I had another weird dream last night, this one starring my mother.
It’s not surprising considering she’s been on my mind, since we stopped speaking over Christmas. Or rather, she stopped speaking to me. And I went along with it. Because a) Its easier b) I don’t have the energy and c) I can’t argue with CRAZY.
You see my mom got into a heated argument with my youngest sister right before my yearly holiday visit. So she was seething mad. And believe me when I say, you don’t want to make this woman angry. You wouldn’t like her when she’s angry.
One minute she’s all Carol-Brady-sunshine/unintentially hilarious/cornball mom, smothering me with hugs and lighting candles for me at church so God will “send me a man”. Next minute. Her eyes grow dark. And it’s like: Whoa! Every man for himself! Imagine the hulk’s blind rage coupled with an oldschool Nuyorican, oh-it’s-ON-bitch attitude, delivered with a soul-penetrating glare. Shit. Is. Scary. Trust me.
|We all go a little mad sometimes.|
By the time I arrived at my mom’s NJ home, she was already in top fighting form. After greeting me with a pained smile that killed any silly hope for a drama-free holiday, Scary Mom recounted the latest showdown in the never-ending saga of the Drama Twins—a tragic tale that ends with my sister’s banishment to the isle of evil daughters.
The battle lines were drawn. And my mom demanded that I "choose sides".
Now, I could have easily chosen ‘Team Mom’ and agreed not to talk to my sister. Or visit. Or even acknowledge her existence. But as that petite figure stood there with one gold-clad hand on her hip, giving me the same evil glare that made my pulse quicken and my stomach sink when I was a child. A shady voice in my head said:
Hold. Up. I’m not nine anymore. I’m a grown ass woman!
You can’t tell me what to do or who to talk to anymore.
I AIN’T AFRAID OF YOU.
Rather than cower, I chose to stand my ground and speak to her like a rational adult.
|That woman, she's crazy. There's no telling what she'll do.|
I really don’t want to get involved. I see my family once a year. And all I want is to spend quality time with everybody, including the-evil-bitch-who-hates-her-mother. I’m sorry you guys are fighting. But I refuse to pick a side. I choose 'Team Neutral'….
C’mon. It’s Christmas! A time for family! Can’t we all just get along? (smiles stupidly)
Scary mom’s response:
Storms off angrily. Slams dining room door behind her. Never speaks to me again.
And just like that I joined my sister on our teeny island of evil, selfish children.
|I should've never gotten on that plane. I should've never gotten out of the car.|
Because in Crazytown, where Scary mom reigns and logic and reason don’t exist (and evil children are banished), my response was seen as an act of betrayal. And the punishment was the silent treatment. Which for the record includes a lot of slamming doors, exaggerated eyerolls, random nonsensical outbursts and her glaring at the tv for hours with a look that screams, STAY..THE..HELL..AWAY.
Mostly I avoided her, reverting back to my nine-year-old self—afraid to do or say anything that might set off the wicked tyrant—I scurried away like a timid mouse whenever she approached. I planned a lot of day trips, visited family and spent the nights locked away in a cramped spare room watching Netflix. Being ignored.
Anyway, I’m back in L.A. now. She’s still not speaking to me. And like I said earlier, I had this really weird dream about her last night.
Basically, she was a possessed monster who came after me. I remember her eyes turning “Hulk White” as a voice inside said: Uh-oh. RUN BITCH..Save yourself!!
|Shit, you must got the devil in you!|
So I ran around trying to get away. And as she chased me all over HER HOUSE (a psychiatrist would have a field day with this dream), I just kept thinking:
She’s my mom. What the hell can I do?...
Unlike the last dream, I don’t need to consult a dream dictionary to decipher this one.
Despite the fact that I’m a smart, independent grown-ass woman with my own damn life, living on the opposite side of the country; that tiny Rican lady still scares the living crap out of me.
But what the hell can I do. She’s my mom. And I love the crazy bitch.
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