Don't Call Me Mother by Linda Joy Myers

Author:Linda Joy Myers [Myers, Linda Joy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Nonfiction, Personal Memoir, Retail
ISBN: 9781938314025
Amazon: 1938314026
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2013-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

Sweet Sixteen

Mother comes to visit for my birthday. As always, the hot wire tension zings between her and Gram. I’m relieved when they fight, because it means Gram isn’t focused on me for a change. I feel guilty about experiencing relief at my mother’s expense, but I can’t help it.

On this occasion, I recognize a strange camaraderie between Mother and me. Gram half-raised both of us, so in a way we’re more like sisters than mother and daughter, both of us at the mercy of the same powerful madwoman. Mother whispers things in passing, hinting at her true feelings, that she’s always felt like a lost child, too.

“It’s wonderful that Gram gives you the best things, your clothes and your lessons,” she says. Then a warning tone creeps in. “But you need to be yourself. I don’t want you to be like her.”

Sometimes Mother’s comments are critical of Gram: “I can’t understand why she hates your father so much; there’s no good reason for it. He’s a very nice man, and you should love and respect him.” Or her tone is plaintive: “My mother is so mean to me.”

Sorrow fills my chest on these occasions and I reassure her that it’s all right, I’m not like Gram, I’ll never be like that. I don’t tell her much about the reality of my life. It’s clear she doesn’t want to know too much, and I’m sure the truth would worry her. I sense that she’s genuinely grateful that Gram is taking care of me because she simply wouldn’t know how. My life looks pretty good from a certain angle—my clothes, music, and grades—and Mother chooses to take that view.

A big birthday dinner at Aunt Helen’s is planned for me. Over the last few months, she has cautiously returned to Gram’s good graces. The depth of their friendship shows in their ability to be in the same room with no sniping. I credit this mostly to Aunt Helen’s huge, happy Southern heart. Once she loves you, nothing short of murder can end it. I have never spoken of her betrayal of me, sensing that she has her own fragilities, though they are well hidden from the world. She’s still my wonderful Aunt Helen, and I love it when she says, “God love ya darlin’.”

Today even Gram is putting on a nice dress and some make-up. I can’t remember the last time she left the house. As we wait for her, my mother’s face and my own are reflected in the hall mirror. Mother leans up close to the mirror to touch up her mascara and eye shadow. She glances at me and touches the line of my jaw. “Hmmm, you could use a little make-up now. Here, stand still.”

Carefully she applies a touch of eye shadow above my eyes. It tickles, and she tells me to stop wiggling. She sweeps blush on my cheeks with a huge fluffy brush, and gently applies mascara to my eyelashes.

“You’re turning into an attractive young lady,” she says, and my heart laps up her praise.

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