To Go From There

“Shut up, Genesee. That’s not funny,” I replied.

She wiped away a tear that started to fall down her cheek.

“I’m serious, Kiernan. The hospital called. I’m sorry.”

“Get out!” I suddenly snarled. It ripped out of me unexpectedly. I didn’t even mean to say. So much emotion and shock built up inside my chest. I had no say in my own actions anymore.

“Kier-” Genesee started.

“I said, get out!”

She ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I fell into my bedspread, the tears flooding out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I couldn’t believe it. Mom. I didn’t even get to talk to her in the past month. I missed her. I wanted my mommy, the full of life woman that raised me and taught me everything she knew. She taught me how to love, how to play pool and how to build a swing set. She taught me how to draw, how to apply an even layer of paint to the wall, how to put my hair up with no bumps without a brush. She was a genius, at all things random.

She was my mother. She gave birth to me and raised me and put a roof over my head. She lied to protect me, and nurtured my every dream and told me no when I was being a brat. She let me be myself. She didn’t judge me when I never went out, for my lack of friends. I asked her one day at dinner, if I were gay, would she love me any less? She looked right at me and said, “No, Kiernan. If you were gay, I would love you the exact same. Know why?” I told her I didn’t. “Because you are my daughter and because no mother should love their child any less because of who that child loves. If you were to bring home a girl named Rita with a lip ring and a pixie cut, I’d be just as okay with it if you brought home a boy named Austin with an army cut and a soccer jersey. You are my daughter, and I love you. Forever and for always.”

I tackled her in a hug. She laughed and we held onto each other. My mommy loved me, and I loved her. I always would.

“Mom! MOM! MOOOOOOOOOM!” I yelled, running through the house until I found her. I was 9, and home from my first day of 4th grade. I found her on the deck, wearing her bathing suit. 11 year old Genesee lay out with her, stretched out in the sun. I smiled. I loved my family.

“Yes, Kiernan?”

“What’s a douche?” I asked. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at me. Genesee giggled like a perverted teenager.

“Where did you hear that word?” she snapped.

“The bus.”

She muttered, “Of course,” under her breath. She stood up and looked down at me. I was a stick, even then. I was short and skinny and had to buy smalls in anything we picked out. My hair was only at my shoulders and I only stood to Mom’s waist.

“Kiernan, I don’t want you saying any of the words that the kids on the bus say for a very long time. You understand me? You’re too young for that.”

I nodded.

“Gen, go help Kiernan with her homework.”

I didn’t swear again until I came home from Nashville. I was a bit rebellious for awhile after that. Not for long. That phase lasted a month or two before I got bored. I went back to my calm, introverted self after that. But it was fun while it lasted, I guess.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my face. I needed sleep, or drugs, or Rhys. I didn’t move though. I just stayed there. I didn’t want to deal with anyone. I didn’t feel like facing what had happened. I needed sleep. But I was too upset and distraught to care what my body needed. I lay there, and lay there, and lay there. Hours passed and the sun set. I lay there some more. Days passed in a matter of hours. I didn’t care. Nothing matter.

My mommy was gone.