My Mom, my mother?

March 11, 2009
By Corey BRONZE, Greenbrier, Arkansas
Corey BRONZE, Greenbrier, Arkansas
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I stepped through the torn screen door and into the yellow kitchen. It has been approximately 4 years 3 months and a handful of days since I have seen her. It's been longer since I have seen her truly. Because the last time I saw her, I was seeing what wasn't really her. First she had been sent to asylums, then here, to my grandma's house and then she had disappeared completely. There were bare nights when I pondered if she were still alive, if she was happy, if she was thinking of me; always her choice.
I looked around and the room glowed with dimmed and fading lights, the bulbs cast a deserting day on the dusty dry floor. I walked past the familiar kitchen table; I remember one Easter years ago, certainly more than four and a quarter, happily dying eggs on it and making a bright mess for my grandmother.
I wiped a stray hair from my face, she has never seen me with long hair or with glasses; silly to think such materials would make her fail to see me. I glance over to the cracked wooden panel on the wall. I notice the picture of my long dead grandpa, and the hand painted picture of Jesus my mother made. I step towards the couch, towards the smell of dust and of age'the kind of smell you experience in the oldest and most ancient of places, or perhaps at places that might have worth to you.
I look down to my left, to the aging woman occupying the couch. She's wearing a creased t-shirt and pink pants with white socks dirty and worn to holes with experience. She looks up at me, but really it looks more like she is looking past me or possibly like she would look at someone she wasn't familiar with'someone she didn't know'didn't Recognize. I sit next to her and hug her, like hugging a warm statue. She stares at me blankly. 'Hey mom'' I say weakly, with hope. She continues to stare vacantly. I feel my face tighten up, and warmth step up into my eyes. A tear rolls absently down the side of my cheek. 'Who are you?' she asks me'barley interested; her mind off in nothingness.
I hold her hands and gaze into her face, but there's nobody there, its Empty. I stand up and let the tears rest on my face. 'Who are you again?' she asks shyly. 'Just'just nobody'' I say. While I close the creaky lonely door behind me, and walk out onto the endless driveway to my car, im overcome with grief, but the only thought on my plain mind is how my tears aren't salty.

The author's comments:
This is only half fiction, half non-fiction. There is no persona, this is my best representation of what a visit to my mother would be like, if it were ever to occur...

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