heart of mercy
my mother showed up unannounced at my front door today.
when I heard the doorbell ring, I thought it was jehova’s witnesses visiting once more. I’d planned to ignore them but my curiosity got the better of me yet again.
I learned today that I haven’t felt true shock at something since my days as a toddler. Sincerely. She said she missed me and that her and my father had been planning this secretly for a while. With her arrival I talked to my aunt in england and my grandparents in Ghana. And of course, my little sister.
She said my sister has become quiet and has lost weight since my disappearance, and that she herself had been sick for a long time now. As the hours went on things felt less and less real. I bought her some light soup from the local african place to help with her flu, and later made up a lie that I’d been called in to work so I couldn’t stay with her all day and then see her off at the airport tomorrow like she’d hoped. She said it was okay as she knew she hadn’t given me any notice to plan.
I’ve been conflicted about being away from my family. I guess today solved that problem for me. I know it’s better for us to be apart. I still feel physically ill from the shock of it all, from the forceful reintroduction to all those memories. I feel as though I’m constantly on the verge of tears yet none will come. I caught her sneaking glances at my chest like she often would back home. How am I to explain myself?
It was hard to wrap my head around this deception. My father had emailed me for my birthday, I told him I’d visit at some point which he was happy to hear. Meanwhile, the whole time, he was keeping this secret.
It’s not as if they don’t understand why I disappeared, yet they impose their will regardless.
I’m staring at an email from him, he says my mom says she forgot to get my new phone number. I won’t respond. It’s time to delete that account anyway.
The most interesting part of it is, more than anything, I feel bad for my mother. Despite everything they’ve all done to me I feel bad for them. It must be hard to be in that position, it must make you very sad. Sad enough to get on a plane to come see me for 3 hours and then fly home the next day.
I wish I could find it in my heart to believe that things might be okay moving forward, but I know they won’t be. Yesterday, or the day before,I was trying to think of a new name to change mine to, I came up with a few ideas and imagined how people would react to them. I think all my friends and strangers who hear it would thing its really cool, really sweet, really fun. I know my mom would suck her teeth, roll her eyes, and make a comment about how dumb or scatterbrained I am, how I can’t make up my mind about anything.
It’s a little thing but it sort of encompasses it all yknow?
I’ll move again. Change my number again, just to be safe.
I had just started to feel a little okay actually, now I need to poison myself so I can sleep through the days until I can go back to being numb again.
A petulant part of me is asking “why me?, why does stuff like this happen to me? why couldn’t I have been born to a more understanding and accepting family, why did I have to be beaten, berated, burnt and touched? why was I born poor? why cant I just have a decent life?”
Other people have it much worse, so complaining feels useless.
I have to be cruel now. I can sense Caliban rising again, hear The Incarnation laughing bitterly.
Soon I won’t be able to feel anything again. The way I used to be.
In 5 hours her plane will be in the air. I’ll be able to sleep then.
At least she brought me my favorite chocolates from back in Africa.
