My mother said I looked sad. I haven’t told her yet. I am not ready, I have hope that we will work it all out, even though I know better. I can’t stop my heart.
Mom’s have intuition when it comes to their kids. She knows something is wrong but until I say otherwise, she’ll play along with me. She makes lots of comments about my mood. Though she sort of knows what’s wrong, my Mom will wait for me to share. She gives me little tips in the guise of laughs or gossip about others. She gives me love and let’s me keep my own counsel until I can let go.
We started talking about singers. She’s trying to remember a light skin soul singer. I say Lionel Richie. She says not him “…but you know, that wife taught him a lesson. She punched up his face good.” “I’ll never forget that” she says. “Serves him right”. “You know all men cheat”. She tells me a lot as she laughs…you can forget him, or you can forgive him.
I turn my head because another memory. I walked in on him and the other woman cozied up in bed. I attacked. I went after him, she locked herself in the bathroom. I punched, I kicked, I hurt him. A busted lip, a bruised hip, a black eye. I wanted to kick her ass too but she locked herself in the bathroom. He blocked the door, he protected her.
I would try and talk it out…there’s always excuses and reasons. Of course they are my fault. I pretended we were working it out. I tried sleeping with him as if all was forgiven. In the end I moved out. I would never enter again. I have not forgotten.
