Sara
February 2009
The frantic sound of something buzzing, ringing, knocking—just constantly beating and drumming in my ears—disturb the quality of peacefulness that lingers in my chest. A dream takes me and shakes me into another and I sleep the longest I ever had. I only know that because I can't wake up when I want to. I hear voices but I can't say I'm present with them.
I'm here, I want to declare my presence. I can't open my mouth and I'm not sure about the images I see.
It's a film that keeps repeating itself. I'm talking to Rob on the phone one second, we're laughing and joking. The conversation winds down to a serious turning point that requires me to sit down.
"I found two pictures of me. One says Tegan in the back and it was in her drawer. I am sure I had only one that said the date and time my biological family left me at my grandparents' doorstep. I'm sure of it. I'm going mad, Rob."
"Two pictures?"
"My baby picture. You know which one. The one that came with me."
"Your mother could have made copies and given one to her, Sara."
"I know."
The sound of the machine wheezes like an old kettle on a stove.
"Best thing is to talk to her mother about it like I told you; otherwise you're going to hurt your brain for the rest of your life."
"Or until I ruin this relationship and it had just gotten better, I don't want to ruin it."
They're turbulent, loud, berserk…oh; berserk are such sounds that interlace with the beeping of the machine.
"A picture means nothing. Ask her about it when she comes back."
"I should, but I'm scared."
"Stop being scared. You need to put a stop to this delusion. I'm your friend I'm trying to help you."
But my day wasn't ruined just because Rob said a few words that hurt me. I still managed to get dressed to go to the library and then to the university. It was a happy day. I found it. I found where I wanted to go and the programs I wanted to take. I wanted to celebrate, to get the booze, to get something sweet to eat after dinner. I took my bike down the city and it was raining.
I was excited about the little round cherry chocolates I bought. The cashier said they had wine in them. I tasted just one as soon as I paid. It tasted like heaven I should say. The balls were small and smooth and the taste of the cherry was strong but not strong enough to take the sweetness of the chocolate away. I also got a box of lazy cakes from the pastry down our street. I wanted to eat one but I wanted to wait for Tegan. I was excited. I was about to reach our place.
Somebody chokes me. They poke me. No, stop. Stop.
There it is again. It does hurt.
They're taking something out of me. It hurts.
I want to cry.
Why can't I cry?
They choke me again and memories start to fade.
I wish I'd scream.
I want to wake up from this dream. Is Tegan sleeping beside me? Why can't I wake up?
I didn't see the car. I couldn't see it. My bike slipped. I fell. And I couldn't get up before the car hit me. But I'm alright because it's just a dream and I can still see what's around me. But that pain. God, where is it coming from?
I hope Tegan wakes me.
The pain thickens. It holds me tight. There's a fire in my chest. There comes the choking once again. It's getting bad and I can't concentrate. I can't focus. I can't think.
Oh, it's too bad.
I can't breathe.
...
They burn my chest. Who are they?
...
It hurts. I sleep and wake up with fire in my heart.
...
The noises are loud. Too loud. Make them stop. Make them stop. The beeping of the machine is suddenly angry again after quitting its continuous sound.
I want to sleep once again.
Why are they screaming and yelling and wailing? Where are they? I can't hear them. I can't see them. Who are they?
When am I going to wake up from this dream?
A playground. I'm in a playground. What is this? Another dream?
I can see me. Little. Jeans overall and a red shirt under. Braids on each side. I'm crying.
Oh, no…it's the past. I've seen this. Why is it the past? I've been there. Four. I was four and I was in a playground when we were in the country club.
I'm not lost. I know this. I've seen this. I remember this.
Images begin to move with me. Myself and the little girl merge as I move with her. Was it all a dream? Was it a daydream of me? The kids are mean. They knocked me down on the dirt and laughed at me.
I cry as my face hits the mud. I cry hoping that mum and dad would show up. Going there was wrong. I know they will show up, I've seen this before.
I get up, looking at my bleeding palms.
"Fall, fall, fall." Two boys hit my back with their feet and I fall once again, face down.
"What is wrong with you? Boys, why are you doing this?" I hear an old voice as I close my eyes. I know what he's going to do. He's going to take me to mum and dad. They're dining in the cafeteria. Yes, please take me to them. End this dream.
What if I am stuck in the past?
"Oh, sweetie." A beautiful girl picks me up. "Oh, these boys are mean. I'm so sorry." I cry more when attention is suddenly on me by a girl and a boy next to her. I know from the past they are a brother and a sister. They told mum and dad when they took me to them.
Why can't I open my mouth and tell them I know them?
Am I watching from afar? No, because here I am crying and trying to find my parents with them.
I weep more when I spot my parents having dinner in the cafeteria. Mother gasps and father gets up to take me from the nice girl. I lay my head on his shoulder and hold on to him crying.
"She was getting bullied in the playground. She was asking for you," the boy says.
"Oh, my God," mum says. She looks so young, so beautiful. No wrinkles under her eyes, no exhaustion in her face. I never noticed how her looks have changed. "Baby, come here." Mum picks me up and puts me on her lap. I cry hysterically and bury my face in her neck as she rubs my back and kisses my head. "Shhh. Oh, honey. Oh, let me see your hands. Do they hurt?" I nod and hug her tightly. "I'll kiss them till they're better. Sander we need band aids, her palms are all scratched and bleeding."
