Better Days...?

Subject: Better Days...? Tue Apr 21, 2009 5:44 pm

Joan had been given a simple task. She was to write down everything she could remember about her mother in hopes of finding out why she had such a strong hatred against her. At first, she protested, arguing that reminiscing about better times would just make the hatred go more. But it had been insisted upon that she do it anyway, maybe even finding peace with her mother.

'Yeah, and then pigs will fly, I'll stop being paranoid, and Alice and Edward will turn out to be faeries,' Joan thought sardonically as she plopped onto her bed with the dusty green bound notebook and a pen. She sighed and flipped open to the first page. She knew exactly where to start.

February 17, 1995

I was three then so I don't remember much except for my mother, my father, my grandmother and grandfather from my father's side and my grandmother from my mother's side. We were walking along one of the beaches during low tide, wrapped up tightly in bundles of winter clothing because it was still very chilly outside. My mother and my father were holding both my hands and swinging me between them.

My father says he recalls this memory very clearly.

He told me that they had let go of me because I wanted to walk beside them. But in the next instant, I was darting towards the ocean, giggling and ready to splash in the waves. My father wanted to run straight in after me but my mother held him back, scolding him and saying that if I wanted to play in the ocean then I should and I'll just have to accept the consequences of my actions later.

My father wouldn't hear of it, pulling away from her and running out to scoop me up and bring me back on the beach. He had to unwrap all my wet clothes when my mother stopped me, saying we had no spare clothes to change me and I'd just have to stay in the clothes I was wearing 'til we got home. My father argued that I was going to die of hypothermia if I didn't get the clothes off.

So he began to take off my jacket, shoes, and pants when my mother stopped him and told him that this was inappropiate and we were in a public place and we should just act normal. My father could not believe my mother was actually suggesting that so he picked me up and carried me to the car where he finally got all the wet clothes on me and wrapped me in a warm blanket.

My mother began to yell at my father, saying that I had ruined their time out as a family. She insisted that they should've just left me at home with her mother while they went out and and enjoyed themselves. My father told her to get in the car if she wanted to go home.

It was the first time my father and mother argued over me. It was also the first time my mother had cared only for her and not for my well-being.

Subject: Re: Better Days...? Tue Apr 21, 2009 10:06 pm

June 28, 1995

This memory I've begun to pick up more on now that I've decided to look for more positive things between my mother and I.

It was a rainy day, which kept my mother and I inside for our play day while my father was out working again. She insisted that we paint magnificent landscapes with our fingers and slide on the wood floor with our socks on and try to avoid crashing.

I remember shrieking in delight every time I slide and fell, not caring that by tomorrow, I would have ugly scrapes and bruises. My mother had perfect balance, like a ballerina. So I asked her, "Spin, bawarina!" My mother smiled lightly, pushing herself into a graceful spin with one leg up and her arms curved over her head.

I clapped excitedly and asked her to do it several times which she did each time, light as a feather. When she told me she was tired, I told her she was beautiful. She beamed at me like I was the only thing special enough in her life, even if I had mispronounced the word.

She picked me up and spun me around a couple times before kissing me on the cheek and putting me back down gently, saying, "Mommy loves you, Jo. Always and forever!" And she smiled that cheekily smile.

The one I began to loathe seeing every time I saw her after the divorce because it meant she was getting her way.

Subject: Re: Better Days...? Wed Apr 22, 2009 4:23 pm

November 21, 1995

My fourth birthday came and went without much excitement. I remember getting an old Russian music box that my grandmother passed down from her grandmother but nothing else really happened. Well, not until Thanksgiving.

It was a couple days before the actual holiday when relatives began to arrive to visit and stay for the holiday. I met many aunts and uncles and cousins, who I forgot all about except for one.

Uncle Liam, my mother's brother from her now estranged family.

He had showed up unexpectedly to my mother's surprise. He walked right into the house, not expecting a greeting but not giving one either. My mother and I were alone (for once over the break) in the living room where she was quietly watching the news and I was drawing pictures of knights and castles and dragons and princesses.

I remember the first words out of my mother's mouth was, "What the hell are you doing here, William?"

He responded arrogantly, not put off one bit by my mother's cold tone, "Visiting my sister and my brother-in-law for Thanksgiving."

My mother would still not back down, standing up from the sofa and stepping protectively in front of me, "Who said you could come here? I-"

"Your husband, actually. He was hoping we would be able to talk our feud over. Mum and Pop wouldn't come so I got to be the diplomat."

Deciding that he was done discussing his reasons, he switched the topic, momentarily ignoring his sister, "Now where is my niece?"

I remember looking up at the sound of 'niece'. I had wonder if all my relatives had thought that was my name when they called me but my father later explained that it was just a way to describe my relationship with them.

I grinned and stood up, ready for hugs and kisses that I had grow to adore over the past few days but my mother held me back, saying, "No, you are not allowed to touch my daughter. I won't let you touch anything of mine, ever again!"

Uncle Liam crossed his arms over his chest roughly and glared at my mother, "She doesn't belong to YOU. She is her own person. And she can come to me if she wants. Isn't that right, Joan?"

I nodded eagerly and ran between my mother's legs towards Uncle Liam. But she picked me up before I could get anywhere near his extended arms, telling me furiously, "You are not allowed to go up to strangers, Jo. Remember what mommy told you about strangers?"

I nodded in agreement but struggled against her, saying, "But he called me Joan! He knows me!"

My mother pulled me to her tighter, saying, "But you don't know him, sweetie." I pouted and felt big tears well up in my eyes for not getting my way. I let out a big wail and not even a minute later, my father joined us in the living room.

"Kiki, what's going on? I just heard-" He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Uncle Liam. My father gave a big grin and embraced him like a brother, saying, "It's good to see you again, William."

Uncle Liam patted my father's back as he commented, "Well, at least one of you do." He gave a sideways glare at my mother.

My mother pulled me tighter to her chest, trying to smother my cries but I kept wailing. She told me softly but in a sharp tone, "You're not a baby anymore! Now behave your age!"

My father stretched his arms for me, which my mother passed me, eager to get the crying mess off her new sweater as he asked me gently, "What's wrong, honey?"

I told him, wiping my eyes dry with my fists, "I wanna meet Willium!"

I pointed towards Uncle Liam, who looked at me when I mispronounced his name. My father handed me off to Uncle Liam, who gave me an affectionate hug, telling me, "My name's Uncle William. It's nice to meet you, sweetheart." I returned the hug, snuggling into his shoulder.

My mother, however, was absolutely livid. She yelled, "Give her back! She's my daughter! Mine!" My father took her by the shoulders and led her out of the room, trying to shush her screams.

Uncle Liam put me down in front of the couch where he sat down and I scrambled to show him the pictures I made. In the next room over, my parents arguing and yelling could be heard but Uncle Liam kept me distracted enough to not notice.

After that Thanksgiving though, I didn't see Uncle Liam until after the divorce.