an easy sell

My father and mother separated when I was 12 years old. It was me and my mother alone until I went to college, and quite honestly I’m proud of myself from coming out sane.

Kind of.

My mother never let me sleep in. Even on weekends. Even on holidays. She would rage into the room, open the shades, and tell me it was time to get up, things needed to be done. This is why I valued the hours before the sun came up. They were mine and only mine.

Most of the time.

One “morning” at 3am, I heard my mother’s voice screech my name and I was terrified. Was she okay? What did I do this time?

I walked downstairs solemnly, knowing that no good vibrations could come from that scream. I went into the basement where she was continuing to bellow from three floors down.

“YOU LEFT THE DOW-A UNLOCKED! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?”

Her eyes were ravenous as she marched closer and pulled my arm to look at the fascination of an unlocked door.

“Anyone could come in, and then what?” She demanded.

I thought to myself about our neighbors.

To the right was a homely couple who didn’t have enough money for vacation, but had rich getaways in the backyard all the time as they watched their ten-year old mishap son twirl in circles on the lawn.

Then I thought of our neighbors to the left, the retired couple whose Mrs. was in rehab for overeating, and whom my mother constantly sent leftovers to.

Then I thought about how late I would be up.

“You don’t THINK, Teresa!” My mother continued. “What goes on in that head of yours?”

I wanted to tell I wish I knew.

Her mascara was dark and prominent under her eyes, screaming with the clothes she had on from the day before.

She told me I would learn the next time, and just to help me learn, she would make sure I didn’t go out with my friends that weekend for Valentine’s Day.

I stayed at home that night and relished in anger. I listened to Alanis Morisette on repeat and made fists in my mirror. Until I snuck into her room and ripped a few buttons off of her blouse that hung so contently on her door for work the next day. She wouldn’t know who it was. But she would fly around her room like a headless chicken trying to find something for work the next day. Then I felt better.

The day after Valentine’s Day I went to my car to find a life-sized stuffed bear on my passenger side with a seat-belt on. Attached a note read, “For my favorite Valentine. Love, Mom.”

And then I got to show off my new boyfriend at school. And all was well.