Stand

Does anyone care? Does anyone care? a mantra. a song that's set on repeat. It ends. It starts again. Does anyone care? Does she? Does she??

It was Thanksgiving. I was in my early twenties. My girls were still small; in car seats. I was still married to their dad. Life was life. It moved along and I went with it. Bouncing along on the tide that swept me through changing diapers, doctor appointments, cleaning the house, making hamburger helper for dinner, hating the way I looked, and living in Levi's and Hanes white T-shirts. It could have been any one's family. Just trying to make it. It was Thanksgiving. A time when families come together whether you liked each other or not because, well, that's what families do.

My relationship with my mom never fully repaired from the day I told. We wouldn't talk for months, years, and then I'd get a card in the mail. A blinking light on the machine. A hand held out, inviting me to take it, walk with her for awhile, and maybe this time would be different. Maybe we'd be able to see each other, hang out, laugh, shop, talk about the kids and our husband's, drink coffee or even a margarita, and give each other advice. You know, all the things moms and daughters do together when they've both become grown-ups.

Key word being "grown ups." I'm sure both of us would point the other finger as far as we could in the other's direction to make sure everyone else knew who the grown -up wasn't. Of course it was me. Of course it was.

It was Thanksgiving. We were at my mom and step dad's house. They live in a really nice neighborhood, full of sophisticated beach houses, nicely landscaped lawns, dogs that wore sweaters and gem-studded collars when their owners walked them. They lived in the neighborhood where the women would wear shorts and a t-shirt but somehow you could tell their t-shirt cost $80 while yours only cost $10. It wasn't silk and diamonds but it was obvious they had more money than you. It was in their attitude, the very steps they took resounded with green colored class.

My mom didn't come from money. She's be the first to say that it isn't important to her and in the next breath explain that she only buys items on sale while at "Nordy's" or "Neiman's" - never full price. This was supposed to help me realize she was an everyday gal just like me even though I was hitting the clearance rack at Target. I don't begrudge my mom money - not one bit. In so many ways, she earned it. The chance to take it easy a little. There was a time in my life when she worked three jobs. I can never say my mom wasn't a hard worker and knew the value of a dollar. She was and she did. I just think that after a while, when you've become accustomed to things, when the norm is slipping into 600 count Egyptian cotton sheets every night, you start to forget where you came from.

This kind of forgetting, it's a death of convenience I think. A death of who you were and what things mean. A death of compassion and empathy.

It was time to eat. My mom was very excited and sort of, well, nervous. Like she was entertaining strangers and wanted to make a good impression. She told us where to sit, filled our water in "pretty" glasses, and set all the food at the table. I sat directly across the glass table from my step-dad. My mom was next to him. She faced my husband at the time, and he had one of our kids on each side of him. We all held hands and my step-dad prayed.

As we began to serve ourselves, conversation drifted towards Christmas. Would they see us? Of course, I answered. Oh, how exciting. What fun Christmas would be, all of us together. It had been such a long time and Christmas was a time for family. A time for love and forgiveness. A time to come together.
My stomach began to knot. I watched my mom. I recognized the tone in her voice. She was too excited. Her eyes were wide and bright. Her words were too high pitched. She was talking too fast. She was laughing too much. She wouldn't look at me.

I tod myself I was imagining things.

But I wasn't. I know my mother very, very well.

She suddenly became very calm and told me in a nonchalant voice that her parents would be visiting for Christmas.

My nonchalance matched hers. Poker voices.

Neither of us willing to show any specific emotion just yet. Just feeling each other out.
"Oh yeah? That's cool. That will be nice for you to see them." Set down napkin, pick up bowl of mashed potatoes, take a scoop, put bowl down, put napkin back in lap. Do not make eye contact. Motion, motion, motion.
"I thought it would be nice if we all had Christmas together." My mom is not following the same rule of motion that I am. She is like a statue, watching me. I felt Shaun stiffen next to me, felt him glance over at my face. I glanced back at him. Looked away.

"Hmmm. I don't know. Christmas is really busy for us. We'll see." This is the closest I can come to being diplomatic aka blow smoke up anyone's ass. I knew, Shaun knew, even my mom knew, that wasn't going to be something I would consider for even a second. But in true mom style, she kept going anyway.

"Well, I think it would be nice for you to see your grandparents. It's been a really long time." Still staring at me. Not a statue anymore though. Now she's wringing her napkin in between her hands in her lap. I could see them clench and unclench through the glass table.

Be nice for me to see my grandparents? It's been awhile? Is she f*cking serious?? My mind began to race. My heart started to pound. The whole fight or flight thing - in full force. I knew I could only squash it for so much longer. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Okay. Now.....exhale....and answer.

"Sure, I'd love to see Grammy." Now, I looked at her. Poker voice still in full effect but uh, I've never had a poker face. Everything I feel is on my face and right now my face read, Push me. I dare you.

