Mother and Daughter

 I tried to be happy once, but mother wouldn’t let me. When I was twenty-three the boy I was going with proposed. It was the most magical thing that happened. He walked me into the park at dusk, saying that he wanted to talk about his day, and then we stopped on the arched bridge and he popped the question. With no hesitation I said yes, blubbering the word as I cried.

Immediately we went to Mother’s, to tell her the news. As he broke the news to her Mother’s face went from happy to mad. She slapped him hard, right on the cheek, and told him to get out.

That was the last time I saw him, that was the last time Mother let me do anything on my own.

Since that night twenty years ago I’ve been locked in my room. She only lets me out to eat, shower, and to help her get around the house or run errands. Mother never lets me speak for myself. In public, when I am asked a question she speaks for me.

In a way I have lost my voice.

Mother said she didn’t want to loose me, that she wanted to keep me safe from all the men in the world. Daddy cheated on her. When I was little he packed his suitcase and said, “You keep me trapped when I want to be free.” He slammed the door shut and never came back.

Now I understand why Daddy left. Mother wants everything for herself, even her family. She doesn’t care about anyone, that’s why she did this to me.

Everyone said I should be in magazines, that my face was a painting. I was telling Mother that I could model and put the money towards the household. Her reply was picking up the kitchen knife and slicing my cheek.

The scar stares back at me, and the dent in my lip yells at me, do what she did to you.

But, I couldn’t. Mother is a lonely soul that needs companionship. This is what daughters do, they take care of their parents in times of need.

But, people do that willingly. They are not forced into a room and only allowed to go where the parent goes. I am not six years old.

The clock dings and I look at its face, six o’clock. This means it’s dinnertime and mother will be up to unlock the door. Three minutes go past and the key jangles in the lock, then the doorknob twists.

“Okay sweetie, time for dinner,” she says it as if I am a dog waiting for food to be put in a bowl. Slowly I rise from my vanity and follow Mother down the steps.

Tonight’s dinner is steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. Mother always is elaborate at cooking, it is the only quality she has. She sits down across from me and begins to talk about the television shows she watched. This is the closest I get to watching, only books occupy my room.

“Mother, I want to go get a clean fork, this one has specks.” I say with a wobbly voice. She makes me nervous, and the stare she is giving me makes my stomach churn. Right when I think she will insist on getting the utensil, she allows me to walk through the kitchen door.

I open the drawer and I see it. It’s staring back at me, telling me to touch it.

The butchering knife is so clean, shiny, and sharp. Before I can think I grab the handle and slam the drawer shut.

I walk into the dining room where Mother continues her conversation about television shows. I say, “Uh-huh” in agreement. She doesn’t feel me when I walk behind her, doesn’t flinch as I put my arm around her neck, says, “Darlene, what are you doing!”, before I drag the blade across her neck.

She’s now choking up blood. I see it pouring out of the cut and trickling from the corners of her mouth. This isn’t enough for me. I want more. I want her to pay for the pain she has caused.

I take the knife and hack the cut. The knife goes farther in then I expect, I feel the crack of bone vibrate trough the hilt. It’s like cutting a chicken thigh in half.

The feeling is good, tempting, addicting. I lay her hands on the arms of the dining room chair. One by one they are chopped off, falling to the floor followed by a shower of blood.

Now I am laughing, I can feel the blood on my face. Mother has now paid; she got what was coming to her. I take a few more hacks and drop the weapon. Then I fix Mother’s body in the chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands onto her lap. Her head is barley on, so I position it the best I can.

I sit down and sigh with relief; no blood has touched my food. I take the steak knife and begin to eat. Looking at mother with a mouth full I say, “I’m free now, just like Daddy, I’m free.”

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