I know, she never smelt of lavender at all.
I think what hurts the most is that Dad didn't have any photos of her. He never gave a good reason, though. On different occasions he said that she hated having her picture taken, that they couldn't afford a camera (they were both hardcore carnies), and that the pictures had all been burnt when our caravan caught fire when I was three. I don't know when exactly it burnt down, and I can't really remember it, but Dad said it was a little after my mother ran out on us.
So I grew up without my mother. Her face slowly faded from my memory as I got older, to be replaced with nothing but gray fuzz when I thought of her. I thought it was strange that the kids at school had two parents, when it had always been just me and my dad.
It was as if she were dead, though I didn't mourn her. Sure, there were times when I closed my eyes and prayed to God that I could have a mom, and there were times when Dad couldn't make it to my school plays so I'd have no-one in the audience, but overall I didn't really miss her, simply because I never really knew her.
And besides, at the end of the day, what could I do about it?