We stared.

Shaun and my step-dad have stopped eating. It is dead silent.

My mom pushed, "Well, I'm not going to have my mom and dad here, and have my dad feel uncomfortable. I'm not going to leave him here while you just see my mom." There. She said it. As unbelieveable as it was, she made her move and her allegiance painfully clear. Check.

My mind raced full speed ahead. I passed thoughts and expletives at 100 miles an hour. What?! She doesn't want him to feel uncomfortable? She wants to make me see him? She wants to force me to do something I don't want to do?? Isn't she my mother? Who am I to her? How come what I feel isn't important? What. About. Me??? Hmmm Mother? What about me?

I took a deep breath and laid it out. "Well Mom, that's not going to happen. I'm not going to see him. I don't want to see him, ever. If that means I can't see Grammy either then I won't."
And then what really mattered, "What about how I feel? I can't believe you're worried about making him feel uncomfortable. I am your daughter. Shouldn't my feelings matter?"
Poker voice is gone. My voice is getting louder. I am starting to shake. I can feel tears in the back of my throat and I am getting pissed. There's no stopping me now.

I continued.

"Can't you just see my side? Can't you take my side for once? I am your daughter. He is a child molester!" I shouted. Anguish and anger echo throughout the dining room. Shaun tocuhes my arm. "Let's go." He is starting to get up.
My mother freezes him and propels me with her next words.

Dripping with hate and disgust she states, "I would rather have a child molester for a father than a daughter like you." She wants to hurt me and she succeeds. It cut me to the core. Check mate. I come unglued.

I lunged at my mom. I was out of my chair and halfway over the table before Shaun or my step-dad could move. The sound of my hand whipping across her face is the loudest sound I have ever heard and I was ecstatic about it. I felt vindicated. If she wouldn't defend me, I would defend myself. If she wanted to hold me down and force me in a corner, push me into being a player in their sick act, I would fight back. If she wanted to be his stand in, she would get everything he deserved.

Within seconds Shaun was up, grabbing the kids and putting them in their car seats. My step dad tried to hold my mom back and push me away at the same time. Everyone was shouting. Shaun, " Get in the car. Let's go RIGHT. NOW!!" My step-dad, " Get back. Get back! What the hell are you doing?!" And my mom, " You fucking little bitch! You fucking little bitch! I hate you, I hate you. I wish you were dead. You make me sick, you fucking little bitch!!!"

I took a step back and now I was calm. I looked at my mom and I laughed in her face. "Oh mom, please. Don't you have anything new? I've heard all these before." I goaded her as I grabbed a vase, held it up, and dropped it to the floor. "Oops, there goes your vase. This is all you have left, right mom? Your money, your things, and your child molester father. Tell me something mom, do you still suck his dick?" I taunted her. She let out a blood curdling growl and came for me.

By now, Shaun had the kids in the car and came back for me. He blocked me from her as he hustled me out the back door and into the car. He jumped in, backed out the driveway and we drove off into the darkness.

I was in a trance. It was a few minutes before I realized Shaun was talking to me. "Are you ok? Are you ok??" I looked at him and realized I was shaking uncontrollably. I started sobbing. Hard, gut-wrenching sobs. Snot ran out of my nose and dripped onto my upper lip. I didn't care. All I could hear, all I could focus on were her words. She did hate me. Of course she did. She preferred her sick father to me. what had I done? What had I done to deserve any of this?

"That's it. This is the last time. I can't watch her do this to you again. I can't risk the kids seeing something like this again. She's done. She's out. You don't need this shit and neither do I. You're better off without her." Shaun looked at me, grabbed my hand. "Do you understand? That's it. YOU are okay. SHE is fucked up. Okay? Okay?"

This was the last time I saw my mother for a very long time. Years in fact. She tried to apologize. She sent cards. I tore them up. She called. I refused to call her back. It was like everything I had built, all my sanity and rightness with the world, she did her best to tear down. With her words, she made it happen to me all over again. Every time i rewound and played it in mind, I was victimized over and over and over again. I felt defeated. She was my mother. But she didn't know what that meant. She doesn't know how to do it. Even now, it eludes her.

I refuse to get sucked in. I can see what happens if I did. I'd be my mother. Catering to a man that had stripped me of my innocence and childhood. Continuing to let him walk around in my life as if he deserved to be there. Suppressing my own feelings, my own innate sense of right and wrong so he won't feel bad. I won't do it. I won't be her. I won't let him visit and then be afraid to take a shower in my own house. I won't talk to him about the weather and ignore the voice that whispered to me, "They'll never believe you. They'll hate you." I won't. I refuse. I have drawn the line. I am not the pawn anymore.
I am the Queen in this game and I will knock them all down. I will win.