I lay here, in the silence, trying to catch my breath and wishing I could forget. Wishing I could stop the tears, and close my eyes, and fall asleep. A million horrible thoughts race through my head. Why did I have to argue with my mom? I try so hard to make her proud, and she hates me. Why can’t she be proud of me, and listen to me when I need her. I try to talk to her, but she never understands. I wish I would’ve just apologized for leaving the house without telling her, and everything would be okay. I thought that taking Nathan with me would be satisfying enough, but nothing ever seems to put a smile on her face when I am involved.
My head is pounding from all the crying and my eyes are starting to sting. I’m so stressed and so tired; I have to at least try to fall asleep. I lay my head down on the cumbersome pillow and start to daze off, still trying to escape from the images of her yelling at me with that indignant expression on her face.
“Madelyn... Madelyn.”
My mom is standing at the end of my bed. Why does she have to come in here right now?
I keep my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, and hoping she’ll just leave my room and I can wake up to a new day and forget about everything that happened between us.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”
She doesn’t even sound sincere, but I’ll just have to go along with it if I want to get back to sleeping.
“It’s fine,” I answer. For some reason I begin to feel sad again. All the images of the screaming and arguing are coming back to me. Tears roll down my cheeks, but I don’t want her to know that I’m still upset.
“You’re a wonderful girl, Madelyn. You always help me around the house and take care of the kids, but I just wish you would at least let me know what you’re doing, okay? I was worried about you; all you had to do was text me saying that you’re taking Nathan to Jackson. Next time please just let me know what’s going on.”
I don’t even know what to say to her. I just feel so bad for yelling at her earlier. She does so much for our family; she cooks, and cleans, and works, and all she gets in return is other people getting mad at her for things she didn’t do.
“Okay.” I manage to get one word out.
I can’t help it. Sorrow and dysphoria have taken over my body. My tears turn into streams down the sides of my face. My heart pounds and I become so weak. I lean towards my mom and wrap my arms around her. Every miserable emotion starts pouring out of me all at once.
“I’m sorry mom.”
I don’t explain to her the reasons why I am sorry, but she knows. Her face is starting to look like mine; tears form in her eyes, and she, too, feels inconsolable. It is the worst feeling, being swallowed by sadness, but the most wonderful feeling, knowing there is someone that feels the same way.