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missmadisings

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Aly: Right now, I’m sitting in a phone booth, alone, cold, hungry. I was hoping you would be home so that I could tell you how much I miss and need you. So that I could tell you why I left. So that I could come home. But I can’t say all that in a message, especially because HE could be right beside you, listening as you play this. I hope HE isn’t, but I don’t want to risk it. I can’t begin to explain what is running through my mind right now. What types of horrors I imagine when I picture HIM. [knocking on glass] I have to go. I’ve already said too much. I love you, Mom. Don’t forget. Never forget.

******************************************************************************I leave messages on my mom’s phone whenever I can. Whenever I have some change to spare or whenever things get too hard to go without hearing her voice on the machine. I’m sure this isn’t helping her move on. I’m sure it just makes it harder to keep going every day. But I’m weak and selfish and I can’t help it. Maybe she doesn’t even get them. Maybe HE deletes them before she even knows that they’re there. I send her prayers too. Every night before I fall asleep on a park bench or the roof of a parking garage. I kiss their wings and send them flying to her bedroom or bathroom, wherever she may be. I like to think that she gets them and knows that I love her. I pretend that HE is finally gone and that she is free. Of course then I pretend that I’m back home and everything is as it should be. But that gets me wanting to go back and I start wondering east. That breaks all rules, especially my number one rule: no missing home. So I drag out my images of HIM, the images that I have worked so hard to suppress. I let them flood my mind, washing all safe places away.