Copyright 2011 by Totsymae
What other choice did I have? It didn’t make sense for me to turn to her then. So what did I do now? I stood in the booth with the phone pressed to my ear and listened to her spitting mean hellos in my ear, probably with her hand thrown on her fat ass hip. I could see her head wrapped in a dingy scarf, pink rollers underneath that made her head bigger, along with the meanness that made her so her. I hated and needed her though. I knew she would make me feel worse for what I’d done .
To get a small bit of satisfaction, I stood holding the line, knowing she was too much of a nosy bitch to hang up. I just breathed in the receiver, not because I tried to but I was tired. Tired of the false starts. Tired of running in new directions. Tired of being blown by the winds that ultimately landed in me in a damn phone booth two miles from the house where my own mother stood on the line, yelling in my ear like she knew it me but wouldn’t say my name. Say my name, dammit!
It wasn’t like we’d talked in the last three years. Any mother who loved her daughter and hadn’t heard from her in that length of time should’ve had sense enough to say my name. To tell me, baby, come on home. Your room’s still the way you left it. I go in there to sit every day, hoping you’ll walk through the door. Baby, just come on home where you belong, the way mothers said it on TV.
But no, Irma was too mean of a bitch to say that. What was it she said the time my period started and learned about it by finding a pair of stained panties stuffed in the back of my closet because I didn’t understand why blood should be coming from my body at eleven? Told me I was ripe for making babies, I’d better not get it in my mind to start fucking and threw a pad at me that I had to figure out how to use on my own.
Listen to her.
“I said, hello! Hello, dammit!” This was something she kept saying on account of her life was so used to being wrapped up in shit that didn’t matter. The most she had to do this Saturday night was yell into the phone of somebody calling her from a damn phone booth. Evil ass bitch!
What started to weigh more heavily than her meanness were my legs getting weak. I could feel my bones trembling inside my skin. Then, my knees buckled as blue and red sirens lit up the night. Lord, help me. Why am I on this road? Who did you put in place for me to turn to besides her?
“Hello, I said!” She kept yelling. Probably the sirens made her more interested, who the hell knew.
My legs went from under me when I saw the tiny bag go into the back of the ambulance. I could only sit there, knowing that bag was attached to me as I looked at the pool of blood that had come from my body like a small leak. Then I saw the drippings a few feet away from me, when before, they looked like oil spots against the black pavement.
“Who is this?” she said in an even, but still in that I’m-a-mean-ass-bitch tone.
“Mama,” I sobbed, looking at the flashlights searching and moving in my direction.
I'm an artist who's writing,mothering, blogging and doing a few other things under the sun. I buy toilet paper 99.9% of every trip I make to the grocery store. I'm a people watcher, so I know you're here but drop me a line anyway.
Wow very well written… I felt like I was in the booth with her… Wish you had written more…
Thank you.
This was a tough one. Going from 3rd person to first. It’s been so long since I’ve done that.
well you wrote it really well.. i must say i first thought she had started her period again.. i know it sounds daft..maybe it was because i was doing other stuff and reading your post… then i went back and had to read again.. then i got it.. it must have been your earlier reference to her starting it and her mother’s reaction…
Again, thanks.
WOW, poor girl. I feel for her.
Yeah, she’s got some trouble ahead.
This one really touched me deep. I’m sorry, I was still stuck with the feeling and couldn’t bring out the words to tell you how good it was.
Hmmm…(sigh)…
Just never know who might be touched by what’s written here. It was a bit emotionally challenging to write a piece as this one.
Totsymae, what happened to the daughter? What kind of trouble is she in?
Think of the blood and the “tiny bag” going into the back of the ambulance. Refer back to what her mother told her when she became a “woman.”
Got it Totsymae , so, so sad.
…. I’d better not get it in my mind to start fucking and threw a pad at me that I had to figure out how to use on my own.”
–That is one mean ass bitch.
I love your voice, Tots. WQW xxx
Yeah, a real ice queen.
So glad you like.
Hate to admit…and not exactly sidin’ with Mama, but it sounds like it could’ve been a scene *dressed up a lot differently however* & L/coL* …right out of my life that only served to make me stronger.
Oh, girl. You need to break down the coding for me. I don’t have any translators at the house with me right now.
Haha…LOL…I mean your very visual story sounds like something I could picture in my past… laughing and crying out loud
(laughing for having gotten over it, and crying because the story is painful).
Powerful and painful. You paint the emotion of the scene very well. Good writing Totsymae.
Thank you, Phil.
Love your avatar, btw.
You like the look? I was a little strung out that day…
Yeah, I do. Pretty cool.
This was tight. Well done. I like the pace and the voice. The set up and the ending came together brilliantly.
Thank you. I was trying to get reacquainted with writing in 1st person. Glad you enjoyed it.
I really liked the first person pov here, there is so much hurt and heartache, which is wonderfully executed. Often writer’s tackle this type of subject matter from 3rd, but it loses the raw edge. This is raw, but your narrator doesn’t suffocate the reader. In my mind’s eye I see a book by you that is both visual and complete with prose… but I also see this pictures hanging in brilliantly lit studio, with a voice reading the prose. Interesting how the two affect me.
Thanks, Brenda. There was a lot of uncertainty there, going back to writing from that pov. And that it was from a young adult made it more challenging. I want to write a YA novel but I feel out of touch really. Don’t know how a longer piece would turn out. I’d have to grab a lot of my daughter’s books but later for that right now.
I’m trying to remember if I sold that picture. I think I did.