When I Dream Of You by Rosa Sophia

Author:Rosa Sophia [Sophia, Rosa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Limitless Publishing LLC
Published: 2014-10-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Twelve years ago

The light is dim, yellowish, as I sit on my mother’s bed telling her why she shouldn’t kill herself.

“I love you, Mom. I need you. Please don’t die.”

My mother sobs, punching her fists into the pillow. “I just want to die, I just want to kill myself.”

“Please stop talking like that.”

I sit on the edge of her bed rubbing her back. She quiets down for a while, but then starts sobbing again.

“Why did he do that to me?”

“Who, Mom?”

“My father. The way he touched me...why?”

“I don’t know.”

She is up before I realize what she’s doing. Sinking to the floor, she throws herself against the wall, slamming her head into the drywall. I jump into action, rushing toward her. She’s stronger than she looks. I can’t pull her away, and she tries to fight back, pushing me—

“Get away from me, let me go!”

“Mom, stop, you can’t...you’ll hurt yourself!”

Her face stained with tears, she slams her head forward again, harder this time, and without much recourse I force myself in front of her, getting between her and the wall.

Let her hit me, I can handle it.

She throws herself against me, but then falls back on her heels and digs her fingers into her scalp, her hair sticking out in all directions. I know she’ll wear herself out eventually, she always does. I put my arms around her and hold her for a long time, letting her sob on my shoulder. Soon she quiets down, and I help her into bed, tucking her in as though she were a small child. She curls up, her head on the pillow, her eyes shut.

“Nina.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You know.” Mom nuzzles the pillow, fluffing it beneath her with one hand before tugging the blanket up to her chin. “I would have killed myself long ago if it weren’t for you.”

“I know, Mom.” A sharp pain passes through me. It hurts me every time I hear it, but I can’t explain why.

Late at night, once she’s tucked away in her bed, sleeping soundly, I creep out of the apartment and walk downstairs. Outside, a full moon reflects on the water of the intracoastal. I step through the dewy grass in my bare feet, heedless of the fire ants and lizards skittering ahead of me.

Sitting by the water, I enjoy a brief moment of privacy, in which no one knows I am there, in the dark, picturing a better life. A life in which my mother is sober, I am happy, and my father is alive. It’s not often I allow the tears to come. But tonight, with only the moon to keep me company, I weep, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

I don’t know what it’s like to enjoy coming home, to look forward to being in my bedroom. I have no privacy there, where I lock the door and she picks it with a coat hanger, no matter how many times I ask her not to. When I want to be alone, really alone, I take a shower.

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