"I'm glad we found you. Please don't leave her alone out there," the girl says.
My dad talks more to them and my mum helps me drink some water. Sleepiness and exhaustion take over my small body as I begin to lose consciousness in my mother's lap.
Just when I think I'd wake up, I find myself in my room in my parents' house in Toronto. Again crying. This time on my bed. This time I'm older; nine years old.
Oh, oh, I remember this. It's when I got a bad mark in math. It's when mum scolded me and I felt unintelligent.
Mother comes in after our small fight.
"Go away," I tell her.
"Let me talk to you. I didn't mean to yell."
"Yes, you did. You think I'm stupid and you're right I'm stupid. I never get good marks. Never."
"Sara, you're not stupid. You just need some private tutoring, I guess."
"I'm not like you and Auntie Mary or Tina or dad or even grandma and grandpa. I'm stupid and ugly. I don't have nice blue eyes and nice blond hair. I look different. I always look different and they whisper about me. I see them, they always whisper."
"Don't say that about yourself."
"It's true."
"Who whispers?" Mum asks. I can only notice her anxiousness just now. The nerves. The fear. The anger.
"Grandma and Auntie Mary. They look at me and whisper."
"No, Sara. Don't be delusional. Even if they whispered, I'm sure they're not talking about you. I'm sure they're saying something nice." Mum pauses then says, "You're beautiful. You have the most beautiful hazel eyes. You have a beautiful brown hair. You don't have to look like us to be beautiful. And different is good. Different is special."
A whirlwind of images moves me quickly in a different setting and a different time.
The dining room. Mum and dad and me. I'm twelve here.
Oh, it's this part. I despise this part. I hate it. I don't want to look at it. Who's in control of these images? I don't want to see this part.
"What do you mean I'm adopted?"
"Sa…" mum attempts to speak.
"You're just saying it like that? I was never yours? You…you found me on your doorstep. I'm not even adopted, I'm…I was deserted. I wasn't needed and you took me. Someone left me and they…" My sobs are loud and outrageous.
"Listen to us, Sara," dad says sternly. "Nobody deserted you. You are our miracle."
"No. No. I'm not even your daughter. You're not my parents and you hid this all along."
The beeping sound becomes frequent and loud once again, making the image slowly disappear. I can hear the cries as well. I wonder where they're coming from.
Another image. When will they stop?
Oh, it's the time I fell. I'm in the shower. I'm sixteen. I'm washing my body. I don't remember my hair being this long.
Are they going to stop till I get older?
The loofah falls on the floor. No…don't pick it up. Don't bend down.
I screech loudly as I slip and fall, hitting my lower back with the edge of the tub.
The sharpest pain hits my back and I begin to scream. I can't get up. Why does it seem so real? Why can't I get up?
The beeping gets louder…louder…angrier…it won't stop.
"Sara, are you okay?" Mum shouts, knocking on the door.
"Sara, can we come in?" I answer Jane with a long moan. I can't speak. I can only feel my head thumping and my back being torn apart.
"Oh Goooood. Oh, God. It hurts," I cry loudly when Jane and mum come in.
"Fuck, fuck…what happened?" Jane asks as mum helps me sit up. I scream when she does.
"No. No. It hurts."
It's like my eyes have become an old tape that keeps switching between different scenes because it doesn't work well anymore. I see Tegan beating me and the pain surge through my body. Then I see mum once again trying to lift me up in the bathroom. But the two images are torn by another of me and Tegan shaking hands when she entered my dorm years ago. Another image appears of me and Tegan talking in our dorm room. I can't hear voices, I can only see images. I can only hear an echo of shrieks and laughter; cries and chatter.
Then I find myself in Sonia's garden. Sunlight on my skin as I sit on her swing and read one of the books she owns. Peacefulness suddenly emerges in this little abyss I'm floating in. No more pain. No more noises. Only silence and the sound of twittering birds as I read, "To My Mother, to My Lover, to My Own Oedipal Complex" by Annie Goodwin.
"It never crossed my attention that the women I loved where a dreadful replica of my mother; the bad copy that I longed for in my home.
I have loathed the mere idea of incest that was always stamped in the Oedipal Complex that I have never understood, simply due to the fault in such a theory that excluded homosexuals.
If you thought I was going to point out that the theory is absolutely wrong, you must have read my previous works.
True, I have written about my disagreement. I have tried to prove it wrong for years and in many ways in my previous works. However, when the box of memories (what I refer to the half torn cartoon in my closet) fell down on the floor one Friday morning as I was in a rush to go to a meeting, I was suddenly attacked by an army of the women I dated: all of them had the same brown hair as my mother; shoulder length, same long nose, sharp but tiny eyes, and they all smiled like the devil—the smile of my mother.
While I was being asked crudely about my sexuality and faking a smile in front of a camera, I was thinking of these women and how they all looked the same. Of course I couldn't see the resemblance they had with mother just then.
But that night I had to visit my old lady. She complained, for sure…that's what she was famous for, I couldn't help but stare closely like a hawk on a tree. I stared at her two eyes shifting and moving stealthily like Cameron, at her nose twitching like Zora, at the thin lips that never displayed a smile like Daisy, at the hair that looked just like Helena's.
I loved girls who looked like me because I loved girls who looked like my mother; because I was so dependent on my mother; because I couldn't leave the bosom that fed me; because I couldn't leave the house that sheltered me.
