We were sitting on the edge of a rock, down by the river- waiting for the snow to make its presence felt- when I asked her, "Have you ever loved someone?".
Her eyes dived for the water, then slowly came up to meet mine. "Yes- I love my mom, most of the time." She smiled and looked up at the gray sky that was getting darker by the minute. Winter was late that year, but most everything was already dead. The birds had already reached their destination to a warm and sunny climate, thousands of miles south of our location.
"No, no, no," I told her. "The other kind of love"
She knew what I meant, but was holding out on me because she could tell how badly I wanted to hear her answer. Truth is, I had never felt that kind of love before. There were times in my life when I wanted it so badly, but I knew it was nowhere to be found. I blamed it on my mother.
"A boy without a loving mother will most certainly turn into an unloving man."
My mother was there, but was a far cry from a compassionate, caring woman. I knew it wasn't her fault. You know why?
Her Dad didn't love her the right way.
"A girl without a loving father will most certainly turn into an unloving woman."
And so it goes and so it goes and so it goes. Breaking that cycle is like putting out a fire with kitchen grease. Mom didn't stand a chance. She spent a great deal of her life being miserable and angry and quick tempered. She would love men (or think she loved them), but treat them as though they were out to get her. She would treat them like she hated them, most of the time. Only once in a great while was she even fun to be around.
As for us kids, well let's just say it was a roller coaster from start to finish. A whole lot of yelling and not enough hugs and kisses. No stability except for the drug use, abuse and neglect.
Sometimes I wonder why I like being alone. I often wonder why I've never really loved. This stuff isn't rocket science though- it's all right there in front of me.
As we sat there on that rock the snow began to fall. Winter began its own cycle, invading like an old war hero. She was ready to share something with me. She looked up from the river, the snow falling hard now- her eyes filled with compassion and direction. Just like me, she had it rough as a child. Didn't seem to bother her. She seemed to be free from her past tension. I admired her for that, but also found myself envious, maybe even a little jealous.
Her eyes hit mine hard and focused directly on them- her eyes stayed fixed on my eyes and she spoke the words slowly and deliberately, "I love you, right now in this moment". I was speechless. I should be happy, should be excited and joyful and ready to share the same good news with her- at least acknowledge her brave admission with a smile or a kiss. However, fear set in.
How long would she love me for?
Did she really love me, or was she just saying it?
Why me? What would cause her to feel love for me?
She doesn't love me.
The doubt filled my body and overflowed outward- the doubt could have flooded the river. I didn't even have time to speak- my legs and feet lifted me from the rock and I ran off crying and cursing my mother.
The snow covered up each footprint as I ran through Winter's night.
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