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They both sit and begin to eat; the silence is awkward and tense, but no one attempts to initiate conversation. The nurse looks around timidly before deciding that staring at her plate is the best option and lowers her head. Finally, feeling my irritation rise beyond control, I break the glass-like atmosphere with a sledgehammer.
“Why are you here?” I blurt out with not-so-subtle venom.
“I … We need to talk about things, Emma,” my mother says, lowering her lashes, attempting coyness, maybe even feebleness, but it only angers me. She leans toward me, putting her fork down and crossing her hands on the table.
“About what exactly? The fact that you’re screwing the man who loves to beat both of us up and tried to rape your only child?” I spit harshly, taking delight in the nurse’s gasp of shock and the color rising on her cheeks.
I guess she didn’t know after all.
“Yes. Emma, he’s gone. I know what I did; I see what I did.” She tries to reach for my hand, but I yank it out of reach. Her voice has that air of victim that I hate.
How many times have I heard this bullshit? How often has she pushed men away after they hit one of us, only to have him crawl back into her bed days later?
“Too little and far too late, Mother! Do you think you can just show up here and smooth it all over? Do you even know what he did while you were lying in a hospital bed?” My voice is raised and agitated; I need to regain a little control if we are to have it out. I hate that she always makes me break this way.
“No-o-o …?” Her weak, tiny voice betrays her nervousness; she’s afraid I will tell her he succeeded this time. I catch that moment of doubt in her eyes, and I cast my mind back to the look on her face when she caught him trying to rape me once before, her fear that he would want me instead of her. It makes me sick to my stomach, which only helps fuel my rage.
“He attacked me!” I snarl. “He’s just the same evil man he was eight years ago. Nothing has changed!”
“What?” Her eyes widen in alarm. “Did he…?” She can’t formulate the words, but I can read her like a book. All she wants to know is if he had sex with me. This isn’t about me or my getting hurt; it’s about her boyfriend cheating on her.
“No. He didn’t. He just wanted to prove his dominance over me, to scare me. And he did,” I yell at her, the twist in my gut deepening as her expression confirms my thoughts.
She’s relieved. Her boyfriend didn’t betray her. She’s happy. She never cared about me; it was always about her and her men. I just got in the way. I was collateral damage.
I have been holding this in for weeks, and I can’t do it anymore. I start unraveling and completely lose my temper, something inside me snapping so very easily. It’s like a damn implodes, and the waters crash free.
“Jake beat the shit out of him, and I’m glad! He deserved it! I wish he’d killed him.” I break completely, screaming like a banshee, as I jump to my feet and send the table into chaos as my body knocks it furiously. The bowls tip, and the glasses fall over, spilling drinks everywhere. I have no control over the way I react.
Her face pales in sudden realization of how Ray incurred his injuries, and I catch the look as it clicks in her brain. The nurse tries to grab the glasses to set them straight, all the while her face flaming in terror at my outburst.
Yes, Momma! Jake did that to him. Jake beat him to a pulp for laying his hands on me, someone who didn’t have any obligation to love or protect me. My boss! Not my mother. My mother never would’ve stood up for me that way and never chosen me over her man.
The thought makes me want to lash out and beat her stupid face to a pulp the way Jake beat Ray.
“Why can’t you see what you do to me?” I screech again, tears flowing down my face, emotions getting the better of me. My voice is hoarse with the effort of losing my shit.
“Emma, how is any of that my fault? Jake had no right to hurt Ray; he’s why Ray left!” She yells back at me, dropping her mask, her voice filled with rage and accusation, poised like she wants to hit me. She’s on her feet, trying to bring her small, wiry frame to my height to scold me. The nurse stays seated, staring at her hands in her lap as though she wants to be anywhere but here. I have a tremor of pity for her; she wasn’t paid to get involved in the Anderson women’s drama or witness any of this.
“Wait a minute … What?!” My insides lurch at her words as I click on what she said, and I scramble to calm myself. “What do you mean he left? You said he was gone; you implied it was your choosing?” I fall still, that moment of pause in my hysteria as logic shakes me. My tears halt as numbness holds me steady.
I was so stupid to believe she’d decide to send him away on her own.
“He left,” she snarls. “He came by looking like he’d been in a car wreck, told me it was over, and left. I haven’t seen him since. You chased him out of my life … again!! I hope you’re happy this time, Emma,” she yells at me hatefully, unaware that she’s just incriminated herself with every word from that harsh mouth.
Is she so self-absorbed that she is deaf to what she is saying?
The rage inside me, teen Emma, can no longer hold back. With all the recent weeks of agony without Jake building up, my ability to reign myself in breaks, and I explode.
I lash out uncontrollably, snatching and throwing my plate of food at her blindly as tears overtake my vision. It misses her head by an inch and dramatically smashes into the wall behind her. Both women squeal and jump in fright, and I push the table hard onto its side so it rolls over onto the floor, spilling everything else down with a horrendous crash. The fury and aggression that have been tethered too long are flowing out of me unbridled.
“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING APARTMENT!!!” I scream devilishly at her, kicking away my chair ruthlessly, so I hurt my foot, grabbing at my hair, and almost ripping it out in frustration. I’m pacing, trying so hard to hold in the last ounce of control I thought I had conquered in my time here.
I haven’t been this way since the week before I left Chicago so many years ago, when she pushed me to this stage of erupting and going insane, and I ran away. I ran to protect myself and protect her from this anger inside me that wanted so badly to hurt her and retaliate over her failings as a mother. I can’t run away now, nor do I want to. This is my home … my space, and my life.
“Just fucking get out!” I screech again, only less insanely, as my voice breaks hoarsely. This time the nurse hurriedly picks up their bags and pulls at my mother’s sleeve in a desperate attempt to remove her. She can see I am losing my sanity and have more rage than this to come.
“Emma …?” My mother’s lip wobbles as she throws all into the victim role again, that mask back in place.
“No! Enough! Just go!” I throw my arms up, wild and seething, looking insane. She needs to leave before I lash out directly at her. I know I’m more than capable of it. I’ve hit back before at men, but I’ve never hit her, even though I want to. Like a pulsing need inside me, the need to punch her stupid head against something hard and knock sense into her overwhelms me.
I hate her so much! This is what she does to me.
They both turn and rush out in panic, leaving me in chaos and rage. The door crashes against the wall behind them, and my desperation crumples over me after a moment’s pause. As soon as the door swings back and clicks closed again, I crumple to the floor, letting it all out in a devastating wail. It tumbles out until my body has no energy left to make a sound.
* * *
I finally sit up and look around, taking stock of the mess I’ve made, but I don’t care. I watch the food sliding down the light gray painted wall like a gaping wound. It feels right to sit here surrounded by broken things and ugliness, like I belong here. I know I’ll soon get up and clean it away, hiding the evidence of my breakdown. I’ll pull myself up, straighten my face and clothes, and return to poised Emma before the morning.
Haven’t I always?
This is what I do. This is what she taught me! No matter what, I must contain all that is wrong with me and hide it away, showing the world that I’m capable and strong… but inside, I still know I’m worthless.
No one gets to see vulnerable Emma, no one … no one! … Gets to inflict more pain on me. By morning I’ll have filed it neatly into my internal black box and will have pasted on my professional smile, ready to face another day.
That’s who Emma is, who I am. She’s a fake smile and a cold demeanor. She’s outwardly unshakable and cool and has nothing in her empty life that would even raise a slight question about her sanity.
Jake saw that Emma and honestly believed that was all there was of her. He’d sent her on her way rather than see the broken mess inside, falling to pieces at just knowing him. He broke that façade, and he doesn’t even know it.
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