Dream

Sitting in the back of my aunt’s car on my way to Wisconsin I feel a huge wave of guilt wash over me. There had to have been something I could have done to prevent his death. It was my fault he was gone. Now, here I am, on my way to my mother’s home and I knew that I am going to have to justify the fact that I am alive and my younger brother isn’t to her. As sad, scared, and remorseful as I am, I can’t cry.

I am finally in my mother’s apartment, and everything is dark. The green carpet looks almost black and I look up at the ceiling and there is no light. Only a metal ceiling fan that was never present when I lived there. I see my mother, huddled over the sink, doing dishes. I know she blames me and I feel her hate towards me. Fear paralyzes me and I am lost for words. I can’t tell her that I am innocent if I feel guilty. I’m not even exactly sure how he died, or what I could have done to prevent it, but it has been placed on my shoulders. My mother is also silent. Refusing to speak to me for what I did or did not do.

Things are getting darker and I feel the anger and hatred my mother has towards me increase. The demons inside her are begging to be let out and she will not keep them in for my sake. My heart pounds as she starts to take her hand out of the dish water. My worst fears are confirmed as I see that she has in her hands a large knife dripping with water and soap. A million thoughts race through my head as she walks toward me. Her eyes are burning like embers, deep in them I see that she is on a mission and can’t fail. I will not be leaving my place of childhood alive.

With a granite face, my mother inches towards me. Menacingly grasping the knife in one hand while holding the other in a tight fist. Every muscle in her body is tense and ready to kill. Her eyes shine with fury and hatred. I can’t move and almost welcome death. She lunges toward me with deadly accuracy but I must have moved. The knife stabs only the air. She looks at me in defeat, and walks back to the sink. I remain standing in the kitchen. Watching my mother as she goes back to washing dishes as if nothing has happened. I see her thoughts, played out for me as if they were on a screen. She thinks of tricking me. Pretending to be sorry, offering a hug. Then stabbing me. She knows it will not work.