(A mother’s story)
I need to get out of the house been treated like a mouse all of my life. I must take a drive in my car I’m in control. No special place to go. Driving beats conniving. I feel like dying. I can’t stand my husband. He killed my son with his big mouth and Cat attitude. I’ll never forgive him or me for losing my baby. In fact, I hate my husband. I am finished playing Cat and mouse. I can’t replenish.
Why the Hype
About life. It’s a blessing to live to give only one way in and one way out my husband knows I just wanna die, die, die–not listen to his Hype, Hype, Hype about my life. I think I’ve been psyched.
Hype, Hype, Hype, Life, who can live without. I’m so tired of being beat down all my life I’ve been a clown. So many stones have been thrown at me I feel as if I won the Lottery—and, yet, I live playing Cat and Mouse I have no control in my house. My son—my heart was just too smart until he met tart.
He should have never been in the car. I told him he couldn’t go with his friends. They were new drivers–no real driving skills–that’s how young people get killed. He begged and begged.
I said No!
His father said, “let him go.”
The Cat ate the mouse every fiber of my being is called intuition and for that, you can’t pay tuition. It’s just as important as nutrition.
An accident occurred. He’s not what God gave me my baby was born healthy—ten fingers ten toes—a healthy mind that child of mine he’s been talking since he was born we played the quiet game he’d always win I only wanted a short break I’d do anything to hear him ask me for a piece of cake today, my son can’t think at all I wish I hadn’t listened to his father caved in to his pressure I told my son the right thing now he’s like a bird with broken wings oh, baby of mine can’t even make gestures he left me so all alone his motor skills no longer exist I despise the picture I take the ramp to the freeway thoughts running fast it seems that life has beat me if it isn’t one thing, it’s another my child, my child, my son, my son my baby boy
I can’t watch anymore
Hype, Hype, Hype, I start shaking, can’t stop shaking things appear to be turning to glass I miss my baby, my son, my ev. e ry thing I don’t care what people think the whole thing stinks I’m in no shape for driving on the freeway. I pull over I want out of this tank
Hype, Hype, Hype what’s life all about pain I say my pain must go away my husband makes me sick doesn’t even bother to help me with the new kid he doesn’t understand me emotionally I don’t need him or even want him
I see people running fast I get out of the car I want to run too the people are running faster and faster
I enter the marathon
(a waitress speaks)
I work at a restaurant. My parents said I should. I’m young and still in high school. My parents sent me to work as a teen said busting suds will help me see high school is just the beginning of what I can achieve and be. Said I can choose if I want to go to college and possess knowledge or I can work in a restaurant making no money and eating no honey. If I’m keen college it shall be. They say it’s logic at least I work in a family restaurant. I see the same customers young and old—but I have made friends with the regulars. A family of three always come in: husband, wife and a disabled man in a wheel chair. He was in a car accident and became mentally challenged and lost his motor skills.
I seat the father and his son and say,
“Hey, it’s so good to see you. Haven’t seen you in a while. You want your regular, by the way, where’s your wife? Should we wait for her before I take your order?”
The son can’t speak nor is he mentally competent. Dad speaks. He says to me, “Life is forever changing you have to hustle with the bustle. His mother didn’t get it just couldn’t understand. I didn’t want to hear her voice and all that hype she had a nervous breakdown while driving on the freeway.”
His eyes misty. His voice cracking. “She pulled the car over and walked into oncoming traffic. It was quick she suffers no more I knew she was overwhelmed she loved our dear son her dear son–her son–she didn’t understand things happen in life couldn’t get it in her head. We don’t always live the way we’re born. We don’t know what condition we’ll be in when life is finished with us she failed to understand that life is school. I only wish I had heard her cries for help. There were so many clues.”
In tears, I say, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to serve you today. I must go home and pray.”
Vivian Dixon Sober©
May 28, 2006
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