I tried to understand this theory as I studied different lesbian couples who dated women that looked like their mothers. A woman told me she realized she dated people that resembled her mum because her mum was mean to her, the other told me the reason was that her mum had left her when she was young and she only had a picture. In a way, she was seeking a mother through these girls, she said.
So I asked myself whether Freud can be right about a theory proved wrong. I dated the next person, making sure she looked nothing like the woman who birthed me so I could at least smile at her without being disturbed with myself.
Three months later, I looked at her with a new look that I have hinted she would look nice if she tried: brown hair, shoulder length.
She was my mother.
So the Oedipal Complex is more complicated for a lesbian, that's what I concluded. In this book I will discuss my theory in the details I have gathered as I studied different lesbian and bisexual couples (or any two girls dating regarding the sexuality) in order to understand my own complex."
I can't recognize what I'm reading anymore. I can only see me sitting there, enjoying the purifying sun.
The image fades slowly. The sun dims as it flees the sky. Darkness surrounds me and the beeping is back. I don't know what this scenery is. I can faintly see a view I can't recognize. I'm not sure where I am.
I blink. It's hard to breathe.
The beeping continues.
Oh, it's that machine beside my bed.
Why is there a mask on my face?
I must have gone back to the hospital after my back surgery.
I don't remember this scene, though. The hospital looked nothing like that.
The pain makes itself recognizable slowly. Yes, it's after the surgery.
My right arm is in a cast. There's a bandage wrapped around my left thigh...I can feel it.
The pain in my back and hip numb me. I moan slowly and cry silently. I open my mouth…I can talk. I'm in control of my actions. I voice a small plea for anyone. I can't see anyone.
"T…Tegan…Tee…" My voice can barely be heard.
"Sara," a shaken voice calls. It's not Tegan's.
"Sara, you're awake. Oh my God, my baby."
Oh, it's mum. It's after the surgery. I don't want to recall these memories.
"Tegan, Tegan…she's awake."
The pain slowly takes over my nerves. I can feel nothing but my back hurting.
"She's…what?" The light is switched on and it stings. I close my eyes. There's a knocking in my head. "Oh, my God. Sara, Sare…you're awake. Oh, my God. Oh, my God."
I stare at Tegan and my mother both crying. That haircut…no, it's not after the surgery.
Where am I? Why am I in such pain?
People dressed in white surround me, attacking with their quick hands, toying with my damaged body, asking me questions I cannot answer, making me feel scared, wanting someone to take me out of this endless dream. I weep because of the ache and the lack of knowledge.
"Did she lose all her memory?" mum asks, I only watch. Tegan is rubbing my hand.
"Only the events right before the incident. Seems that the last thing she recalls is feeding the cat in the morning."
I look at Tegan, pleading for some words to make me understand what's happening. Tegan is crying.
"She might remember, she might not," the doctor says.
"Will she ever…speak normally again?" What's wrong with the way I speak? "She's been already treated. It was…a psychological problem."
The doctor turns back to look at Tegan and says, "If it's psychological, it must be connected to a previous trauma. The accident might have brought that back."
"Will she ever walk again?" mother asks.
I can't walk?
"You can try physical therapy…but…"
"But?"
"She will always have issues in her back. When we did the surgery we found the inflammation already developed, since before the accident."
"Ye…yes, she's been having issues lately…she always had," Tegan says.
"I thought she healed," mum says.
"Wh…where…where am…I?"
"You're back to zero." Tegan breaks down, burying her face in her hands, sobbing loudly.
"T…Te…Tegan…Tegan…" Words are hard to pronounce. Oh, I'm back to zero. But how?
"Tegan, don't beat yourself up," mum says. "Honey, don't do that. We have to be strong."
"Where…where…uh…"
"You're in the hospital, my darling." Mum sits by my bed.
"We'll leave you to talk to her. We'll come back to help you change for her and food will be served shortly." The doctor and nurses all leave. Tegan is still crying.
"Sara, there was an accident. Do you remember it?"
Accident? What accident? I was asleep and I was dreaming and I suddenly woke up here.
I shake my head.
"You were on your bike and a car hit you…we don't know how it happened. We weren't around but…" Mum starts crying. "Someone called Tegan and told her. You've been in a coma for the past three days. We were about to lose you, Sara." Tegan's cries get louder, making me want to close my ears and eyes and get back to that dark abyss I was in. "We had to…we had to give you an electric heart shock." Mum wipes her tears and smiles. "You know that you're a miracle? Always were and always will be."
I start crying. I don't understand.
"It's all my fault," Tegan mouths.
"Stop saying that," mum says. "I'm just happy she's here with us. Be happy."
"She can't walk or talk and it's all my fault. I caused this."
"She will walk. It's not your fault."
"God, it is. It is. I'm a fucking monster. You don't know why she's like that right now, why she came back to have a surgery a year ago, why we were not together, why we didn't sleep on the same bed. It's because of what I did. I hit her. I hit your daughter. I fucking jumped on her and beat her up till her back was fucked and her mental state was wrecked. Because I'm an abusive, possessive bitch. Because I'm sick…I'm sick…oh, God, I'm sick."
My mum doesn't say anything. She looks at me for answers, but even if my tongue worked properly, I wouldn't have any answers. I look down and cry in silence. Tegan corners herself far in the room and my mum sits beside me shocked and stoned.
