I’LL SHOW YOU
Ellen absently slid the pendant along the chain around her neck. She stared out the window smelling daffodils and rust through her old childhood screen. The tire swing hung moping, sagging on its frazzled weathered rope. She remembered her mother pushing her little girl frame, spinning her until her tummy tingled. She’d spun so fast that she couldn’t move her head and the laughter from them both came in breathy gasps. She had been afraid of the swing to start but her mom had coaxed her
“It will be all right. I’ll show you”
And Ellen watched her mommy whoop and holler like a child simply having fun. What a great day. She was so proud of her mom; so brave, invincible.
The sun ducked behind the clouds unwilling to share her next memories: Of the yelling, the hurt. Her mom didn’t approve of the teenager’s friends; didn’t like her boyfriend; wasn’t happy with her grades. Nothing was good enough. She simply failed at pleasing her mother or making her proud.
“Why don’t you care about your grades? It’s going to affect your life.”
“I DO care Mom.” Ellen rolled her eyes. Not this again.
“Then stay in once in a blue moon and STUDY! Show me you care.” Her mom pleaded.
Ellen DID study but she never let it interfere with her Friday night parties. So what if she snuck out? Everyone did it. And she could be doing a lot worse than smoking. She couldn’t piss a stream of gold to make her mother happy; be the right person. Why did her mom have to be right all the time? Why was she so controlling and overprotective? Ellen couldn’t take it anymore….so she left. “I’ll show YOU.” She muttered and crept away from her little girl room into the big girl world.
Life for that time was hard. Ellen laughed at herself thinking she’d once complained about homework being difficult. Those lessons were nothing compared to the ones she’d learned on the street. Crying over having to graph a parabola was stupid compared to crying over getting your ass kicked because the cardboard box you slept in under the overpass was newer than someone else’s. Worrying about who would ask you to the dance was nothing compared to the panic of wondering which trashcan your next meal would come from. Those days had been filled with more ugliness and fear than she cared to remember. The drug addiction was the bottom. She lied and stole. She sold herself and anything she could get her hands on just to buy that tiny packet that made the pain go away. At her worst, she’d felt nothing; at best she felt pain and loneliness eating her from the inside out. Her skins was filthy, her once pretty body had become emaciated, the skin hanging like an oversized suit. Her eyes once holding hope and a bright future seemed hollow and empty. She rarely looked at herself; shame? Maybe. The truth gouged at her. She had made a mistake. She touched the scar around her neck and shuddered hearing the crazy bastard (or on a good day, her dealer, )calls her a whore, demanding his money and spitting on her, raping her. The tears were warm and regretful as she recalled lying in her own blood wishing for something else; hoping someone would come and show her a different way out. Ellen didn’t know who called the ambulance.
She lay in the hospital bed for weeks floating in and out of consciousness and slowly losing the cravings. She never gave them her full name; just Ellie. But she cleaned up and got some meat on her frail bones. She even began to work at the clinic; simple things at first but it didn’t take long for Ellen to earn enough to share an apartment with a friend and nurse. She took the classes, studied hard and got her education moving on first to nursing school.
Ellen was wonderful with people. She cared for them and about them…”As if they were her own mother.” Her coworkers often said. Ellie never faltered; driven by something deep and strong; always striving for perfection. When nursing wasn’t enough, she swallowed up her business management degree and started a small army of home care nurses. She stepped into success as quickly as it presented itself. She shed her childhood and tragedy, never looking back; almost never.
The years swept by and at thirty-five she was going to be a mother for the first time. Her husband was home finishing up the addition on their beautiful spacious house. Yet, here she was, back at home. With shoes that cost more than all the furniture she’d grown up with, an elegant, sporty car and a basketball in her belly. She rubbed the baby lovingly. The knot in her chest tightened with the knock on the door.
The pastor met her in the skinny hall way where she’d run giggling as a little girl to wait for bedtime stories.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said quietly
“I didn’t know she was ill. I‘ve been away so long. I should have come sooner. I
could have helped…”
The pain rushed through her, stealing her breath and the victory she thought she’d come with. What was intended as the ultimate “I’ll show you” was crawling through her veins bitterly. The regret weighed her down so heavily, she thought she might fall to her knees.
“For you.” He mumbled, handing her an envelope.
Her skin pricked with a nervous sweat. She turned silently and left the preacher standing alone in the hall. She rushed to her room and collapsed on her bed. Her hands shook; her eyes were glued to the envelope and the gently sloping letters of her mother’s handwriting. She smelled the letter wanting almost to devour it and savor the last communication that would ever exist between them.
My Ellie,
We have run out of time. Time we should have spent laughing and sharing both our successes and failures. Time we could have used for forgiving and mending, we chose to waste with stubborn pride and anger.
I love you Ellen. As any mother, I wanted only the best:
Of friends
Of loves
Of life
For you.
But I was careless in thinking that my “wisdom” and expectations could or should supersede all of your youthful dreams, hopes and (now realized) harmless self discovery. I failed as a mother because I let you go. The regret and sadness consumes me almost as savagely as this God forsaken cancer. I used to choke on the words “I was wrong.” And “I’m so sorry.” Now I utter them daily to the school pictures of you on the mantle. It hasn’t helped. It never took the ache from my empty arms.
If I could go back, I would spend more time with you on that old tire swing and gladly wait for the day when I was old and afraid and you could coax me with…
”It’s okay. I’ll show you.”
Oh Ellie, how I wish you could.
Forever,
Mommy
The preacher leaned against the wall, wiping his own tears as Ellen sobbed. She clutched her pillow and screamed the only word she could think of. “Wait.” Her mind raced to answer her mother, to rush to the forgiving and tender words. They fell into the musty pillow with tears hot and remorseful. She shoved her horrible past into a million of her own I’m sorry’s, rocking back and forth; gasping for forgiveness. Finally, there was no sound. She cried herself to sleep as she should have that angry night so many years ago.
When it was time for the funeral, she stood tall. She endured the catty whispers and pointing.
“Why would she bother?”
“She left her alone to die.”
“Oh! And she’s pregnant????”
“Some mother she’ll be…”
She cleared her throat and turned to look hard at the skeptics. She’d be a great mother, just like hers. And with a little help, they would all succeed.
“I’ll show you.” She whispered, rubbing kicking tiny future.
Thank you for spending time with me. I hope you have a wonderful tomorrow.
