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hdmiwire · 1 year

Text

making “i” statements

wc: 3296, lightly proofread, the finished draft of that thing i posted earlier

I sit in the car, listening to the patter of rain on the roof, trying to decide if I actually want to go in or not. Sure, this Lincoln Log cabin on a hill is my house, but these days it's hard to consider it home. A more hopeful person might say "Oh Maddy, home is where the heart is," but I don't think my heart has been here, not since I was very young. If I go in that house, my Mother will be there, there's no doubt about that, seeing that her beat-up Dodge Minivan is sitting in front of me right now.

The house itself is no problem, every inch of it is covered in yellow - my grandmother's signature color. The house is hers, no doubt, built decades before my mother was even born by my great-grandparents, along with the family's diner Magnolia's. Both places have always been home for me, even more so when my mother isn't around.

Leaning on the green plush-covered steering wheel, I exhale a breath that I've been holding for the last twenty years. I close my eyes, running over my options: option one, go inside; option two, go back to Magnolia's; option three -

A series of knocks on my window startles me out of my thoughts. My hand flies to my chest in hopes of keeping my heart behind my ribs while I roll down my window to the signature sound of my grandmother's laugh - a honeysuckle-sweet melody.

"So jumpy, Madds! Get'cha scrawny self in this house and help me with supper ."

Her giggles slowly fade as she pulls my door open, making my choice for me. With a groan, I grab my bag out of the passenger seat and finally force my feet onto the ground, her umbrella keeping the warm brown leather of my boots safe from the cold winter droplets. We walk arm-in-arm up the gravel drive, not in any rush to remove ourselves from the familiar woodsy surroundings.

Inside, I sit down on the plush, yellow ottoman to unlace my boots, briefly absorbing the warmth from the crackling cherrywood in the fireplace. The couch holds evidence that Mags was lounging in here for some time before I got home, her blanket tossed to the side and crochet hook long forgotten, yellow yarn still wrapped around it. The sight brings a small smile to my face, but Mags doesn't let me lounge for long, calling me to the kitchen.

"Terrance brought by some fresh chicken, so we outta take some supper by his wife in the morning. I heard that the little ones sick again, she could use it."

"Mhm. I'll take it on my way out."

And that's it. The two of us fall back into our usual routine, working in a dance-like rhythm around the small kitchen, with a backing track of boiling water and knives on wood. It's always nice like this, before Mom interrupts the peace. It's a wonder she hasn't come downstairs yet, but based on the silence in the house, I can almost guarantee that Mags told her what-for before I got home. Good, the bitch needs to be humbled sometimes.

I'm chuckling to myself at the thought of my grown-ass mother upstairs sulking in her bedroom when my phone chimes - an email. I set down the knife I was using to chop potatoes and rinse my hands before picking it up, knowing it's probably just another rejection letter from an influencer's management team. I look down at the screen and - oh shit!

"Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

My eyes go wide and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. Everything around me seems to be moving in slow motion as I read the subject line over and over a million times: "Welcome to F.I.T., Madison!"

Mags jumps, hand flying to her chest, "Maddy! What is it, what's all that hollering for?"

I can't even form words, my hands flap around wildly while I try to show her the email, shoving my phone in her face instead. She takes the phone from my hand and pulls her wire-frame glasses down to her eyes. A beat passes of me pinching my own cheeks while she reads, really hoping this isn't one of those times where I'm dreaming again.

As she processes what the email says, a grin spreads across her face and she screams, "My god girl! Would you look at you!"

She tosses my phone on the counter and I jump at her, wrapping my arms around her neck and letting tears of relief and joy fall. After all these years of dreaming and scrimping and saving and portfolio building and it's finally real. It's finally happening, all I have to do is get there, which is the easy part.

A feigned cough disrupts my joy - Marie. Good, just what I need. Mags and I separate ourselves, her humming while she returns to the soup and me rubbing tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands. Mom is holding my phone, a scowl on her face while she reads the notice of my freedom from her.

"You're not going. End of story," is all she has to say before dropping my phone back on the counter. She's never wanted me to get out of Blairsville, even when I was a kid, and wanted to go with my dad when they separated, but she couldn't have that, couldn't let him "win" me. Usually, I wouldn't let this bother me - I'd ignore her and go up to my room like I have for the last ten years - but this time is the last - and I do mean last - time I'm going to let her treat me like this. I sniff and cross my arms, fists clenched under my armpits; I may not want her to think she's going to win this one, but I have to keep a level head. My blood is boiling, and I can feel the heat rising up my neck as I run through a million options of what I could - no - what I should say.

She's standing across the small island from me, staring me down. Her eyes shift to just above my right eye, just for a split second, to the patch of white hair that, no doubt, reminds her of my father, and makes her blood boil as much as mine is now. I almost pity the bitch - keyword almost - with one signature she lost her best friend and husband, and she was stuck with a living, breathing reminder of the person she hated most in this world: me.

