End

Knowing that woman and the way she dealt out chores, I knew that I had a lot of time to kill before Tori would realize I was gone.

I had to do it now. I could already feel my living energy waning. Soon, I would be entirely dependent on Tori, relying on her to light the way. She was my focus, my center. Without her, I would be lost; the world would be a black void, no light, nothing to base my existence on. I had no body, no eyes, ears, or nose. She was the medium through which I could experience the world. For about twenty four hours, I could find my way around by myself, after that, it would be just her.

I took this chance.

I had to find them. My family.

I had hated them in life, hated the way they treated me and everyone around them. They thought that their way the only ‘proper’ way. They didn’t care who it was: if a person didn’t dress the same, act the same, think the same, they were criticized. After the person was out of earshot, my parents would sit me down and tear up every bit of who that person was until I couldn’t even remember my own opinion. It disgusted me, so I chose not to spend much time with them. But they were still my family. In their own way, they still loved me and wanted the best for me. And if I thought about it long enough and hard enough, I still loved them. I think.

I had to see them.

As soon as Tori shut the bedroom door behind her, I phased through the window and went in search of my house.

Tori lived in the old part of town, where the houses were tiny and crooked. I lived on the opposite side; my parents scorned disrepair, and wanted nothing to do with it. It didn’t take me long to cross the city, though. Having the ability to fly over traffic and skip the crowded crosswalks peeled off minutes of travel time.

In no time at all, I could see our Mansion.

I floated down outside the master bedroom and peered into the darkened window. Inside, I could see my mother on her and Dad’s king-sized mattress, her arms strangling the stuffing out of a pillow, staring blankly at the television screen. Even through the glass and the shadowed yards that separated us, I could see the tiny lights in her eyes. Unspilled tears.

I phased through the glass and drifted across the empty space. For a moment, I watched her silently from afar, wondering what I wanted to say most. I knew I ought to thank her for all those years that she was my mother and provided for me and bandaged all my booboos and bought me that Barbie convertible that I’d wanted so badly and…

But what did I really want to say?

“I don’t understand, Mom,” I whispered as I approached her. “Why did you force your opinion on me? Why can’t you take people for who they are? Why can’t you look for their good qualities?”

Tears began to pour down her cheeks. “I just wanted to keep you safe,” she whispered into the air, so softly that I could barely hear her. “I wanted you to understand—“

I cut her off. “But if you had been there to offer more than criticism, I would have come to you for your opinion. I would have told you stories about my day, about my friends, about the people I cared about. I would have explained to you what I did and why. But because you condemned everything I loved, I was afraid to tell you anything. I knew that you’d block out what I said and yammer on about how everything I knew was bad. If you had been there to listen, you could have seen the signs. Maybe, maybe the accident could have been prevented.”

Her quiet tears turned to frantic sobs. The pillow in her arms gasped its last breath of air.
I struggled to be heard over her. “I’m not blaming you, Mom. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. That’s why they call it an accident. But Mom, I do blame you for not being there.”

“I tried—“

“You did. So did I. We all tried. But my childhood was spent learning from more ‘parents’ than just you and dad. I read, I watched TV, I observed. I learned so much more than what you told me. Because of this, what you and dad said about other people sounded stupid and narrow-minded. I could see life from more points of views than just yours. Every day that I lived on Earth, I could prove you wrong. So how could you expect me to listen to you? I was born giving people chances. You know that. I have given you and dad more chances than I feel you deserve. I gave Tori chances, I gave Tristan chances.”

Her tears stopped with an angry choke. “That boy… He killed you. That’s why we taught to be careful. That’s why me and your father did what we did.”

I fell closer to her, pressing my palms into the bedspread. They left no dent. “But what you did didn’t work. Ma, why can’t you understand this? Because you weren’t there to listen and guide with more than just criticisms, I couldn’t know the difference between safe and truly dangerous. The one you were hunting wasn’t the one to fear. You couldn’t look past the faces, Ma. That’s why I couldn’t stand to tell you anything.”

“You’re a child, Carrie. You needed to be shown what was acceptable.”

“I’m not a child! I—I was seventeen. One more year, I could vote. Becoming an adult doesn’t just happen the night before you turn eighteen. It takes work. I knew more about life than you realize. Dammit, Ma, I knew more about life than you can even understand yourself.”

“Don’t use that language with me!” she snapped. The habits of being a mother never died.

“Mom. What language I use doesn’t matter. I’m dead." I paused, watching an expression of blunt pain wash over her face. "Please, promise me you’ll try. Mom, please.”

“Okay,” she breathed. Her eyelids fluttered. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be here.”

I had to get back to home base. I was running low on energy faster than I’d thought. Dark spots began to appear in the corners of my vision. Sometimes, for a few seconds, I blacked out entirely. But I wouldn’t leave her. Not yet.

Nevertheless, by the time the horizon began to radiate blush, I found myself wanting to leave for reasons more than just lack of energy. I stared at my mother’s sleeping form and I felt no need to stay. She was my mother. Was. Because all of a sudden, she was a woman. A familiar woman, but just another woman. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring back that connection of child and mother: that safe, comfortable illusion of being always looked after. She wasn’t my mother anymore. I was alone in that bedroom. I had no reason to be there.

So, as the sun rose high into the strawberry sky, I left.

I never returned.