The Box A Tale for Mother’s Day
I throw open my closet door and grab the first big box I see.
It’s snowing heavily outside on a Tuesday night and I can’t stop crying. I shake out the dusty old toys from inside the box, throw on my ratty converse that she’s been trying to throw out since I was twelve and take a few strides into our living room.
The apartment is small, always has been. She’s sitting on the disgustingly Pepto-Bismol pink couch that she insisted on buying three years ago. Once the last guy had left for good she had dipped our whole apartment in shockingly pink paint and decor. I wanted to throw up every time but luckily I was finally getting out for good.
I looked at her with a steely eye at first but it slowly softened as I saw her chain smoking inside. She only did that when she was stressed and I could tell she was stressed right now. She straightened her dark blue suit and looked at me nonchalantly.
“Alison, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know Mom. I just can’t stay here anymore.”
“Where will you go?” She puts down her fifth lipstick stained cigarette and stares at me with the same blue eyes as mine.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Ben says he can get me a waitressing job at the diner he’s bussing at out in Berkeley. I’ll take some community college classes and shack up with Jane. It will be fine.” I don’t tell her what my real plans are in Berkeley. She would be devastated.
“But will you be fine?”
I don’t answer her.
She gets up and places her hands firmly on my shoulders.
“You have done a lot of stupid things in your life Alison but this is the stupidest. Who is going to take care of you? What happens when this all falls apart? Because I cannot and will not be there to help you.”
I shrug away her from her touch and point at the box.
“The only reason I’m still standing here right now is because I wanted to give you a chance to give me any last minute things I need. I know you want to do that.”
She scoffs and pads her away in her stocking feet to our minuscule kitchen. High power lawyer living in a shoebox in New York City. Figures.
She is graying but is trying to hide it with salon blowouts and dye jobs. She pours herself a glass of water and sips slowly.
“All you need is a coat Alison. It’s freezing outside.”
She picks up the coat she bought me last year—Pepto Bismol pink of course—and hands it to me. Her hand is shaking.
“Well I guess you’re all grown up now dear.” I can’t look at her directly. Why would she not give me a single thing to take with me
besides my coat? She must really not care that I’m leaving. Good riddance probably.
“I guess I am all grown up. I’ll keep in touch.”
I kiss her lightly on the cheek grab the coat and leave the empty box. I step into the blowing cold winter and close the door. I hope this isn’t the last time I see this apartment…and her.
I had just gotten done doing a case pro bono for an immigrant family. Case shut, I got them the paperwork they needed and they were well on their way to becoming citizens. The mother only spoke Czech but her husband spoke English. Sweet couple really. Their child reminded me of mine. Gaunt in the face, sullen, lost. But sharp-witted, bright and filled with so much potential for something great. When I get home I put my feet up and open a box of Virginia Slims, preparing for a long night. I had found the letter Alison had written her father before she sent it when I was cleaning her room. I’m glad she has found him in Berkeley and wants to meet
and hopefully live with him. I hope he is good to her, better than he was to me. I look at the pink carpet I installed a few years back after my last boyfriend and I ended things. Once upon a time Alison loved pink more than anything. I knew that Henry leaving was hard for her, he was the only boyfriend she had really taking a liking to. I had hoped that the site of all this pink would be a comfort to her, would remind her of her childhood and how close we used to be. Because really, this apartment looks godawful. But I was willing to do that for her. She ended up hating it, and me even more. I hear her clattering in her room, trying to find everything before she leaves. I choke back a sob and take another drag of a cigarette. I hear her stomping closer and closer, so I straighten myself. I want to be strong for her. “Alison, you don’t have to do this.” I’m saying that to appease her, to let her know that she can still stay with me. We can learn to be best friends once again. But she refuses. “I know Mom. I just can’t stay here anymore.”
“Where will you go?” I say as I put down my fifth cigarette. It helps calm my nerves but my heart is sinking to my feet, to the floor, beneath the Earth. I will miss my only child. She tells me some bold faced lie about waitressing at her friend Ben’s diner and staying with that girl Jane. I never liked Jane, she pulled Alison’s hair and spread awful rumors about her when she was in third grade but Al has purposely chosen to forget that. Well I never have. I take a deep breath and smile. I’m not sure why she won’t tell me outright that she is visiting her father but that is none of my business. I’m the one who didn’t tell her about him in the first place, so she deserves to know who he is. I ask her if she will be fine. She doesn’t answer. After a few heated words and her demanding I fill that box of hers with what? Memories? Money? I can’t bear to place anything in that box. I can’t bear to see her go. “All you need is a coat Alison. It’s freezing outside.” I’m shaking as I hand it to her.
“Well I guess you’re all grown up now dear.” My beautiful Alison was not always the most social or extroverted but that girl is kind, intelligent, and brave. I know she’ll be okay. Except for one thing though. I did place almost every bit of money I have into her coat pocket, along with a letter stating how much I love her, how much I understand why she’s doing this and how much she is always welcome home. I know we have not been the closest these past few years but she means the world to me. The original letter was about 15 pages long but knowing Alison I know she would have been embarrassed by that. So I condensed everything I’ve wanted to say to her about this into three sentences.
My sweet girl, My love for you is never-ending. You always have a home with me. Think pink and be free.
Love, Mommy Cover Photo courtesy of DrawingSarah.com