Suddenly, I'm struck by all twenty years of pent-up emotions toward her, and can only think of one thing to say:

"Fuck you, Marie. Just fuck you."

I snatch my phone up and make a beeline for the stairs, rapidly dialing my dad's number and hoping to get to my room before more, less happy, tears spill from my eyes. I lock my door while the phone rings, trying to steady my breath so I can talk to him calmly.

The phone stops ringing, and at first, it's just the sounds of a New York subway, and momentarily I wonder if I'm interrupting his evening.

"My girl, my girl, my favorite girl! Something must be wrong, you never call your father."

Through his southern twang, I can practically hear the raise of his white eyebrow, and can't help but giggle at his apt observation of me - I really do hate phone calls. Phone calls with my dad, however, have always been my favorite.

"You know I always call you old man, besides, your wife is being a bitch again."

The last part comes out in a huff as I flop backward onto my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck on the ceiling forever ago. On the phone, he clicks his tongue at me in disapproval, and I can just imagine him shaking his head, thick black locs swaying with the movement.

"Madison you ought watch what you say, she's your mother. And that can't be the only reason you called, so spill."

Unfortunately, he's right - I may not like her but she is my mother and I do love her. It's very complicated but I suppose now really isn't the time to dwell on that, because I do have more pressing news. Sitting up, I scoot back to lean on the headboard, grabbing the stuffed snow leopard I've had since I was a baby for emotional support.

"So… your spare bedroom empty still?" The silence that follows my question makes me dizzy, and my thumb finds its way between my teeth as I nervously wait for what he has to say. His howling laughter makes me jump, yanking the phone away from my ear before putting him on speaker.

"So you did it," he starts, words coming out between gasps for air, "my girl got into her dream school eh? I always knew you could, never doubted for a second!"

My cheeks flush again at his words, and suddenly my room is very hot. I stand up to pull the string on my ceiling fan, while dad spews more praise on the phone. I dig through the mountain of shit on my desk for something to pull my braids up off my neck, finally landing on a large green claw clip that Mags gave me for my birthday over the summer.

I shed my sweatshirt before twisting the light brown ends up to the back of my head, clipping them there, and turning back to my phone where dad is finishing up his rambling.

"Are you quite finished Malik, you know I hate listening to people talk about me."

He chuckles again, "Aht aht, mind how you speak to me, little girl. I- oh damn. One second I can't find my keys."

I flop back down on the bed, shaking my head. The man would lose his if it wasn't attached, although I'm sure he could find a way to lose it now anyways. Once he finally locates his keys, our conversation continues for a few hours, the same nonsense we talk about every week with a new topic of conversation: how fast I can get to New York.

I drift off to sleep once dad hangs up after saying something about "wining and dining" a new client, hoping to find myself in his apartment once I wake up.

The sound of arguing across the hall wakes me from my nap - Mom and Dad are arguing again. They think I don't know that they're getting a divorce, but I could tell. I could tell a long time ago, even before they could, because Dad doesn't look at Mom like she looks at him. I don't know if that's bad or good, but their arguing annoys me. I just want them to get it over with so I can go stay with Dad. I hope he goes to New York. I love New York.

I sit up and climb out of the bed, checking my neon green alarm clock for the time - 6:32 pm. It's probably a good thing I'm awake then. I open my bedroom door quietly, hoping that they won't notice that I can hear them, and tiptoe my way downstairs to see if grandma is in the living room.

"Memaw? Are you down here?" My words are a whisper, as if it was the dead of night and not just suppertime.

"Yes girl, bring yourself in here," she calls out to me from the kitchen. Rounding the corner from the bottom of the stairs, I take in the scene in front of me: my grandmother, Magnolia, dances her way across the wooden floors of the kitchen, her coily, almost-gray hair pulled back out of her face with a yellow bandana, and wire-framed glasses perched on her nose. She moves to invisible music, dancing between her standing mixer and the refrigerator. She's making my birthday cake, and I think she looks so beautiful like this. I skip my way over to sit at the island where she works, propping my head up on my hands while she cracks an egg into the mixer's silver bowl.

"Mom and Dad are arguing again. I wish they would just get over it already, it's my birthday."

Magnolia hums, powering on the mixer.

"Maddy, you know they both love you, they've just got some… things to work out. It'll get better, just hold on, okay?" She reaches over and squeezes my hand before running a finger over the white hair on my eyebrow, a soft smile on her face as she thinks of her son upstairs.

"Memaw that tickles," I can't suppress my giggle and I lean back, trying to dodge her touch. "And I know that they love me, it's just… I just wish they would divorce already. I'm tired of the stupid stuff."

My hair falls down into my face as I huff and cross my arms, trying and failing to blow it back into place. Memaw sighs, turning her attention back to the cake batter. She lifts the mixer out of the bowl and hands me one of the beaters with a wink before pouring the mix into her two round tins.