I get changed, I get fed. When it's time I want to relieve my bladder, I get put on a wheel chair. "It's temporary, I promise you," mum whispers. Having to pee with someone else in the bathroom is not the same as having to pee with Tegan in the bathroom. Even if it's my mother. That's how my life is right now.
My mum talks to dad and Joy on the telephone and Tegan talks to her parents, all assuring the others I'm alive.
I'm alive. It seems quite humorous…saying that. Well, I'm alive. I don't remember dying, but they do.
Though, when I go back to sleep the pain medication doesn't do much to me and I cry once again. If I can't walk, how do I feel pain?
I ask my mum after many attempts. "You're not paralyzed…you're…it's…"
"It's psychological. Your mind and your nerves are not cooperating together…I'm sorry," Tegan says, teardrops on her face.
My sniffles, tears, moans, whimpers—all lull me gently to sleep.
The last thing I remember is my mother and Tegan sitting beside each other, my mother talking to Tegan the way she has always talked to me: in a friendly and sweet way, and Tegan softly crying, not able to forgive herself.
I wake up in the morning to the pain once again. I find my mum and Tegan drinking coffee, sitting on chairs beside my bed and watching the mute morning news.
I rub my eyes and attempt to stretch. I want their attention but I'm afraid to voice my need. I'm not sure if I'll be able to speak. Mornings are always hard, even after I was treated.
"Oh, Sara," mum notices me in the middle of my failed attempts to let them know I'm awake.
"Sara," Tegan says.
"Do you need something?" mum asks. I nod. "Bathroom?" I nod again.
"I'll help her." Tegan stands up.
"No." Mum stands up, too. "You have to be careful with her. I just need you to pick her up and put her on the chair."
"The bathroom is in the room. It's one step away. I'll pick her up and, you know, help her sit on the toilet."
I groan in protest.
"It's okay, Sara. It's going to have to be this way for awhile. But you're leaving soon. Your tests are all fine. We're going to be in contact with a physical therapist and a pronunciation coach, or something like that. We'll have, umm, daily sessions. You'll get back to being normal in no time, I know that."
Later in the day I get calls from Rob, Emy and Amber, and Joy. Mum tells me that my dad's health has been terrible lately. I'm able to ask a few questions and my appetite is better, but I still don't remember anything but waking up happy, saying goodbye to Tegan, feeding the cat and going back to sleep, then waking up here. The next day is almost similar. I wake up to find only mother by my side.
"Tegan's at work," mum says. "She had to. I told her to go."
"Y…yeah."
"You need to wash your face or shower, but I'm waiting till we go home today. Tegan went back to prepare the house. I…I called Jane, Sara. She will be here for awhile till you're back on your feet." What makes her so sure that I will be back on my feet? I can barely feel my legs, yet I feel the pain in my back, I feel it strongly.
"C...c…co…" I motion at her cup.
"You want coffee?"
I nod.
"I'll tell them to get you coffee." She smiles. "Are you hungry?"
I nod quickly. "V...ver…very much."
"Oh, I'll get you food." She kisses my forehead and disappears.
At night Tegan drives us back home. I sit in the back seat and mum sits beside me. Sitting is harder. When I reach my bed I cry silently because of the pain. Cyndi sleeps in my arms, hearing my moans all night long.
Mum and Tegan sit by my bed waiting for the tears to exhaust me, but I am in a state of pain that won't leave me to resign. Tegan ends up crying and mum rubs the entire length of my injured hip.
"It's okay," mum mouths for as long as she can. "It's okay, sweetie."
"I can't take seeing her like this." Tegan storms out of the room.
"God." Mum sighs.
"Sh…she thinks it's…it's her fault. She…she warned me…she warned me not to…to…to get a bike because…th…they drive crazily here, but I…I didn't listen."
"It's something that wanted to happen. It was gonna happen either way." Mum is strong. She's strong and very optimistic that I will be able to recover.
At this moment I don't care anymore. I don't care because I lost hope. It's like running in circles. Or maybe that's how life is. It should be hard for everyone, but it seems that it's only hard for me. Now I can't even apply to Graduate School for the next semester. I don't care about my life anymore because I am humiliated in every possible way and I think this is my lowest, it can't get lower than this, it can't get lower than having to pee with your parent standing in the bathroom, it can't get lower than your mum or girlfriend wiping your ass or giving you a bath when you are almost thirty but you need to be taken care of as if you're a toddler in diapers. It can't get lower than wanting to say so much but you can't get the words out no matter how much you try, and you can see them getting frustrated as you try to complete your sentence, so you just give up on it because what's the point? What's the point of me living if my life is like this?
When I say this to my mother the next morning over breakfast, she starts crying. She shakes her head violently and cups her mouth. "Don't say that ever again, don't." Her octave is low and outraged. "Do you know how much these words hurt me, Sara? You don't because you're not a mother. You don't understand what they do to me."
She puts her wrinkly hand over my wounded thigh and glares at me with wide blue eyes. I hold my tears inside, looking at her in silence. "Do you know what your purpose is? I'll tell you what it is. It might sound selfish to you because maybe it does not give you something that you can touch but I think it should give you something felt, and you should be happy about it."
