Blink… Blink… Blink… My focus stays sternly positioned on the never-ending row of electrical poles lining the desolate asphalt road. Every four seconds, the splotchy side mirror of my mother’s car aligns with one of those poles, my queue to seal my eyelids shut. 4… 3… 2… Blink. Perfection; The mirror, the pole, the wisp of my lashes all acting at once, in unison, becoming connected, becoming relevant to one another. The sequence continues as I’m driven down this barren road, my eyes keeping pace. God forbid a stop sign appear alongside those poles, slowing that pace, distorting my consistency, breaking my stride. Then, the only stability I’ve managed to grasp would be gone; I’d have lost the only control I have… over anything.


“Are you nervous?” probes Mom, interrupting me from my concentration. Bye-bye, control. I’ll miss ya’. Damn right I’m nervous, but I don’t dare let her know that. Expose my weakness? I’ll pass, so I bark a sharp “No.” Contrite. Curt. Cold. I don’t have to peek to know that she’s let down, hoping for something more. That’s what you get for stealing my solidity! Besides, she should know better than to ask a thing like that. Maybe a simple, even caring question in the eyes of others, but to me, an inquiry like that is nothing but an intrusive invasion of privacy. How dare she attempt to pry through my shell? What is beneath my surface is for me and me alone to know; I’d pity anyone to witness the anguish that lies beneath my façade.


But no matter how much I deny it, the nerves are evident. I can feel them churning my gut, constricting my lungs, straining my heart rate. I can’t stop the rush of angst from overcoming me. I mustn’t let Mom see my worry, won’t allow myself to surrender to panicked breathing. Feeling the unease on my face, I take an extra precaution to conceal my troubles, pivot to the right, towards the window, away from her. Calm down, dammit! No use. Powerless. I haven’t an idea how the next few hours will go, other than poorly, of course. Poor is an outcome I’ve come to know I can count on in any situation. Here I am, on my way to this ironic place that’s supposed to help me (yeah, right!) and I’m scared out of my mind. Petrified.


I long for something to soothe my raging worry, I require it. 4… 3… 2… Never mind; too frantic for that sort of concentration, precision. I know what I desire, what will relieve my qualms, but that is not an available option at the moment. I suppose I’ll just have to settle for an alternative, burrow my nails into the rough hide of my thigh. S***. Nothing. No sensation. No relief. Only frustration. Can you do anything right, Rena? Of course not. Incompetence. Frustration. Anxiety. Emotions boil within me, invoking a pitiful rush of salty tears to rest atop the brim of my lower lid, stinging. As I try to blink away the shame from my eyes, I find myself in somber recollection of the same helplessness of last night…

I remember being smothered by the plush of the La-Z-Boy, facing Mom and Dave, who were adjacent to each other on the couch. I felt targeted, as if I was in some sort of interrogation. There was such a strong sense of disapproval, I knew I must have done something wrong, but what? Whatever it was must have been big seeing as how the two were bearing each other, even sharing a sofa. Civility. I hadn’t witnessed a scene like this in over 7 years; all three of us accompanying one another at home, yet surrounded by tension so dense you could taste it. Faux affection and discomfort marinated in the atmosphere. It almost felt like back in the “good ol’ days” before the divorce, when we were a “family”. Only this time it wasn’t Dave belittling Mom or Mom baking the chicken too dry. This time I was the guilty one, but what crime did I commit? I was ignorant, yet deep in my gut, I knew exactly what I had done; I simply refused to accept that I had been discovered.


Mom started. “Rena, I know this is something you didn’t want Dad to know, but we…” I didn’t catch the rest of what she said; my mind was far too frantic. I was betrayed. Irate. Humiliated. Devastated. How could she turn her back on me? Share my most haunting secret with the absolute last person I wanted to know? Mommy, the one person I trusted in all of existence let me down. All confidence in our relationship had parted with her lips when she confided my confessions to that man. I could no longer look Dave in the eyes, not after he knew those shameful things. My feet urged to run away, hide. Tears coaxed my eyes to let them flea. My lungs inclined to scream and wail, but the only impulse I allowed myself to surrender to, was resenting my mother.