Continuing “Shattered”, part 2.
You can read part 1 here: https://writingwithanopenheart.wordpress.com/2019/02/20/shattered-short-story-part-1/
My mother hasn’t lived here in ten years, ever since she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and the doctor preferred she’d be submitted into a facility. I visited her a lot in the past few months, even brought my twin daughters to visit her. She kept calling them by my name, “Lucy” but the funny thing is that she seemed more flexible with them than she was with me. Maybe deep down she knew they weren’t me because my mother never approved of anything I did. She passed away a week ago and even though we never discussed our past. I feel as if a chunk of my heart departed with her.
My parents expected me to be a grownup ever since I was born; I was expected to be there for them instead of vice versa. Mum wanted me to heal her at a time I didn’t know how to heal myself. I was too young to understand what she wanted from me. Both my parents’ expectations made me run away from them and the farthest I ran the more my ambitions grew.
I gaze at the plants that are sticking out from underneath the tiles and notice that somehow they represent my new hopes and dreams flourishing. My eyes slip to where the dining room table was placed just under that huge chandelier my parents bragged about during their fancy dinners. I was their perfect little angel during these events dressed like a princess and my father even called me a princess. Nobody knew that when the house was vacant my parents’ bedroom door shut and the only conversations I ever had with my mother during dinnertime constituted of her telling me my eyebrows were too far apart. Or I was too fat and other times I was too skinny. I was too lazy to be interested in the things that mattered to her which most of them involved alcohol.
The tiles creak from my footsteps and I wonder how many winters had this place has endured. What could have caused the shattered glass? Despite the bad memories, a part of me still doesn’t want to let this place go. The past can make everything seem pretty and nostalgic sometimes. You’d think my memories consist of my parents sitting by the fireplace while we watched T.V or read stories. If you didn’t know better you’d think of it as the perfect place and the type of people who were so smitten with their daughter. Even though my parents were too busy to teach me manners, it was as if I was born with some of it and society taught me the other half. I was the child who everyone pointed at and expected to be a rebellious teen. I was the child people expected to be speeding down the road and getting pregnant at sixteen. I was the subject of every bad example you could ever imagine so I stayed away from everyone.
Part3 will be posted tomorrow same time. Hope you all like it. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments below.