The Pain You Hide

Day 64

I didn't even want to try to lure my mother to the shed, so I left her in the bathroom. I figured I would be awake if she tried to get out; with as scared as I was, I was sure I'd be up for days. Exhaustion set in faster than I thought. A loud bang followed by breaking glass wakes me in the middle of the night. I look just in time to see the glass from the back door raining down like hail.

"Mom!" I rush to the back door, ignoring the broken glass. I know I can't catch up to her, but I still try. Running out the front door, I look around for any sign of her. "Mom!" My voice echoes off the empty street. When I realize I have no idea where she could have gone, I slump to the sidewalk.

Déjà vu comes over me as I hug my knees and fight back tears. In the third grade, my mother took away my T.V. rights after she found out I hit a classmate for making fun of me. I remember how mad I was. How unfair it all felt. So, I ran away. I took everything I thought I would need, except my stuffed llama Shaggy. My mother had given him to me for my fifth birthday and I couldn't sleep without him. I cried until I breathed funny. I missed Shaggy, but more than anything I missed my mother. It was like I thought her up with the way she appeared before me that night with Shaggy tucked under her arm. I know that won't happen now.

Guilt and loneliness sit heavy in my chest. I should have kept a better eye on her. A howl startles me out of my thoughts. It's deep and long. Scrubbing my eyes, I start to follow the sound when the sidewalk scrapes against my bare feet. I left the house without shoes. No time to go back. Ignoring the pain, I follow the howling, running as fast as I can.

My feet are raw and my chest burns when I arrive at a cemetery in an unfamiliar part of the neighborhood. I hear another howl from somewhere inside. I hesitate. The idea of walking through a cemetery in the middle of the night is more than a little disturbing. Gathering my courage, I follow the howls inside. With each step, images from horror movies play through my mind. I'm never letting Kim talk me into watching them again. As I try to convince myself that a murderer isn't hiding amongst the tombstones, I find her.

She's howling at the moon on top of a hill. Her fur catches the moonlight, making her gray coat look silver; it's the first time in this form I thought she was anything besides frightening. I don't want to startle her, so I take a seat near a tombstone and watch.

I think about the time after my mental break. I felt so alone and lost. No one could understand my pain, so I pushed everyone away. Especially my mother. I thought she, of all people, wouldn't be able to understand the shame I felt. I ignored her calls and barely visited. A part of me blamed her for everything. I know it wasn't her fault. Not my inability to handle rejection and criticism, and certainly not my decision to give up writing stories.

As I listen to her howls, I can hear the sadness in them. My heart breaks. I picture her crying alone in her room and the pieces fall into place. After Paul died, the only things she had were me and telling stories at the library. When I started pulling away, the library was all that remained. Losing that was what broke her. I hear Kim in my ear. Maybe she's trying to forget she's in pain in the first place. I immerse myself in work to forget my pain. She turns into creatures.

"We really are alike," I mumble with a bitter smile.

She howls as though she is waiting for someone, anyone, to answer her. I wonder if someone is and she just can't hear them. A thought occurs to me and my heart thumps with anticipation. There's another howl in the distance. Her ears perk up and she takes off. She's too fast for me to follow, so the only thing I can do is watch as she disappears beyond the tombstones. Though I hate to see her go, I have an idea of how to reach her. I just hope she'll come back so I can try.