What I Wouldn't Give to Be Whole

The front door swung closed behind me as I hurried upstairs, avoiding my mother, who was sitting in her rocking chair, looking spent and useless, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from her fingers. Her eyes didn't move once from the television program she was watching as I passed her. She had taken her medication that morning, I knew.

Kelvin was sprawled out on the windowsill when I entered my room, and he turned to look at me with his big green eyes. I walked over to my cat and picked him up, then sat down in my bed with him in my lap, stroking his tawny fur lovingly. He licked my hand—I always loved the feeling of his rough tongue on my skin—and snuggled into my big, fluffy stomach. I could feel the soft vibrations of his purring.

You missed me, huh, Kelly? I thought, as if to send a telepathic message to my cat, as I often did. If he got my messages, he didn't give any signs to that effect, but it would be no different if I could have spoken to him aloud. Cats did not understand the languages of man—English, sign language or otherwise—just as men did not understand the languages of cats. At least you'll always be here for me.

I thought of my mother sitting in that chair, so sedated that she could have been temporarily dead, and I grimaced. It seemed so distant, but I could vaguely remember a time when she hadn't been like that. She was still on anti-depressants, but then, they worked. I could remember finger painting with her, and having picnics as a family—me, Kelvin (who had only been a kitten at the time), Mom, and Dad.

Dad. He brought back memories all their own. I shuddered a bit as I remembered how he had changed too. I had been a little too young to catch it from the very start, and perhaps Mom had been a little too naive, but we noticed eventually that he seemed to be staying out longer every day, and contributing less and less to dinner conversation, and all around being extremely secretive. I hated having the knowledge that I was losing my father. Dad had let himself get so separated from the family that he could have been only a stranger before finally revealed to Mom that he was leaving us, forever.

It had been then that Mom took her turn for the worse. Her prescribed dosage of anti-depressants had to be doubled, tripled, and then she was on a different medication altogether, one that just about knocked her out. It scared me the way she was acting, and I hated it. I realized that I was afraid of my own mother, and I had never felt so alone in all my life. I thought it couldn't get any worse.

Of course, I was wrong. Not even two whole years have passed since the day my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. In the months that have followed, I have become increasingly aware of human mortality. My mother had recently started to resemble a walking corpse, a zombie in a horror movie. I hadn't tried to speak to her in better than three weeks because it greatly unnerved me how little she had to say. It seemed that she had forgotten how to communicate with me in sign language, forgotten about her only daughter. I hadn't just lost Dad when he left Mom, I had lost them both.

A tear fell from my cheek and into Kelvin's fur. Apparently, that irritated him, and he climbed off my lap. Wiping my eyes, I turned to look out the window as Kelvin had been when I came home. The sun was already starting to disappear, and clouds were filling the sky. It looked like rain. Perfect weather for a walk, I reasoned, because no one would be outside.

I pulled open the doors of my closet and found a thick, grey-and-black striped sweater. I took off my t-shirt, pulled on the sweater, and looked into the mirror at myself. I made a face. The sweater, a size XL, hugged my rotund belly disgustingly. It very nearly came up high enough to show my fat hanging over the edge of my jeans. I could swear it had fit me once, but all the same, I took it off and exchanged it for a different one, this one dark violet and looser around the middle.

I hated my body. I had been overweight ever since I was a little girl. It was genetic; physically, I mostly took after my dad, who wasn't bad looking with his greenish blue eyes and full head of light blonde hair, he was just plump. Even my mother had been heavy once, but those days were long since gone. For several reasons, namely cancer, drugs, and depression, she was now emaciated, paper-thin, and my father was a mere ghost. I was the only fat person around now, and I sometimes could hardly stand it.

Without another glance into the mirror, I left my room and set off for the park.