Attachments

Attachments(Ameera) How long do we hold on, when the rope that we once tugged at has frayed, worn down to a single thread? We were both so strong at the start of this, indulging in the normality of this kind of tug of war relationship between mother and child, but perhaps we have gone too far. We jerked the once solid woven rope throughout your teenage years, through boys, cigarettes and mood swings, but it still seemed fine, as taut as ever. It continued throughout university, a little bit of a lighter touch while you were away, but still it remained steadfast. Your marriage and first child ignited a whole new set of plucks, I was prying into your new life and as usual you pushed my overbearing presence away, wanting to climb this mountain in your own way. From the outside the rope seemed so strong, I didn’t realize the number of external factors that would chew rodent-like on our connecting line that seemed unbreakable. Until today I never knew it could get so thin. There used to be respect or admiration or love or something more, there was always something more when you looked at me, and now it’s gone my child. All of that has been removed and I am nobody, completely humanised. I used to dream of the day when you would understand that I was only human and made mistakes. Not realising how high my pedestal was until I felt the hurt from the fall as you brushed me off. Now we are the same. Eye to eye we stand. Woman to woman we see. Split second timing and as your eyes drifted to take in the surroundings I couldn’t move. I saw the termites crawl from between the floorboards and the rats scamper down from the ceiling, I saw the numbers increase until a sea of gnawing undulated between us. I knew I couldn’t stop it from happening and a hole was created.

Perhaps it’s that we had come together, brushed aside our usual bickering and let the rope fall slack. You asked for my help, for the first time in years you invited me in. I became a necessity and felt a sense of immeasurable power. The curve of my back started to straighten in those months and I felt taller, my feet sturdier in the ground. Helping you look after your home and children, when your work load picked up and you started to travel regularly. It made me feel womanly again. I’m not saying it’s your fault, but this is how I started to feel, it appeared that you enjoyed it too. Your return to an independent lifestyle strengthened you as much as raising your children strengthened me. I lost that feeling years back, when you and your brothers moved out, only allowing me to be around once a week if I was lucky. Now, here I was, a second chance at life was given and I was relishing in it. Waking in the early morning to shower and get breakfast ready, one packed lunch and a milk bottle warming, it was exquisite. Daniel warmed to the idea of me being there when he realized that the French toast and freshly roasted coffee would be there daily and at night on his return, a full dinner prepared, the children in pajamas and a glass of wine poured. Desperate to keep this going I gave him room to breathe, never pestered him with questions. We’d watch the evening news in peace until I went to put the kids to bed. I can’t lie to you, I started to fantasize quite early on. I was the woman of the house, my babies, my husband, my opportunity to do it right this time.

I lost myself in this fable. It was so easy. This was what I knew. You gave me the space to reclaim my identity and I relished in it. Your weekly visits became monthly ones and it’s an awful thing to admit but I secretly started hoping that you would leave us altogether. I was losing sight of what was real, forgetting that you were my child and denying the existence of my previous life. Reality became fiction and this newfound dream developed into truth. Your children slept in my bed and I didn’t correct them when they started to call me mum. As you know I made Daniel call me mum from the time you were married and I suppose the little ones picked up on that. We all should have seen the danger approaching during your last visit back.

You had become an estranged figure, a distant aunt, even a grandmother, we had reversed roles at some point along the way. You were always bringing presents and spoiling them by breaking routine so that you could feel somehow connected to them, allowing them to stay up past their bedtime and indulging them with sugary foods that made their heavy little eyelids perk up and get all hyperactive. They started calling you ‘Sweetie Ma’, which you found hilarious. It irritated me. You were a disruption to our routines and I remember conveying this to Daniel, saying that you were bad for them. Not thinking about their health, the state of their teeth and the necessity for a good night’s rest before school. I was furious but he was good with me. Consoled and calmed me in a way your father had never done. Your father used to brush away my feelings as though they were trivialities but Daniel sat with me. He listened to what I had to say for as long as I needed to go on for and offered the simplest of advice. What he said didn’t matter. I felt heard for the first time in my life. Do you know what that’s like? What that does for a woman? It was like permission had been granted for me to feel these things. I was no longer overreacting or insane; my emotions were valid.

Daniel and I started to get closer over that time. I started calling him Daddy so that the babies would pick up on it and it then sort of just became a habit, a habit that I quite liked. Our conversations picked up. We had so much to talk about. Starting with the children, what they needed and all the silly and hilarious things they did, like the way the baby seems to dance a little harder when Michael Jackson played on the radio. There was also all the household needs, we laughed at how sure we were that there was a ghost in the home going around and breaking things. Our evenings were cheerful, filled with warmth.

