Honey

ii.Ned and Knacks

{jesus}{come and edit this}{please}

The memories of a four-year old me, replayed in my head. The cassette was inserted.

I vaguely remember stepping into a brand new place, a day-care. The small room overflowing with a handful of snot-covered, wild toddlers and a giant heap of toys; the worse being the one-eyed patched teddy bear. One thing I was sure of, was that it was demon-possessed. What I couldn't decide upon was which one could be considered more horrific. This or that.

The increasing area of wetness on my palm didn't stop my eyes from enlarging at the abstract art that welcomed me.

The half-open, half-torn boxes covered the tiled floor that existed previously, not anymore. Each one of them vomited a cringe-worthy mess, be it vintage, golden lamps or obnoxiously bright polka-dotted curtains. What was mom's idea of innovative furniture didn't really gel well with mine. A heap of confusion could be spotted at every other corner, strange boxes decorating the scene further and a dazed, frazzled woman mumbling to herself finished the masterpiece.

My first mistake, leaving a neat freak all by herself, in a house laden with filth.

The frazzled woman; my mother, went ahead with her bizarre struggle of walking down an alley of scrambled furniture, completely ignoring the presence of a teenager with a disgusting pool of drool cupped in her hands.

There were many ways you could practice to grab someone's attention. Shouting, breaking things, threatening, doing the chicken dance or perhaps following Mom's path; clapping your hands furiously. Unfortunately, each one of them demanded an active mouth or hand as a resource and I couldn't provide either of that. My hands were clamped tightly against my lips in an attempt of shielding the floor from the wrath of gooey, gross drool.

The trip that flew by, from the allergy corner to this dirty museum of a house, had bittersweet consequences. The violent, pressing coughs had nearly vanished but my salivary glands were as drunk as ever.

Second mistake, I spoke too soon.

A small bubble of torturous irritation crawled up my throat, taking its time. I clamped my right hand harder against my lips, hoping to gulp the arriving cough down.

Don't erupt, don't erupt.

A suffocating feeling settled in and my chest danced in short, rising moves. The pressure of a splitting headache caused due to forceful suppression left me contemplating. Either I let go of the wonderful drool, let it design the floor and watch the neat freak panic harder.

Or I suffocate and die.

Unfortunately only one would give me comfort.

"Oh my god Willa when did you even come? Goodness, what is wrong with you?"

Third mistake, thinking I ever needed Mom's attention.

My hunched over back and Mom's hand collided furiously and repeatedly. Along with major bouts of cough that came out after a long time of suppression, Mom's way of making me feel better resulted in an almost release of my soul. Her words drowned in the depths of my booming allergy.

A pulling pain in the chest settled in as I heaved heavily, inhalation and exhalation in short intervals turning into a continuous cycle. I shut my eyes tight, my fingers curled into a fist, yet the pain didn't seem to vanish.

Perhaps it was realization or a re-entry of common sense, Mom lightly rubbed my back in a better attempt to soothe me. The wavering layer of tears in my eyes let in a blurry picture of what was in front of me.