“Who says I’m here to make you feel better?” she asks, taking a long pull on her glass of wine. “Mmm, delicious!” she adds as an afterthought.
“Well, you did say that I needed something to cheer me up,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Okay, Miss smarty pants, but you need to check your facts. I said you needed something to cheer you up. I didn’t say that was me,” she adds, looking at me like I’m the insane one.
“Well then, why are you here?” I take a seat at the kitchen table. I’ll probably need to for her response.
“I’m here because I want to witness it,” she says, pulling up a chair as well.
“Witness what? My mental breakdown? Hank snoring? What?”
With the mention of Hank, she puts a finger in the air as an a-ha kind of moment. She reaches into her pants pocket, wiggles until she can pull the targeted item free. “Here you go, baby,” she says as her entire hand is engulfed by Hank’s slobbering mouth.
“Hello? Mom? What are you here to witness?”
“Oh, geesh. I thought you were the smart one of the family. You clearly lack some type of common sense. What would I be here to witness?”
I look at her inquisitively until reality starts to settle in. Certainly she couldn’t mean…even she wouldn’t go there...but the sparkle in her eye tells me that oh yes, she certainly would.
“Mom, please tell me you are not suggesting what I think you are,” I say through gritted teeth.
“And what would that be, dear? That the love of your life has just been released from prison? That he’s been exonerated from a crime he didn’t commit, a crime that we knew he didn’t commit? That he has been locked up for decades, that he hasn’t stopped thinking about you, and that he will probably be making a beeline straight for here as soon as the opportunity arises? That my daughter who has spent most of her life pining away for this man, wishing against all odds that things could be different, finally has the chance for that to happen? And why wouldn’t I want to witness that? Emma, it’s a miracle! It’s happening, all your hopes are happening. I want to be here to witness it all fabricate.” Her words are accompanied by an uncharacteristic sense of seriousness. They take me aback at first, sinking in.
“Mom, really? You think he’s just going to come waltzing up on my porch, say ‘hey, I’ve missed you,’ and we’ll fall into each other’s arms? Really?”
“Why not?”
“A lot of reasons. Things have changed. It’s not that simple. We’re much older now. Things don’t just work like that at our age.”
“When is life simple? Ask Corbin if he thinks it’s simple. Hell, ask yourself,” she says, looking intently at me. Tears have started to form in my eyes, but I wipe them away and mask them with a cover of anger.
“Mom, what’s up with you? Have you forgotten that I’m married? Things have changed. I’m not pining away for Corbin like you think I am. Yeah, I loved him. I loved him a lot. But I’m with John now, and I love him, too. My life is with him.”
I huff, teeth clenched, hand swiping at my tears, waiting for her to fire back. But for once, my mother has nothing to say. She sits for a long time, staring into her glass, lost in thought.
After a long silence filled with nothing but our breathing, she finally speaks up.
“I was nineteen when I gave birth to you. Nineteen years old. When I first got pregnant, I was scared out of my mind. Your father and I loved each other, don’t get me wrong. I was lucky in that respect. But I was still terrified. We were so young, we didn’t have good jobs, and we basically had nothing. I thought to myself, what are you doing? How are you going to raise this baby, how are you going to give her what she needs? How will you make sure that her life is as full as it can be?” She takes a sip of her wine, leaving me in complete suspense. I had no idea where this was going or why she was talking about it now. But I humored her.
“And then there you were. All nine pounds, six ounces of you. When I held you for the first time, all of those fears slipped away. Oh sure, I knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. Life was going to throw us a lot of obstacles and threaten to tear us down. But yet, it seemed like nothing could tear apart that love, that love and hope I had for you and for our family. You gave my life a sense of purpose because in you, I saw the future. I saw that my purpose in life was to lead you toward your purpose, toward fulfillment. And that became my mission.”
She reaches across the table for my hand. She is grave in her approach, a true stillness quieting her usually wild statements.
“And so the years passed. You outgrew your pigtails and your dolls and before I knew it, you were off to school. My little bookworm, always so rational and serious. I worried about you, you know. I worried that life was going to pass right through your fingers as you had your nose in those books. Sure, I was proud of your academic achievements. But I wanted to shake you, to tell you that the real world wasn’t experienced in pages of a book. It was experienced through living. But I didn’t have to do that, because right around the time I started to consider it, there he came strolling into your life. Most moms are terrified at the prospect of their daughters dating. Not me, though, because I trusted you, I trusted your instinct. And as soon as I met him, I knew I was right to. Corbin. What can we say about Corbin that you don’t already know? He was charming, humorous, absolutely stunning as far as guys go. But more importantly, he made you live. You went sled riding and to movies. You didn’t forget about your academics, but you would close those books from time to time to go be in nature, to go have a water balloon fight, to just make memories. I saw the smile growing on your face every day as you two grew together. And I knew. I knew from that first time I met him that he was it. He was what would make your life full, would carry on my job of bringing you joy. I knew he was the one that I would trust to carry you through this crazy life.”
By this time, tears have begun streaming down my face. I can’t even look at my mom. I know that she hasn’t started this tale to make me weep for the past, but I can’t help it. To think about these thoughts is one thing; to hear them affirmed from another soul only agitates the pain even more.