"I know girl, it's hard." She places the two tins into the oven and then bumps it closed with her knee. She puts the bowl into the sink and grabs the other beater, sitting down beside me at the island.

She pushes my hair back for me while I lick the chocolate off the beater, humming to herself again.

"We gotta do something with that mop before your party tomorrow, my star. Any thoughts?"

I shrug, too focused on the task in front of me to care much about tomorrow. Tomorrow is my tenth birthday, and usually, I wouldn't agree to this party nonsense but Memaw talked me into it. Eventually, the two of us fall into a comfortable silence, Memaw rinsing the dishes and me thinking about what to wear tomorrow.

"Mama! Can we talk to you? Outside?"

My dad calling from the living room startles me, and I turn to see both my parents standing in the living room. Mom looks angry, her gaze falling directly on the white birthmark that Dad and I share. Dad just looks… he looks sad. Hes looked sad for a long time I think, but this is different. He looks defeated.

Memaw nods and wipes her hands on her apron before taking it off and hanging it by the back door.

"Maddy girl keep an eye on the timer and turn the oven off when it dings, mkay?"

I nod, grabbing the ticking timer from beside the stove being careful to not bump the knob as I watch the three of them file out the back door and close it, leaving me in the kitchen by myself. I make my way to the living room, sitting in the big leather armchair that once belonged to my Grandpa, who I never met. I put the timer on the coffee table, watching the little knob slowly tick closer to zero. Faintly, I can hear Mom saying something about "paperwork" and "how would you not tell me."

As the ticking of the timer slowly lulls me into a light sleep, I secretly hope that whatever Dad didn't tell her is the final straw.

I jolt out of my sleep at a knock on my bedroom door. Groaning, I roll myself off the bed and onto my feet, reaching behind my head for the clip that is now slipping from my brief nap. I shake my braids down from their twisted position and open the door, only to be face-to-face with Marie again.

"Oh. I- hi, Mom."

"Mhm. So it's Mom now? Not Marie?"

"Mom I-"

"Save it," she cuts me off and I just know that I'm in for it. "I'm sorry. I just- I- I can't keep being mad at you for something that you can't control."

I can't say anything so I just stand there, blinking at the alien creature in front of me. It's not like her to apologize, especially to me. She sighs, pulling her deep blue cardigan closed over her chest.

"Maddy can we just… can we just talk? Not mother to daughter, but just talk? Please."

Still reeling from her seemingly genuine apology, I nod and step to the side for her to come in. I push the door to before sitting down on the edge of my bed, gesturing for her to sit at my desk chair. She spins it around so we can face each other, and I wait for her to speak first.

She clears her throat, "Listen, Maddy, I know I haven't been the best mother to you-" I scoff. She cuts her eyes at me and I mutter out a sorry.

"Anyways, I know I haven't been the best to you, and I know that there's nothing I could ever, ever say or do to make you forgive me, but I feel so much… so much shame. I should never have taken my problems with your father out on you. You didn't deserve that."

She reaches out to touch my knee and I stand up, going to walk next to the door while I think of what to say. I pace back and forth for a moment before I turn to look at her again. She sits with her hands in her lap, staring at the stuffed leopard on my bed. I still don't say anything, I just look at her and think. Her brown hair is straightened and pulled back, just like every other Sunday, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her skin, usually a warm brown that feels full of life almost looks gray. Her eyes are tired, the bags making them look smaller and darker than I remembered. I wonder what she's thinking about, what made her come to me wanting to talk after all these years.

As I'm thinking of what to say, she suddenly inhales a deep breath and sits up straight, pulling her cardigan close again. She stands to leave, probably thinking that this was a mistake.

"Wait, Mom-"

"No, Maddy, it's okay. I shouldn't have expected you to want to talk right now. Tomorrow?"

"I- yeah. Tomorrow." I feel defeated. I watch as she opens the door and walks down the hall to her room, and something in me breaks. I close my door and lock it back as the tears flow again, sliding down to the floor and bumping my elbow on the doorknob. Ignore the pain as I think back on the last ten years, and all the ways I should've seen that she was hurting too. I know that doesn't excuse the way she treated me, but at the very least it explains it.

Eventually, I manage to ground myself and I decide that I need to get out. Now. Frantically, I grab clothes out of my closet and throw them into trash bags. I'll get boxes later, I think, shoving everything I can into as few bags as possible. I lug them down the stairs, save for a few things I’m putting in an actual suitcase, and throw them into the backseat of my car, completely ignoring the rain that's still falling rapidly.

Back inside, I sit down at my desk, surrounded by the chaos of just moments before and open my laptop to a new browser tab, typing as frantically as I was just packing.

Flights from Georgia to New York.

#hdmiwire #short story #writing #writeblr #realistic fiction #short fiction #m&m

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