Madeleine Johnson

Red, striped blouse. 

It was loud. Bold. Hideous. It was a red striped blouse, for God's sake. 

“That's perfect for the interview.” 

…Was my mother kidding? 

She chuckled, that melodic but methodical laugh she always did. “Trust me. The colour red washes you out. You can’t look too good, baby.” 

I rolled my eyes, “I’m not wearing that.” 

I only meant to jump so the snake in the grass would slither out. It did. 

I got the job. It was fine. Neither here nor there. I hate that the blouse mother picked actually worked. 

I hadn’t called her in a while. Sometimes, I thought I should. Then, I remembered her, and suddenly I really didn’t want to. As her prey, you could always feel her slithering out from under the house. 

She wanted me to call her because she didn’t like being alone. Even after Dad left, you’d think she’d have gotten used to that. 

I replayed her voice in my head, over and over again. 

It pierced my ears like a thorn. I tried to pull it out, but it burrowed deeper. One day, I’d rip the whole thing out. If I could. If I even wanted to. 

Last time we spoke, we were sitting in the food court at our local shops after the debacle at the hairdressers. Since she made me get my hair done, she could buy me lunch. Both of us lunch. 

“What? You’re a grown woman you can pay for your own lunch.” 

I tried to remind her that she said she would. 

“Here I was thinking you wanted to spend time with me. Why would I believe that you could be civil for five minutes?” 

I bought the food. 

She grabbed what I bought her and threw it in the bin. 

“This is what loving you feels like.” 

Snakes can throw a rattle before they strike, even if they’re too weak to bite. 

Work was fine, though. It was nothing I hadn't dealt with before; my boss was a man-child, and my co-workers were dull and lifeless. Sometimes I imagined graphic things happening to them, just for some excitement in my day. 

Please. 

At work I saw a mother and her young daughter in a fight outside the elevator. They were loud and abrasive. 

I couldn’t look away. 

Hearing their arguments was like… when tasting maple syrup and waffles again after going off it for a year. Sweet. Indulgent. 

I snapped out of it. 

Work was still fine. The light wouldn’t stop flickering when I worked, and the office smelled of mould. 

Sitting at home, I still couldn’t stop thinking of that mother and daughter, but I had so much work to do. 

My mind drifted, and I kept thinking about them. The fighting… I craved that. 

My phone buzzed with a message. 

She texted, “I love you.” After months of silence. 

I could almost hear her calling, like a banshee in the night, whispering her rage.  

Sometimes, I soothed myself in her voice. 

I knew she did the same. She needed me now, for whatever reason, but I had to focus. 

I couldn’t. 

Dad used to say something to me before he left. I remember we were playing in my childhood backyard, the grass dead from neglect. 

“If your mother ever says she needs you, run.” 

I guess that’s why he did. 

So, I was stuck, and she knew it. How I decided to respond would change who was in charge. 

To say, ‘I love you too,’ would have been weak and submissive. 

I knew she was waiting. 

I felt lonely today at work, so I did something unusual and asked a colleague over for a drink at my house. 

We were having a nice time; I almost forgot what that was like… 

I almost forgot what that was like… 

That was, until she crashes in. 

The smell of alcohol wafts off her. 

Rolling in thick, sour waves. 

Her voice is soft. “You didn’t answer my message.” She smiles, but it slips and twitches at the edges. 

“Mother,” I say in a low warning. I subtly plead. “What are you doing?” 

She laughs, the same melodic laugh, but it is wrong now. Or maybe I’m just hearing it properly for the first time. 

Her laugh erupts into rage, “You’ve been too busy for your own mother, I see!”  

My friend beside me has panic in her eyes as she speaks, “I should go.” 

“No! Don’t go on my account!” She points dangerously at me, “You know, your dad wanted to abort you… yeah. I wanted it too. But I thought, what the hell, since he wants to, I don’t want to. So, I didn’t… And look where we are now!” 

She eyes both of us like we are her prey.  

I want to throw up. 

“Look at you with your friends, and your late nights, and all that stuff you care about more than your own mother! You should tell your friends how selfish you are!” 

My colleague has enough and leaves. Quickly. Like I was nothing. 

Mother’s face morphs, like all the joy was taken, or like there was never any to begin with. 

“…I was going to reply. But you just–I– you can't do that.” I manage to say. 

I’d taken too long. I should have known this would happen. 

Her face collapses in on itself, “I’m a horrible mother,” her voice cracks, “I ruin everything! I always have…” 

I feel it before I think it– that pull. That old, familiar gravity dragging me forward. 

She cries. Shoulders shaking, hands covering her face like she can hide inside them. She sinks to the floor slowly. 

“I try,” she sobs. “You think I don’t try? I love you so much and you just—” her voice splinters. 

That’s why I didn’t call her. But I missed her. I missed her poison. 

I go to comfort her. Hold her hair. I know she doesn’t mean to do this. Or does she? 

I tell her I’ll try to be better. She smiles, almost disappointingly, “I know you will.” 

I've been bit. 

A weak snake still knows how to bare its teeth. 

My mistake. 

There was something I was supposed to do at work today, but I forgot. I was distracted by a fly. I killed it. I killed it with my bare hands, and it felt good. Too good. 

Mother still wanted me to say “I love you.” She only said it in the first place because me saying it was behind a paywall of her saying it. She always dangled love like some fruit I’m not allowed to touch unless I said I’m sorry, and when I did, it rotted in my mouth. 

She was probably cackling to herself, thinking that she’d got me, that she knew me. She’s right. 

I’m not sure I’m strong enough anymore. 

Sometimes, I imagined what it would be like to go on a holiday far away from here. Where the birds were singing songs that made your ears bleed with euphoria, something sweet. 

Sweet, indulging maple syrup. Like a glistening, sugary, lacquer river that leads the way to heaven’s gates… I craved it. I should have a waffle. 

She stopped by my work with her poison.  

I needed to stay away. 

My coworkers have started to worry about me. 

In the meeting today, my boss yelled because I was too distracted. Sometimes I just stared out my window and watched as the rain fell down the dirty, streaky glass, and it often made me think that the window was crying. 

“It’ll be okay,” I comforted the window. 

I finished the work at home. Sometimes I pictured what would happen if I just… tipped the table over. Let the laptop fall. I thought it happened in my dreams, or was that Wednesday? 

Lately, I couldn’t tell. 

I’m on my last warning at work. I still didn’t know what to say to mother, she’s constant. 

My eyes burnt from tiredness, my arms felt heavy with weakness. The soft pillow is like a brick under me. I kept banging against it, I could snap its pillow neck. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You were never that complicated, baby.” 

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I always know what you’re thinking.” 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ “I can tell you haven’t been sleeping.” 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I know you will.” 

I can’t take it anymore. 

My head is now wrapped in endless layers of paradoxical uncertainty. Do this. Do that. She knows me so well. My mother… She knows me so well. My mother. She knows me so well. My mother. 

She knows she’s got me. The venom spreads through my veins. I can feel it. It burns. 

…She knows me so well. 

I’ve been fired.