“But before I could send you off into the sunset with him, hell struck our family. I’m not going to rehash the details because I’m sure you haven’t forgotten. None of us have. When Corbin lost that battle, it was like we all did. I tried to be strong for you, to not show you that on the inside, my whole world was falling apart, too. Sure, I was sad for Corbin and for what he was going through. But I was sad for my little girl, too. With the words of that jury, I saw your future being crunched into the ground like a rotten, soggy leaf in the dead of winter. I mourned for the loss of Corbin’s future but also for the loss of yours. The years went by, and I kept worrying about you. Would you ever be happy again? Would you even come close? These are not easy prospects for a mother to face about her baby. No mother ever gives birth to a child thinking, ‘My child is going to be miserable,’ or ‘My child is going to have a life of agony.’ No, every mother thinks that nothing but happiness will surround her child, success and happiness. Every mother thinks her child’s life will turn out better than her own. So when that doesn’t happen, when things start to fall apart for the child, it’s a special kind of hell. Misery pounding against my heart, I watched you, day in and day out, praying for a change to the hand I felt you’d been dealt. I prayed for a miracle. It took a long, long time to surface, but it came. It came in the form of another handsome man at, of all places, the bookstore. So yet again your studious slash nerdy behavior leads you to another man.” She’s smiling now. I return the expression.
“John is a wonderful man. He brought you back to the land of the living, just like Corbin did. In him, I saw so many good qualities and so much potential to bring you back to joy. Not the joy that I had mapped out for you, not the happiness that was overflowing. But happiness nonetheless. As a mother, I rejoiced in the fact that all was not lost for you, that your life could still turn out to have purp
ose and peace. And that it has. In him, you have found a piece of yourself again, Emma. And I know you will always love John for that. So will I.”
I wipe at my tears and nod. There is another moment of silence that I finally interrupt. “I feel a but coming on,” I offer.
She nods, still sullen in her atypical aura of momentousness. “I know you will always love John, but he’s not Corbin. He’s not the man who was meant for you, the man who connects you to your youth and the dreams and optimism that accompany it. He’s not the man who can fully deliver you to your full purpose, your full state of being. He’s not it, Emma. And it would have been okay to settle for him if that was your only choice. If the true target of your desire wasn’t available. But that’s not the case now. It’s just not. And as confusing and complicated as it is, you have a second chance now. You have a chance to fulfill your deepest, self-defining wants. You have a chance to find the girl again who had her heart and mind focused on a successful future. You have the chance to right the wrongs, to conquer your biggest dreams, and to live them. Not everyone gets a second chance. I know it’s scary and complicated. I know that it seems late in the game, or like too many years have gone by. I even know that maybe it won’t work. But I think you owe it to him, to yourself, to give it a try. To just see what is left of the pieces of your dream. Because, honnie, life goes fast and you don’t want to be sitting on the couch someday asking yourself what if. There have been too many of those already. It’s not too late to silence them and to ask what could be. It’s not too late.”
She sips on her wine again, her eyes degraded to the floor.
I look at her, appreciating the courage it must have taken to spew out these words of wisdom. I know that it was out of love and a feeling that I needed to hear them.
“But what about John, Mom? What am I supposed to do with that? Even if, against all odds, Corbin comes back, even if too much time hasn’t passed, what am I supposed to do with John? I love him, I do. How can I hurt him the way that I was hurt?” I beg, my mouth finally admitting the fears my mind wouldn’t recognize.
Mom clutches my fingers in hers, squeezing gently. “I don’t know, Emma. I don’t have all of the answers, at least not about this. But you have to start thinking about yourself. You’ve suffered, you’ve had a life full of emptiness. It’s time to grab what is yours, to take back your life. That might mean some people get hurt, that might mean making hard decisions, but you have to. You don’t have time to waste thinking about what is most rational or what will hurt the least. You have to think about what it is that will make you happy in the long run. I’ve said my piece, but I can’t tell you what to do. I can just tell you that no matter what happens, I’ll be here.”
“Thanks, Mom. I mean it.” I rise and hug her, but the moment for heart-to-hearts has passed. After a few seconds of our embrace, my mom jerks away.
“Oh my God, Emma, have you washed that nasty hair in the past week? I feel like a cake of butter just slapped me in the face. I’ll tell you, you’d think you grew up with a cavewoman for a mother. I don’t know where you got your lack of womanly qualities, but it wasn’t from me.” She shakes her head in disgust, heads to the sink to rinse her glass, and sighs.
“Well, it’s getting late. I better head home before your father burns the house down trying to cook himself a snack or something. Here you go, honnie, one more from your grammy-wammy,” she rambles as she leans down to give Hank another treat.
“Mom, no wonder he’s getting fat,” I scold.
“Oh really? And you don’t enjoy a few treats from time to time? Please. Tell Mommy, when she starts eating lettuce and carrots for her meals, you’ll stop eating treats,” she says, scrunching Hank’s face up into a horrid contortion.
“I hate it when you talk dog,” I say, truly annoyed.
