I’m waiting for the call from my mother to officially declare how much she hates me. I want the call- I need to hear it from her mouth and let it sink into my bones and settle into the crook of my ears, just so I won’t forget it when we’re riding down the road together.
I’ll want to tell her about my day and all off the things that I said and thought but then her voice will fall from my left ear crook into the canal and I’ll remember that she doesn’t care. No one, especially her, wants to hear about the madness in my mind. I’ll stay silent.
She knows my favorite food is spaghetti- it’s why she makes nothing by roasts: grilled, baked, crock-pot, steamed. I’ve been eating roasts for the last five years of my life, but it’s okay, I deserve them. I think she needs to cook roasts to remind herself to hate me, because otherwise, she might ask me how my day was. She can’t do that do that while focusing on seasoning the afternoon roast.
It started when I was nine and dropped her ring that she told me to not drop. It was lost in her car for over a year. She looked at me differently after that. Sure, I was the one to find it after its escapade under the driver’s seat, but she deemed that I was untrustworthy. She was right. I get it from her.
I have a basic sense of morals that remind me not to murder anyone or the like, but beyond that, what needs to happen goes. (I don’t know how to make this sound less crude.) This has never sat well with her because, despite her hatred for me, she is a very compassionate person who lives her life to please others. I am not like this- she is angry about it. We argue about it a lot.
I don’t think I’ll ever get her to utter the words we both need to hear. She needs them to sit on her shoulder and whisper all of the terrible things I’ve done, just as I need them ready to fall from my ear into my canal and scream their reminder that we’re not right for each other. I don’t think it will ever happen.
I’ll tell her about my days as we ride down the road, and every couple of weeks she’ll make something other than roast. Maybe not spaghetti, possibly something with chicken.
There are a lot of metaphors in this that I really appreciate. Like the roast. I thought that was very nice. I also love the fact that all you wanted to do is share a nice relationship with your mom. But instead of you pushing away, she does.
Mothers, am I right? Always having expectations. However, as much discourse as my mom and I have, I’ve never once thought she hated me. I’m sorry you feel this way and that she acts in a way that implies it. I hope it gets better, dude.
i haven’t even see ladybird yet, but this is the same vibe i get from what i’ve seen of ladybird. there really is nothing quite like disappointing ur mom, is there?
I love the way your thoughts flow. Also, I don’t think your mom hates you: )