“[FIVE YEARS OLD] “do you want to stay for dinner?” tears fill my teeny tiny hazel eyes & I say, “yes, please.” I look up at my mother & plead as hard as I know how, shaky palms rest behind my back & I cross my fingers in hopes that she will nod her head in a yes. & she says, “we can stay.” even with the, “we” my heart feels broken open & ready to be reset when my best friends mom passes me the ketchup & smiles with her pretty brown mommy-eyes.[SIX YEARS OLD] pneumonia in the hospital, the nurse comes in the middle of the night to cuff my arm & take my temp & make sure that I am safe. I do not sleep because I want to be awake when she comes to visit me. [SEVEN YEARS OLD] holiday at my cousins house, aunt & uncle & cousins times 3. my aunt lays her hand on the small of my back & asks, “how’s school going lately?” & a shiver crawls up my spine like a message from the earth’s core saying, “this is a safe touch! let it in!” & I have never been more ecstatic to answer that question. — dinner passes & I run through the house, playing games with my cousins our bellies cramping with laughter & our eyes alight with glee & my mom calls up from the kitchen, “it’s time to leave!” pain fills the cracks in my sides, split from the happiness of the evening & I watch my feet sprint up the steps & I hide deep inside the forest of my cousin’s closet & I cry.[EIGHT YEARS OLD] my mom takes me to work with her because I am sick & she has work & I am too sick to go to school & she is too busy to stay home (that is a different kind of sickness). my mom’s secretary comes into the office while I uncomfortably maneuver creating a bed out of two office chairs & she hands me a bag & I pull out a dog stuffed animal & I name her Nippy & I fall asleep & dream about the family I would have with me, the secretary, & Nippy. I wake up smiling. [NINE YEARS OLD] eating at chili’s. I ask for a kids menu. the waitress comes to our table with extra crayons & a free lemonade in a cup with a curly straw. she smiles & says, “on me.” I color a picture the waitress & me, holding hands at the park & I daydream about her, picking me up after school & making me a snack & bandaging my scraped knees & washing my mud stained white clothes with bleach.[TEN YEARS OLD] parents are divorced / dad goes to speed dating. he comes home & tells me he met a woman he liked with two daughters & a dog. all week I fantasize about what my new life will look like, when we all live together in my childhood home. I wonder if it will be safe again when my new mom comes home from work.[ELEVEN YEARS OLD] I wish mom dead, I wish for a different mom, I wish mom would touch me in a way that was Safe, but most of all I wish mom would love me. [TWELVE YEARS OLD] we are eating dinner at the house of a family friend & their family; it is me, it is another girl my age, it is my mom & her best friend & her husband. they are a loving / gentle / kind family who I envy. I turn deep sea green with envy whenever I am with them & I can see the burning hot love they all hold for each other equally. as dinner progresses I suddenly feel ill & I whisper to my own mom, “I feel sick.” she says “oh” & then retreats back to her conversation. & my mom’s friend sees me & she says, “come here!” & she takes my hand, she takes my hand & she leads me to their den, (they have a den!) & she has me lay down on the couch. she covers me up & tucks me in & she asks me what I need & then I cry. I cry & I cry & my crying refuses to stop no matter how much I try to will it away & she is worried. she holds my hand & pushes my hair behind my ear & asks what’s wrong & I tell her I don’t feel well. she shuts off the light & I imagine a life where she is my mom & I have a den where I can sleep when I am ill & mommy will come to rub my back & make sure that I get well again.[THIRTEEN YEARS OLD] my math teacher. blonde, blue eyes, beautiful, looks at me like a person / not a doll, I think she see’s through my wax paper & I want her to trace my outline so that I can look at myself & I desperately try to shrink & swallow myself whole while I sit in her class because I want her to ask me what is wrong & I want her to hold me while I cry until she tucks me into bed at night.[FOURTEEN YEARS OLD] I call my best friend in tears because my family turned me into liquid & used me to mop the floor & I beg her to let me stay over & her mom says of course & when I arrive her mom looks at me with love & takes my hand & says “You’re always welcome here” & I fill up with jealousy because I want my best friends mom all to myself.[FIFTEEN YEARS OLD] my track coach who is also a social worker. she is pregnant & I want to be the one living inside of her womb. I break my own bones to try & get her to wonder what is cracking so loudly & I bleed on the high jump matt so I can make her look at me & I make myself cry so she will ask me why I am hurting so badly & I want to be the baby in her belly.[SIXTEEN YEARS OLD] I am too sad & broken to believe in the idea that a mom is out there waiting for me.[SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD] first time in a treatment center; I meet a therapist who loves me. she loves me & she tells me that in my eyes she sees me healing. when I cry in group because my fear of using words is greater than my desire to get better, she looks me in the eye & says, “you’ll get there.” & in session she tells me, “I want to put you in my purse & take you home with me.” I want her to put me in her purse & take me home with her. I want to stay sick so that I never have to say goodbye to her.[EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD] I am an adult. I don’t need a mom anymore. (I cry every night at the memory of all the times when I was mothered with a gentle touch.) I don’t need a mom.[NINETEEN YEARS OLD] guilt eats away at me; my mom. I want MY MOM. my mom. she has done so much to help me live a life I love. money, clothes, food, roof, she had given me so much. okay, so who cares if it isn’t a gentle touch. I can handle a little bit of rough, her words are nothing more than little wounds, I have hurt myself worse. it’s a small price to pay to be loved by a mother. my mother. mommy. I cling to my mommy like a magnet & she hurts me with love while I cry every night & have no idea why.[TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD] I cry in the arms of my therapist & I say, “I want you to be my mommy.” & she tells me that in another life she would have adopted me & loved me forever in a heartbeat & I don’t hold even an ounce of guilt or shame when I say that I want to take a needle to her vein & extract the parts of her which love me most & inject into my soul like medication so I can feel the mother in her flowing thick through my own blood. — I want to have a mother who holds my body in her palm like a wounded bird, nurses the bird back to health with a stitched wing & water in a tiny cup & once the bird is healed she takes him out to the window & helps him learn that he can still fly even though he is hurting & then he will see that it’s true & she will wave goodbye as he flies off to make something of himself & she will see his left over feather laying in the palm of her hand & she will place it down on the counter & smile & I want to be the wounded bird & I want a mom who will let me go but still keep me in her heart no matter how far apart we are.”
— MATERNAL TRANSFERENCE or I WANT TO OPEN YOU UP AND JUMP INSIDE AND SEW THE WOUND SO I CAN LIVE IN YOUR LOVE FOREVER prompt for anonymous (han hyland)
tandv