"But come here first," she says, inching closer to me. "Lie down and put your head on my chest, listen to my heartbeat. You loved that when you were a baby. Of course you don't remember it. It always calmed you down and made you stop crying." She lies down beside me. Carefully, she moves my head on her chest. I adjust my body with difficulty to avoid any pain. "I know you don't really like that, but guess what? Just because you're twenty-eight it doesn't mean you're too old to cuddle with your mother. You'll always be little Sara in my eyes." I nod in response, feeling the calming beat of her heart and her soft breaths.
"Maybe you should know why we call you a miracle, Sara."
"B…because…you…you co…co..couldn't…"
"It's okay," she whispers when I give up on my sentence. "Relax, just relax." She kisses my head. "I told you the story in minor details, very minor details, but I will say all of it now, because you deserve to know what I was going through."
"Y…yeah." She begins stroking my hair softly and caressing my hand with her other hand.
"That morning I found you at your grandma's door was one of the worst mornings in my life, Sara. I was arguing with my mother whether I should file for divorce or not." I look up at her. My back makes me remember that I am injured so I look down at my hands again. The little movements make me ache. "Yes. I was dealing with severe depression, clinical depression. You never saw me and your father fighting at all, but before you came we fought everyday. You know, living with someone for fifteen years without anything interesting going on in your life is just a burden. I picked a fight over the tiniest matters. We were together in high school, in college; we got married and then what? The spark died. Nothing new. He went to work, I went to work; he came back, I cooked quickly; we ate, had sex…and slept." I laugh, not because she said something funny but because that's kind of my life with Tegan and I like it like that. "Eventually it got boring…and we weren't too big on having a third…lover."
"W…wha…what…mu…" I laugh nervously.
"Sara, I know about Emy. Tegan told me two nights ago. I'm honestly shocked but…I can't judge you." I remain silent and shocked, almost frozen, my heart beating quickly. "That's not the point. The point is our relationship was completely dead. On top of that I couldn't conceive. It was fine at first. We were okay when we knew…like, there was always the option of adoption. I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't cry at nights when I heard my friends talk about their children and the bond and all of these feelings, but it wasn't that, you know, big of an issue…it wasn't something that made my life a living hell. What did make my life so bad was the lack of communication that was growing between us. He was bored, obviously, and so was I. Nothing new. We tried, we tried so hard. We traveled, we went to shrinks, we…changed our…you know, se…"
I clear my throat loudly for her to stop going there. She laughs.
"Okay, I won't go there. But we tried. But we both knew too well what was the missing factor in our life. We both wanted a child but no one made a big deal out of it. He didn't want to hurt my feelings and I was trying to bury the subject as much as I could because I didn't know if I adopted I would love the kid as if it is my own…or they would love me as if I am their own."
I frown hearing that.
"The first part was not true but the second was…"
"N…n…no…no."
"It is. You never felt that I am your mother after you knew. It's like you stopped loving me. You tried so hard to find your biological mother. It's your right for sure, but it always hurt me."
I wish I can take my words back; every hurtful word I used to say to Jessica when I was hurt, I wish I didn't make her feel like an option. I wish I can express what I feel without the stuttering. I was never great when it came to communication, always thought if I found who conceived me, my life would be better. Years later and I'm still twirling in the same cycle, unable to give it up until I destroyed my own relationship.
"But," mother continues, "you are my child and I'm not going to feel any less towards you just because eventually I was able to have a biological kid." She kisses my head once again. "We didn't consider Joy a miracle, Sara. We only considered you one. Your father and I were separated at that time. I went back to Toronto to my parents because I didn't know where to go. I quit my job and I left. I wanted to start over. My mother kept nagging, saying, 'Everybody adopts, just get a child.' And I would say back, 'A kid isn't gonna solve my problems with Sander. It's not gonna make our life nice." And I couldn't even get me. I loved him, he loved me then what was it?" I give her hand a squeeze and hum so she knows I'm listening. "So there I was having a God so awful dispute with my mother one second, I get angry and decide to storm out of the house and go take a walk. I open the door and I find a very small baby all wrapped up in fuzzy, yellow blankets, sucking at her tiny hand and drooling all over the place." I laugh loudly. She told me this story before; that part I know. "It was so damn cold. It was freezing. I picked your little crib and got you inside. I called mum and we both panicked. Who the hell put a baby outside our door?"
"A…b…b…bitch."
"Damn right, a bitch…if she desired to. But…a bitch that somehow knew what I wanted."
"Yo…you think sh…she knew?"
"Of course it's someone who knew. It's someone who knew I was staying at my parents', someone that knew mother and father and that I was having issues because I couldn't conceive; someone close. Mum and I analyzed it for too long. It's someone that my mother talked to. But the thing is, we didn't know anyone that was pregnant or their cousin or kid or friend was pregnant. There was nothing, no trace, no identity, not hints. Nothing, I swear, Sara. It's someone who hid it well. Too well, in fact."
"S…so it's…it's som…someone that I…I mean, we…we might know…now?"
"God, I don't know. I don't think so. But it could be. I watched people closely when they picked you and played with you and everything…I wasn't given any hints, like…there were no hints that someone wanted you or was sad. They were all happy for me."
I think my mother missed a point there. My grandma knew. I'm about ninety percent sure of that. Now she's saying it's someone who knew about her most private issues, I'm sure my grandmother had something to do with it. But she's dead now; we can't know anything because her secrets were probably buried with her.