“And I hate those man-pants. Seriously, a grown woman, and you dress like you’re a college frat girl.” She shakes her head in disgust yet again. “So we’ll call it even. I love you, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“What about the reunion you were hell-bent on witnessing?” I poke.
“Oh, it’s still going to happen,” she smirks. “I just figure you might need a little…privacy for it.”
“Mom…” I sigh, true frustration returning. Why did she have to ruin any potentially tender moment?
“Okay, Okay, I’m leaving. Keep me posted,” she demands as she scurries toward the door.
“Do I have a choice?” I add, ready to shut and lock the door as soon as she is through.
“Oh, you’ll miss me someday. Someday you’ll wish you had your awesome mother to fill in with details. Not everyone’s so lucky, you know. Now toodles!” and with that, she whooshes to her car.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I shout out the door as an afterthought.
“Are you serious? One glass? Pu-leaze.” She hops in the car, flips on the lights, honks her characteristic two toots, and is gone.
Although I haven’t done much except slug around the house, I am suddenly exhausted. I find the couch again, where Hank has already laid claim to about seventy-five percent of it. I melt into the cushion, exhale, and find myself again transported to another time, a time when my mother was truly my saving grace, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Tough Love
Emma
Memories
For the next few weeks, I refused to believe that things were actually done. I kept trying to visit Corbin. Every time I went, he refused to see me and asked to be taken back to his cell. I gave up on the visits and started writing letters instead. I wrote every week, begging him to let me back into his life. I pleaded that I wouldn’t move on, that I refused to, and that he might as well let me back in because I wasn’t going anywhere. I never received any responses. As the weeks floated into months, reality slowly sank in—he was done. Corbin wasn’t getting out of jail, and he wasn’t letting me sit by him. I was alone.
I heard from his dad that Corbin’s lawyer was working on an appeal, but it wasn’t expected to go well. The evidence was too damning. So I had no choice but to try to carry on. I wasn’t ready to face that.
Everyone else around me had moved on long ago, making me realize that the world truly doesn’t stop turning. My classmates had gone on to college and to the workforce. They were building the foundations for their lives while I was wallowing in pity over the loss of mine before it had even started. In the early days after the sentencing, some old friends offered support. Although they were away at college, Jenn and Hannah sent letters of encouragement and sympathy. They were short and superficial, though. What did you say to someone in my situation? Katie had gone above and beyond the others, stopping by to visit me on a weekend home from college.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed as she hugged me at my door. She didn’t seem to notice the disarray of my hair or my lack of hygiene. I didn’t notice either because both had become constants in my life of sadness.
“Thanks, Katie. I appreciate it.”
She stayed for an hour, saying how shocked she was and how she knew Corbin couldn’t possibly do it. She asked what we were going to do.
“We aren’t doing anything,” I mumbled, tears free-flowing. “He’s pushed me away. He wants me to move on, a symbol of his selflessness. I hate him for it,” I admitted, shocked that the words flowed so easily. In reality, I did hate him for what he had done. I hated him for making me step away, for making me essentially give up on us.
Katie hugged me again. “Emma, I know it hurts. I know. But maybe it’s for the best. I know you love him, but I think Corbin knows that. He loves you so much that he wants to see you happy. I think maybe it’s easiest for him to think that you’re happy, even if it’s without him. I think you owe it to him to try.” She spoke the words so gently that they didn’t offend me like they did when they tumbled out of my mom’s mouth. For a second, I even considered them. Katie continued talking about moving on and “eventually getting back
out there,” but by that time, I had retreated back into myself. We parted ways, Katie promising she would be there if I ever needed her. I think she would have been if I had let her back into my life. With my depressive state, though, friendly pleasantries and staying in touch didn’t rank high on my list. I would receive several letters from her over the next few years, but that was it. I couldn’t blame her or anyone else for that matter. Sure, they felt sorry for me and for the situation, but it didn’t mean that they should harp on it. Their lives were still moving forward. They had to live them.
Despite my detachment toward Katie during her visit, it did strike a chord with me. I realized maybe everyone was right. Maybe Corbin needed me to move on with my life to validate what he did. Maybe I needed to show Corbin that I loved him by letting him do this one final act of selfless love. Everything had been stripped from him. This was all he had left to offer me, the only way he could show that he cared. Maybe I should appreciate his efforts and do something with my life. I wasn’t ready to think about love, but maybe I could at least try appreciating my days. I vowed to try to start living again.
I didn’t try very hard. Sure, I got out of bed in the morning. I brushed my teeth and ate pretty regularly. Once in a while, I would take a walk around the block to clear my head. Other than that, though, I became a recluse, never leaving the house except when my mother forced me. Once a cosmetic addict, I rarely even looked in the mirror anymore. My daily uniform became a pair of ratty old sweatpants and a T-shirt from my high school. Mom and Dad tried to get me to rediscover my desire to attend college, to give me something to keep me busy and to keep my eyes on what lie ahead.
“You’ve only missed one year, Emma. It’s not too late to enroll now. You’ll only be graduating a year later than expected. Corbin would want you to go,” Mom reasoned with me about three months after the sentencing.
Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance Page 21