Yesterday he told me that he had a surprise and that I was not to cook. He had hired a baby-sitter and was taking me out for dinner. Just the two of us, to show his gratitude and give me a bit of a rest he said. I wore my smart black dress, put on some lipstick and borrowed a pair of your heels. When I looked in the mirror, I saw another part of me that I had lost a long time ago, I felt attractive. Perhaps it was all the time spent with the children that gave me a new glow to my skin. I had also lost quite a bit of weight running after them all the time. The restaurant was beautiful and expensive too, I almost choked when I saw the prices, but Daniel assured me that this was my treat and I could order whatever I wanted. I giggled like a twenty-one year old that evening. He’s a funny and charming man and the wine he ordered certainly helped me let loose a little. After we ate, he ordered another bottle and the conversation shifted. The light banter of earlier earned a certain amount of depth as we started to discuss our views on society, religion and parenting. Slightly drunk at this point, we were rather straight forward with our thoughts. That’s when he said it. He was planning on leaving you. I’m sorry darling, but at the time I didn’t associate you, my child, with this woman he spoke of. He said that he no longer felt like he knew you and worse than that, he said that he was no longer compelled to find out. My heart broke for him. I could see that he felt abandoned. I saw the way you looked at him when you returned from a trip. There was no passion between the two of you anymore. I couldn’t understand how anyone wouldn’t want the beautiful man that sat in front of me pouring his heart out. We cried together and I was supportive, agreeing with most of what he had to say. I could not lie to him. I saw the truth while living in that home and witnessing what was going on. Stroking his large slightly rough hand, I told him he was in the right and that I understood because I did. Just then the waitress came to hand us the bill. Looking around, not only had the crowds disappeared but they were packing the tables away. The last time I had been so caught up in a moment with someone that the rest of the world dissolved was when I was seventeen; it was the night your father had proposed. Soon after that I was pregnant and from then on my attention was always dispersed. I was never taken on dinner dates like these in all my twenty three years of marriage to your father and I couldn’t comprehend how you had given up on such an incredible life with your amazing Daniel.

Luckily the restaurant wasn’t too far from home, neither one of us was in any shape to drive but he managed to get us back safely. I knew those large hands were trustworthy. Once inside, we opened another bottle, not wanting sobriety to encroach on our free-spiritedness. His large dark eyes pressed into me as he asked why I had never remarried. I shook it off as a silly remark. Who would want to take out some old widow? I blushed as he told me that I was still quite a catch, looked good for my age and that these days I wasn’t as old as some of the prowlers out there. I just giggled and assured him that I could never be the prowling type. We sat on the two-seater couch, knees gently grazing each, holding hands, staring openly as we rested the sides of our heads against the soft beige backing. An eyelash sat on his rosy rounded cheekbone. My hand slowly lifted towards his face, keeping my eyes on his while my thumb and forefinger collected the lash and brought it to his full lips, reddened slightly from the wine. Closing his eyes and pursing his lips, he blew. I didn’t see where it flew to; my focus was firmly on him and the warm breathe that brushed my fingertips. His eyes remained shut, as if he was willing years of wishes into being, visualizing the outcome. I wanted to make it all better for him, give him some way to escape his pain. Leaning forward, I could smell the spiciness of his aftershave blend with the alcohol and caressed the side of his face, rubbed the area where the eyelash had been, hoping it would help him achieve whatever he was yearning for. Then my lips pressed against his. My lips pressed against his and the door opened. My lips pressed against his and he said your name. My lips pressed against his and his eyes opened and you were there.

Everything seemed to fall at once. He pushed me off of him hard. I looked up at you and reality flew into me. He was speaking very quickly but I didn’t hear any of it, I don’t think you did either. You just stood there looking at me. The cold stillness in your body frightened me. I know your body. I know it better than my own. I know that when you are scared or nervous your feet shift from side to side and your hands dig into your waist for support. I know that when you’re excited your eyes fill up and you lift up onto your toes. I know that I’ve never seen you so still, never experienced the cold shards of energy flaking off of you. In my head I started to pray that the earth would swallow me up. Pray that time could be reversed. Pray that I could have managed to remember my daughter in all of this. It felt like hours passed before you moved. Even then it was only slightly, your body rigid in position as your lips tightly but precisely opened and the two words that would change everything escaped, “Get out”. The sounds took form as they left your mouth, wading through the thickness of the air until they sunk into me. Crawled through my ear and sank slowly through my soul like lead. As much as I wanted to I couldn’t move; it felt like if I stood, I would only fall down again. You didn’t flinch. Solidly you stood, with the steadfast expression you had when I first noticed you at the door, the same eeriness in your eyes, your mouth resealed tightly and you waited. It was like you were draining away everything you ever thought and felt for me. The cord between us disintegrated with every passing moment. Those two words re-appeared. “Get out.” This time they were sharp, efficiently slicing through the air and snipping the last thread holding us together.

I can’t remember much else. Don’t know how or when I eventually stood. Did I pack my things myself? The rest of the night felt like blurs of colours. It started with a red, hot and burning, and slowly drained into pink-tinted translucence dipping into the deepest of blues briefly before a muddy-green took hold. Thickly it wraps itself around my ankles and crawls up onto me, coating me with its weight, drying slowly and revealing cracks as I moved; cracks that aged me with every breath. I walk with this my child. You may never speak to me or see me again but I want you to know that I still carry all that I’ve done with me.

I’m not sorry though. I suppose I shouldn’t admit that but I’m not. The short time that I spent with your family was the best time I ever had in my life. I would do it all over again if I had the chance. Perhaps the only thing I would change would be you walking in that night. You were bound to find out at some point I suspect, so I suppose the timing doesn’t really matter. What I wish for you now is what I wish for all women, it’s that you find what makes you feel alive and you do it no matter what else happens. Forget consequences, I’m old enough now to know that these sorts of opportunities don’t come along regularly. It would probably be too ambitious of me to try and reconnect with you, although I would love to. Unfortunately umbilical chords break.