"W…w…were you?"
"Happy?"
"Yes," I respond quickly.
"Oh, God, happy doesn't even describe it." She looks down at me. The wrinkles in her eyes increase when she smiles. "Mum and I picked you up and we were scared as hell. We started calling people. I called your dad and made him panic, she called my dad and my aunts and my sisters. Everybody came down to the house that day. Even your father took the next flight from Calgary to Toronto. Everybody came to see this little baby in the yellow blanket."
"L…like a…st…sta…tue." A statue…Fuck, I can't say it.
"Well, yes…because of the letter. The letter that came with you that begged us to take care of you. The letter that made us so scared, trying to figure out who the hell we know that was having a child and decided to give you up?"
"Did the…" Mum mouths a small 'yeah' for encouragement, as she does when I try to speak a full sentence without a stutter. "Did…the…the letter say y…your names?"
"See? You're getting better. I know you're going to speak fine in few days. God, doctors don't know shit. Tegan's right." She pats my thigh after releasing my sweaty hand.
"The letter said, as I remember, 'I know how much you need a child and I have one that I can't take care of. I know leaving this precious human at your door will make her life so much better. I know I came to the right people and I know you will take care of her and give her the love she deserves. You should know that it was not an easy decision, but it was the right one. You must know the grief we are in seems hopeless, but we don't want her to suffer with us. We kept her for two months because it was hard to let go at first. I never believed in abortion, as my faith does not support such an inhumane act, and I believe every angel deserves a good start, at least…and this angel is not different. She doesn't have a name. We call her Snowball, because she looks like one. We didn't want to name her so there would not be a conflict when she grows up and our roads meet. We don't want to take something we gave a long time ago, it wouldn't be ours; it wouldn't be fair to her nor to whoever takes her.' I memorized the words because I read them about ten times everyday for an entire year."
"M…mum…I…"
"Yes, Sare?"
"I th…think…"
"Say it, I'll wait for you."
"I think…" She squeezes my hand. "I think that…that the…the woman doesn't know you." I'm pretty sure she doesn't, if mum hasn't seen hints on people showing that she does.
"Yeah, I think so, too."
"I think s…someone…someone told her about you…but, g…grandma knows…knows who she told…and maybe knows her."
"Yes, I think that, too." I look back at my mother. She twists her lips to the side as she thinks. "You know what I also think?" I shake my head. "Whoever wrote the letter kept shifting between 'I' and 'we' and it doesn't even seem like she was talking about her and her partner, it's like, I don't know, something is missing. The letter of course had more, way more words…I…I'm sorry I told you we lost it. I have it, Sara. I wish I have it now with me but it's back home. I was selfish, I didn't want you to, you know, have even bigger hopes of finding them or loving someone that wrote they didn't want to know you if they crossed roads with you."
I look back at my hands again. I wipe a tear that rolls out of my eyes and take a deep breath. I shake my head. "It's…it's okay. I don't…I don't want to read it. I don't want…I don't want anything that h…has to do with…with her…or them." I am surprised that I am actually able to let sentences out. It's like Tegan has said; I wake up all rusty and need some practice, then I am able to say a few things and at the end of the day I can speak well.
Mum shifts behind me. I try to sit up better so she can find a comfortable position. I end up groaning in pain.
"Oh, sorry," she whispers. "God, let me continue. This is something I wanted to tell you since ever but didn't want you to laugh at me or yourself."
I laugh anyway (before any story) thinking of more embarrassing tales to come. I've heard plenty already but she always has more.
"So we were all gathered at my parents' house and we forgot you're a baby that needs changing and feeding. Suddenly something smelled funny. We didn't even realize it was coming from you. I thought it was your cousin Tina . Then mum was like, there's a baby and we're wondering who stinks? Of course it's the baby." I try not to laugh at myself but I do. I can't even imagine it. "Sander went to get diapers and some milk because you were sucking your hand and crying. You were so hungry."
I close my eyes and listen to her.
"We discovered you didn't like the bottle at all. You were only breastfed apparently, which made it even harder for us to consider keeping you or not. After all, Sander and I were about to get a divorce."
I open my eyes and look back at her. She smiles apologetically.
"You cried all night and I cried, too. We didn't know how to shut you up or feed you. I picked you up and you threw your face at my breast, wanting to feed. But I had no milk and it made me really, really sad. I cried so much because, to me, my fears were alive. I was like, 'Look! This is why we can't adopt. I can't even feed her.'"
"Aww."
She laughs. "Yeah. But he was softer, your father. He was more patient. He picked you up and kept walking in the room back and forth, humming some melodies for you. I remember what he said, wait a minute, let me recall it." She closes her eyes and hums. I smile, grabbing her finger and playing with it. "Okay, he said this, 'They call you Snowball? I'll call you Sara because you're beautiful and you deserve a beautiful girl's name.' And then he kissed your forehead. Sara was what he always wanted to name his first daughter. It's what we agreed on when we were engaged."
"W…wow." I tear up a little and she laughs.
"Yes. He's soft. You know your father."
"Yeah," I mumble.
"But that was a hard night because you didn't sleep at all and we were scared you would get sick if you didn't get fed. You obviously wanted your mother. You only were quiet when I put you close to my chest. Later I found out it was my heartbeat that calmed you down not my boobs."
I snort the way Tegan does, making me laugh more at myself.
