I was at a red light last night when Jeremiah’s mom called me. I was on my way to tour a property in the next town over from her. Seems like moms always know that sort of thing.
“Hi mama!” I tried to sound like I hadn’t just been scream crying in my car.
“Are you okay?” She asked immediately, “You sound stuffy.”
“I’m okay,” I threw a hand at my turn signal as I laughed. “I was just crying.”
“Well that doesn’t sound okay to me. What’s going on?”
I always try to tread lightly when I talk about my relationship with her son. I try to tip toe around the fact that’s her 41-year old baby boy, and maybe she thinks he can do no wrong. I try to leave out the parts that indicate I’m still so fucked up from having loved him for all those years.
“He’s an idiot,” she told me. “No one ever expected you to change him. You made the right decision to look after your own happiness. And you need to continue to look after your own happiness.”
o0o
The line rang twice before Carina answered: “Are you here, darling?”
“I hope so,” I laughed apprehensively. “The gate was opening for a car to exit when I got here, so I just pulled in. But I don’t see an address number anywhere. I just parked next to a-“
“I’ll be right there,” she told me, taking control of my nerves for me. “I’m gonna bring a little mule!”
I laughed as we both hung up.
I got out of my car, tossing the keys onto the dashboard. The sky was beginning to change temperature with the sunset, the mosquitos were coming in from the lakeshore. The roar of the croaking frogs demanded my full attention.
I heard a little engine revving, getting closer just before I saw her round the corner. Blonde curls flying behind her in the wind.
Okay so, not a donkey, I laughed to myself.
She pulled up next to me on the dirt road and pointed to the handle on the door, “Let me show you around before it gets too cold.”
Twenty minutes, and three house tours later, we stood on the brand new patio of an empty cabin.
“I was in an abusive relationship in my twenties,” she told me. “Everyone hates talking about it, ya know? But it’s important to normalize talking about abuse, to give strength to those that haven’t found it yet.”
I tried to hide the fact my eyes were welling with tears.
My trauma responses have been fully engaged for so long, I couldn’t even tell what expression I was making. I probably wasn’t.
“What’s with your parents?” She pressed.
That’s it. There was no pretending not to cry anymore. I had already tried to act cool earlier when her boyfriend asked me where my parents lived? I should have just replied “they’re dead”, instead of trying to explain that they’d both been local my whole life.
“Yeah, my parents are dirtbags too,“ She took another drag of her clove. “Moved out when I was 15.”
I laughed at the constant comparisons between our paths, “Yep,” I smiled. “Me too.”
“You have spunk, you have talent, you have strength.” She told me, “Everything is gonna get better from here, okay?”
I’ve basically just been leaking tears for three months straight.
“Crank up the tunes, sing like a rockstar,” She told me as my car idled over the threshold of her security gate. “You’re safe, you’re loved, you’re going to thrive.” She smiled as she patted the top of my door through the window.
I cried the whole way back. I cried for myself. I cried for my animals. I cried for the past me, and the present me. I cried in an attempt to forgive myself. An attempt to forgive myself for having gone against my better judgment for a solid two years. An attempt to forgive myself for ending up here. I fought so hard to escape Jeremiah’s drinking problem, and then what did I do? Hopped right into Nick’s.
What’s the worst that could happen? I remember thinking to myself, It’s just a fling.
Cue in: Police reports. Slashed tires. Restraining orders. Court hearings. Midnight 911 calls.
I must have driven past this driveway a couple thousand times over the past two years.
I never knew there was a paradise waiting for me at the end of the dirt road.
Wild Little Hare 