Never shall I forget my first taste of reality – and let me tell you it was disgusting. Not bitter in the way grape medicine is, but in the way that you feel like getting sick as soon as it touches your tongue. It tastes like your mothers tears, and knowing the reason why makes you choke.
Never shall I forget the metallic, bitter taste in my mouth from biting my cheek too hard – careful not to scream.
Never shall I forget the click of the lock, the sound of the door chain shakily being set into its rightful place, or the movement of the dresser being positioned in front of the bedroom door.
Never shall I forget my mother whispering, “It will be okay” in a broken voice every night, and although she was saying it aloud, I am sure she was trying to convince herself rather than I.
Never shall I forget the cracks against her skin crackling louder than lightening, the yelling more fearful than thunder, or her silent sobs in the middle of the night that mixed in with the pitter-patter of rain hitting the window.
Never shall I forget tracing her arms and legs so gently as though they were instead canvases for a childs water color abstract in temporary, dull blues, yellows, purples, and blacks.
Never shall I forget the way that she built herself up as though she were a tower made out of jenga blocks, and how he slowly, menacingly pulled them out of place, piece by piece, until she was left with only her weakest points and forced to fall apart right in front of his satisfied smile.
Never shall I forget the day the police arrived. It was the same day I finally got that taste out of my mouth. And how I finally unclenched my teeth. How that night my mother didn’t have to secure the door, and how she didn’t have to whisper anymore because her empty prayers came true.
She wasn’t weak like the drops of rain anymore. She was a hurricane. She rebuilt her tower with iron. The temporary colors left her skin and instead she replaced them with a tattoo, a permanent reminder that she made it. We made it.