"You still wanted my boobs, though. You kept pushing your face there waiting for me to unbutton my shirt. I was like how can a two-months old baby know what's there? But I guess those little humans do. Even Joy did that sometimes."
My cat walks in with a loud meow, declaring her presence in the room and demanding full attention. She jumps on the mattress and throws herself in my lap. Mum pauses, looking at what Cyndi is trying to do.
"H…hey Cyndi," I whisper.
Cyndi meows.
"Yo…you're full, little one?"
The cat puts her paw on the cast on my arm.
"Don't press too hard, Cyndi. You're mama's hurt," my mum warns. Cyndi doesn't listen for sure. She puts the other paw, then her entire butt as she climbs on my cast. I wince in pain right before mum picks up the idiot cat and puts her away from my wounds. "What did I tell you? Sit right here." Cyndi meows. "Sit," mum says again.
"M…mum, don't…don't even try. It's no use…T…Tegan tries but Cyndi's….she's an asshole."
"Not so different from Lucifer. He's so old now; he's giving your father a hard time at home."
"Is…dad…is he okay? I m…mean today?"
"He says he's better but his lungs, you know. They're not that good," mum whispers. I don't ask more because the topic upsets her. I know she has to go back because he probably needs her around, but there is me who needs her around, too. I am actually happy Tegan has called her. I would have been more depressed without anyone.
"God, I took too long telling you this story. It's like it doesn't even have a point anymore." Mother yawns. The cat dozes off beside my bandaged thigh.
"N…no, I'm enj…en…enjoying it."
"Are you sure?"
"Mhm."
"Alright." She sighs. "You're a miracle to us, Sara, because that night we forgot all our problems. We had a mission, suddenly…a purpose. We had a purpose to be together. We were going to take care of you and be your parents. God, you were such a beautiful baby. Really, a snowball. So round and chubby and pale with red cheeks. I loved nothing more than holding you, even when you cried for long hours."
She chuckles.
"One night I couldn't take your crying. It broke my heart. I really hated that I couldn't produce milk for you and you really hated the bottle. We forced you to drink from it. But that night I was like, I should just let her suckle and see, I don't care."
"Oh?" If my biological mother only breastfed me, it means she loved me. It means she really let me go because of circumstances she couldn't handle. I once read a book where the main character complained about her mother's hatred. I remember reading that part that said, 'My mother never loved me. She didn't breastfeed me. She never hugged me. She never looked at me and saw that I needed nothing but her love.'
"But I didn't do it. I put you inside my blouse. You know, I covered you like a blanket and you started sucking on my shoulder and whimpering till you calmed down and relaxed. When you did, I gave you the bottle and you finally took it without a tantrum. Then I discovered you liked to hear my heartbeat to relax. Do you have any idea the joy I felt? God, nobody does. Nobody could. I was on top of the world. You were my miracle…you still are. And then you say you don't have a purpose to live when your purpose in my life was turning the hell I was in into a beautiful heaven?"
I cry again, not knowing how to answer or what to say. Yes, I don't feel it but knowing that I tried my whole life to find someone that got rid of me and leave that one person who loved me more than anybody makes me feel awful. So awful. Why did I do that? She's my mother, my real mother, I don't care who gave birth to me. She's my mother not that other woman.
"Hushhh, it's okay. It's okay." She rubs the arm not broken up and down. "As soon as you entered our life your father got a promotion, a really good one. We were able to buy a nice house in Calgary. I didn't need a job to help him and I spent my time taking care of you. But you know why I always nag on you to get a job and become independent? So you wouldn't have to suffer like I did. I used to start a job and quit after a week. I just couldn't do it. I was so dependent on him to do everything and I was so happy not to work, but a woman has to. He thinks so, too. A woman has to rely on herself and know her worth."
"Y…yes." I close my eyes and sniffle. "I…I agree."
"And I am so proud of you. So proud of you even if you can't be proud. I'm proud of your strength, of living with Tegan as hard as it is to live with her, of trying and never giving up. I know you will get whatever you want someday. Trust me, I know. I'm not saying this because I'm your mother; I'm saying this because I know an ambitious soul when I see it. Life is hard now, honey, but it will get better. It always does."
I don't think I have ever experienced such an emotion or cried because of such feeling. I've been hurt, beaten up, falling, failing and flailing in aimless directions…but I never heard such deep words that cut me softly and slowly. I never thought I would have such a conversation with my mother that could make me end up sobbing in her arms like that time I fell in the club's playground.
"And I don't want to hear about Tegan hurting you this much, ever…ever. Nobody knows what this did to me when I heard her saying it. It cut me open, I tell you. It cut me open but nobody could see because I had to conceal it from you and her. But if this happens again, I might just get a stroke...or give her one."
"N…no. Don't say that."
"And one last thing, I'm your mother, please stop covering your vagina with your hand whenever I help you sit on the toilet. I changed your diapers and gave you showers and saw you naked many times and you're still shy."
"I…it's not about that…but…" My face becomes heated, and my stomach feels uncomfortable. "I don't…don't have the same…b…b...body as a six…sixteen year-old."
"I'm just your mum and you shouldn't feel shy around me," she says again.
"Sara? Jess?" I hear Tegan calling from down the hall.
"Right here," mum shouts.
"Hey," my girlfriend says when she steps inside our room. "I got you some sweet things." She holds up a large box from my favorite pastry in NYC: 'U R Sweetie'.
