being a bed hog.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes the small
things are the hardest to give up.” I sat in a chair at the table,
loneliness suddenly overwhelming me. Last night’s conversation with
Handel in the vineyard, my nightmare, and the miles separating me
from the only family I had, were bringing me down to a place I
didn’t want to be. “That’s why divorcing couples fight over the
silliest things,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “They’ll
often give up the house or child, but go round and round over who
gets the matchbook collection or the record player, although nobody
smokes or plays records anymore.”
“Then my name must be nobody. I may not smoke
but I do own a record player. In fact, Andrew and I listened to
some records last night.”
“Really? Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra?” I
asked, a nostalgic note in my voice, remembering winter nights at
home when I was a teenager, sitting by the fireplace playing cards
with my mother and brother, listening to a stack of records and
singing along.
“Yes, and of course my favorite — Doris
Day,” she said, ending with a pleased sigh.
I smiled. “Sounds cozy. And you say he stayed
until two?”
“Don’t be impertinent, Billie! I’m still your
mother.”
“Yes you are. Thanks for reminding me. I wish
you were here so you could make me a proper breakfast. I can’t even
seem to toast a bagel as well as you do.”
“Billie, are you all right? You sound a
little down.”
I shook my head, wondering how she could do
that across thousands of miles. “I’m good. Just tired I guess. I
didn’t sleep very well last night.” I tried to sound upbeat but
knew I failed to pass the test of sound with my mother when she
didn’t answer immediately with the suggestion of an herbal tea or
some such sleep aid.
“It’s the nightmares, isn’t it? You’re having
them again.”
I sighed heavily, and propped my head on my
hand at the table. I knew there was no use lying about it. She
would know and worry even more. “Yes. I did have the nightmare. But
you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to fall apart and seek out
the nearest psychiatrist. I worked through this years ago, and came
out the other side. I’m not going to let it take over my life like
it did before. This was a one time thing.”
My positive attitude hung over the kitchen
like a shroud of insecurity. I wished I believed the words I
spouted, but was afraid that when night fell I would be staring
wide-eyed into the darkness, unable to let myself sleep for fear of
the dream pulling me in.
“Honey, I’ll be there by this evening. Adam
doesn’t have classes this morning. He can drive me to the airport
and I’ll take the first flight out.” I heard the bed creak again
and imagined her hurrying to dress and pack so she could come take
care of me.
I stood up and went to the window over the
sink, my thoughts as heavy as the rain clouds gathering overhead
again. “I can’t let you do that, Mom.”
“Why not? That’s what mothers do. We love our
children until the day we die, and we won’t take no for an answer.”
I heard dresser drawers being opened and shut and knew she was
already in the process of packing.
“No,” I said, my voice firm with resolve. “I
have to deal with this myself. I’m an adult now, not a teenager.
You were there when I needed you, but now I need to find my own
strength. I don’t know why it started again. I do know it’s going
to end. I’m not afraid of Paul anymore, and I won’t endure this
dream as penance for past sins.”
“You have nothing to do penance for, Honey.
I’m so sorry I left. I should have stayed to support you instead of
rushing home when you needed me,” she said, her voice choked with
tears.
“Mom, you didn’t desert me. I told you to go
home. This has nothing to do with you leaving. It has to do with my
own unresolved issues. Funny thing though - I didn’t know they were
unresolved.” I bit my lip and
“I know what you mean. Sometimes the small
things are the hardest to give up.” I sat in a chair at the table,
loneliness suddenly overwhelming me. Last night’s conversation with
Handel in the vineyard, my nightmare, and the miles separating me
from the only family I had, were bringing me down to a place I
didn’t want to be. “That’s why divorcing couples fight over the
silliest things,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “They’ll
often give up the house or child, but go round and round over who
gets the matchbook collection or the record player, although nobody
smokes or plays records anymore.”
“Then my name must be nobody. I may not smoke
but I do own a record player. In fact, Andrew and I listened to
some records last night.”
“Really? Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra?” I
asked, a nostalgic note in my voice, remembering winter nights at
home when I was a teenager, sitting by the fireplace playing cards
with my mother and brother, listening to a stack of records and
singing along.
“Yes, and of course my favorite — Doris
Day,” she said, ending with a pleased sigh.
I smiled. “Sounds cozy. And you say he stayed
until two?”
“Don’t be impertinent, Billie! I’m still your
mother.”
“Yes you are. Thanks for reminding me. I wish
you were here so you could make me a proper breakfast. I can’t even
seem to toast a bagel as well as you do.”
“Billie, are you all right? You sound a
little down.”
I shook my head, wondering how she could do
that across thousands of miles. “I’m good. Just tired I guess. I
didn’t sleep very well last night.” I tried to sound upbeat but
knew I failed to pass the test of sound with my mother when she
didn’t answer immediately with the suggestion of an herbal tea or
some such sleep aid.
“It’s the nightmares, isn’t it? You’re having
them again.”
I sighed heavily, and propped my head on my
hand at the table. I knew there was no use lying about it. She
would know and worry even more. “Yes. I did have the nightmare. But
you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to fall apart and seek out
the nearest psychiatrist. I worked through this years ago, and came
out the other side. I’m not going to let it take over my life like
it did before. This was a one time thing.”
My positive attitude hung over the kitchen
like a shroud of insecurity. I wished I believed the words I
spouted, but was afraid that when night fell I would be staring
wide-eyed into the darkness, unable to let myself sleep for fear of
the dream pulling me in.
“Honey, I’ll be there by this evening. Adam
doesn’t have classes this morning. He can drive me to the airport
and I’ll take the first flight out.” I heard the bed creak again
and imagined her hurrying to dress and pack so she could come take
care of me.
I stood up and went to the window over the
sink, my thoughts as heavy as the rain clouds gathering overhead
again. “I can’t let you do that, Mom.”
“Why not? That’s what mothers do. We love our
children until the day we die, and we won’t take no for an answer.”
I heard dresser drawers being opened and shut and knew she was
already in the process of packing.
“No,” I said, my voice firm with resolve. “I
have to deal with this myself. I’m an adult now, not a teenager.
You were there when I needed you, but now I need to find my own
strength. I don’t know why it started again. I do know it’s going
to end. I’m not afraid of Paul anymore, and I won’t endure this
dream as penance for past sins.”
“You have nothing to do penance for, Honey.
I’m so sorry I left. I should have stayed to support you instead of
rushing home when you needed me,” she said, her voice choked with
tears.
“Mom, you didn’t desert me. I told you to go
home. This has nothing to do with you leaving. It has to do with my
own unresolved issues. Funny thing though - I didn’t know they were
unresolved.” I bit my lip and
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