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No One’s Daughter

S. McManigal

    I feel her warm hands underneath me as she lifts me from the bed. It feels nice to be held, like a mother should hold her child. Even with 200mg of Prozac splashing about my digestive track, I know that I am a child, but she is no mother, and this embrace is not with good intent. The clock on my stand reads 11:43p.m., when I am aware that I am now being held in the air.
    “Mama, what are you doing?” I slur.
    She only quickens her pace. I do my best to struggle, but she snakes her arms around me tighter.
    “MOM! WHAT THE HELL!” Cold water hushes me as my head smacks the bottom of the tub. She pulls me up to look at her in blood shot eyes.
    “You want to die so bad, then do it!” She grips my face like an Eagle on its prey. She tries submerging me with one hand, but I twist from underneath her. “This is what you wanted, RIGHT?!”
    I slip to my side, and she grabs me by the back of the head, pushing me eye to eye with the drain of the tub. The water swallows me, and I swallow it. She continues to yell, but water covers my ears as if to spare me from hearing it. Eighty dollars worth of medication empties my stomach and floats around my face as water continues to strangle me.
    She pulls me up and I gasp for air. “Why are you fighting?” she mocks.
    “Why do you care?” I begin to sob as she stares at me emotionless. “YOU DON’T CARE!” I scream it so loud my words are intelligible.
    “I don’t care,” she says calmly. “I DON’T CARE!” she screams back to me in my same tone of voice as my own. She grabs my arms again and I pull away. “I WISH YOU WOULD DO IT ALREADY! DIE! WHO COULD CARE CHRISTI?!”
    I spread a crocodile size jaw and bite down on her aged skin. The fat in her arms is butter against my teeth. I don’t bother to release my jaw as I jump up from the tub and I take a piece of her with me. The Grandfather clock in the hall shouts the hour. It is officially a new day. This is my chance.
    “Come here you little BRAT!” The look in her eyes is as wild as the trees that hem our unkept lawn.
    I look behind me just as my left foot slips on the cherry-stained wood and my ankle folds underneath me with a crunch. Crashing down the steps, I waste no time getting to the door. In her older age, Mother must take one step at a time.
    I get to the lawn before a shot rings out. I hit the earth. The grass is soft, and it invites me to stay down. I glance behind me, finding my mother laying on the ground with what I assume is her brains rested above her head like a halo.
    “I’m sorry Christi. I’m so sorry. I, I didn’t know what to do. She, she was going to kill you.” Marcus Bradburry stared straight ahead with eyes as large as bike tires. A rifle rattles in his shaky hands as he wipes tears from his eyes. “Are you okay?” He chokes out.
    “I think so,” I say. I was alive I suppose, but he doesn’t know the irony of that. Rolling to my back I motion for him to help me up. “Why are you here Marc? It’s the middle of nowhere, what the hell are you doing out here?” I look at my mother in disbelief. That disbelief eases itself into relief, and a sweet sunshiny calm washes over me. The kind of feeling that puts aching minds to rest, that makes the most bitter life tang sweet. My eyes sway themselves to meet Marc’s gaze.
    “I came to see you,” His voice shakes, “I was hoping to sneak you out.” He holds me to his chest, only for me to keep my stance.
    “You came for me?”
    His tense face softens, and he nods.
    I look at my mother and ask, “What do we do Marc?” His face grows serious and stern as he looks to the ground.
    “We’ll bury her,” he says almost more as a demand, than a suggestion. “Let’s deal with the body later today, we need to get you off your feet.”
    “Could you... drag her to shed? I’d hate to leave her out here.” I’m not sure that I loved her but there is a certain level of respect the dead demands from you.
    He nods again, then walks me to the house. Setting me down like a plush toy, he strokes my hair. “I will be back in a couple minutes.” He leaves the room looking more like a man than he ever has in his fifteen years.
    I wonder what else this day could bring. Mother was not kind to many people; I’d find it odd if someone came looking for her. She was always irate about something or someone. If she’d just gone mad and wandered to the woods, who’s the wiser? Many people likely wanted her dead, as much as she wanted me dead. As much as I wanted myself dead, really. I look up at the clock on the living room wall. It turns 12:43a.m. as Marc opens the front door. It’s a new day. I have a chance.

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