"Ohhh…th…thank you."
"You're early," mum states.
"Yeah…I left early. Did the important things and left. I can't…I get worried." She sits on the mattress next to mum and me. She kicks her shoes off her feet and puts them on the mattress. "Here is a wide variety of cakes and pastry for you." She opens the box and my eyes widen, my mouth waters, my stomach groans when I see the beautiful pieces of colorful cupcakes, muffins, and sweet, chocolaty goods.
"W…wow. Thank you." I grab a red velvet cupcake immediately, not hesitating to gulp all these pieces at once, even though I will probably regret it later, especially that I'm taking even heavier dozes of cortisone now.
"I'll leave you two to talk," mum says when Tegan kisses the cream off my lips.
"Here, take one, mama." Tegan offers the box to mum.
Mum laughs. "Okay, okay." She takes a muffin and bites into it, humming as she leaves, the cat following, demanding a piece of her own.
"Yay, she left." I squint at her. "The cat not your mama."
"Hmm."
"I swear. I love your mum. She's like the best mum. I call her mama because she's so fucking nice and motherly."
"D…did you drink c…coffee?"
"Yes…five."
"You're hyper."
"Yeah…Oh, my God, you just said that without a stutter." She claps her hands and kisses my cheek quickly.
"Tee," I groan, pushing her off. "H..help me…to…to go pee."
"Oh, yes. Let's get you there." She kisses my temple and stands up. She takes off her jacket then bends down, putting both arms underneath my body. I grab her shirt tightly as she picks me up to place my helpless body on the wheelchair.
We struggle as she holds me close, trying to lower down my underwear and lifting up my long shirt without hurting me so much, but I am hurt so I start to cry heavily as I sit.
"I'm so sorry," she says softly, holding my hand after kneeling in front of me.
"I…I've been h…ho…ho…holding it. I've been holding it." I take a breath. "For about t…two hours."
"Holding your pee? That's not good."
"I…I…hate this." My sobs increase and now I'm stuttering because of my cries not because of disability to produce clear and coherent sentences. "I have to…h…have to, to pee and shit and…shower in front of her and you and…th..the nurses back there. I hate this. I want p…p…p…"
"Privacy?" I nod, a hiccup leaving my lips. She wraps her arm around my neck, closing the distance between us, kissing my lips then my forehead. "It's okay. Just try to put up with it. I know how shy you are and how uncomfortable it is. But…but we both don't care and don't judge. She's your mum, come on. My mum sees me naked like all the time. I don't give a fuck. And, hey, I'm your gal." She winks, making me giggle. "You should NOT be shy around me…after the shit we used to do." The keyword is 'used to,' which means not anymore. We have just gotten back to our normal sexual relationship just recently, and then this happens. It's like fate does not want us to touch or something, it does not want us to live together like a normal couple; there is always someone or something setting an impediment that separates us or kills our intimacy.
I shake my head, crying more, feeling that my body is slowly being staked; feeling the destruction of every tiny nerve and muscle gradually spreading. I bite on my lips and shake. She tries to calm me but she can't. She calls my mother when my cries turn into shrieks.
"She's very hurt. I can't see her like that. I'm sorry, Sara. I can't, I can't," she yells, running out of the bathroom, leaving nothing behind but the strident sounds of her wailing lungs.
Mum sits in front of me the way my girl was sitting. She removes my fringe far from my eyes and looks at my tear-stained face. "What's wrong? Did she say something? Do something?"
"N…no," I say right away. "I'm…I'm hurt. My body…so bad…" I moan and cry.
"I'll have to give you a higher doze. You're not gonna sleep the night if you're in that much pain," she says, almost to herself. "Are you finished?"
"No…no."
I let my bladder give in and begin to piss in front of her. She sighs, waiting for me to finish. I've been waiting for Tegan to do this ugly part of wiping my vagina or ass all day and she ends up running away.
"I can…I can d…do it." I take the toilet paper roll from her hand but she takes it back quickly.
"You can't even move your right hand."
I take it again. She's not going to do that.
"I…c…can. I have another." I tear a good amount and fold it, putting it between my legs.
"I'm just trying to help you. I don't want you to hurt yourself." I throw the dirty toilet paper in the trash can beside the toilet and wait for her to lift me up. She places my good arm behind her neck and quickly lifts me up, holding me close to her chest as she tries to reach my underwear. "You need a shower," she whispers, "you're starting to smell." I almost end up falling on top of her and crashing her when she lets go of me to get to my underwear, which Tegan has lowered too much and mum can't reach it. "You know what, fuck it. No underwear." My shirt falls down to my knees when she helps me sit on the wheelchair.
"I'm so sorry," Tegan whispers. I can hear her voice but I can't turn around to know that she's standing at the door. "I didn't mean to run. I was scared…I got scared." I don't answer. I kick down my underwear and mum picks it up, throwing it in the hamper. "I'll give you a shower."
"No," I say loudly.
"Why?"
"You know what, Tegan," mum says, looking up at her while washing her hands and mine, "just make yourself useful sweetie and get her some panties, help her slip it on when I get her back to bed."
"Okay…uh…I'll help her."
"Yeah…I'll just go…go get her some pain meds…it's gonna be a long day."
Was I always a burden or did I just become my mum's and Tegan's worst nightmare?