Barbara Bracht Donsky - Missing Mother

like all my yesterdays? Riding my trike, Im ringing the bell and having a good timewhile waiting for Mommy to get up, waiting to go to the park. She says she has a tummy ache, doesnt want to get out of bed. When I pedal out of the room and she cant see me anymore, she calls: Barbara Jane, where are you?

Come find me, Mommy. When she doesnt, I pedal back to where shes lying in bed, listening to music and reading the paper. Usually, when the musics playing, we dance around the house, me riding on top of her shoes. Not today, she says, not today. When rounding the foot of the bed, the wheel of my tricycle catches on the tip of the bedspread lying on the floor. Before I know it, Im flat on my back, sobbing as if my heart will break.

Tossing aside The Irish Echo, she leans over, grabs the straps on my overalls, and pulls me up onto the bed with her.

Come, come, dont cry. Youre all right, she says, kissing me on the forehead, running her hand through my hair. I know what to do, lets brush your hair. Saying that, she hands me her silver mirrorwhat a pretty girl!the one with a bird that has the longest tail Ive ever seen. Pointing to it, I ask whats this?

Its a peacock, she says, can you say peacock? Say, pea-cock.

Before I can say a word, the silver mirror with the peacock slips out of my hand and onto the floor. I climb down to pick it up, and when I climb back up again shes gone. Is she playing hide-and-seek? I look under the spread, shes not there. I look under the bed, shes not there. Then the radio forgets how to play the songs it once knew, and the sun forgets to take naps on Mommys bed. Everythings topsy-turvy. Mommys gone, and shes taken away all the music. Nothings the way it was yesterday.

THE DOORBELL rings and rings. The apartment fills with tears and sighs, with people coming and going for days on end. My aunts sit around in the living room, crossing and uncrossing their legs, not sure what to do with their hands, while my uncles are out in the kitchen smoking cigarettes and pipes and drinking the suds. No ones laughing, no ones telling stories, no ones dancingnot the way they do when Mommys here.

When the doorbell rings, I run to answer, but its not my mother, its only my grandmother. Someone moves over to make room for her to sit on the couch. The door to Mommys bedroom is half-open, so I walk to the window to see if shes on the fire escape, but shes not. Opening the closet, I pick up her dancing shoes, the ones she calls her Ritas with the skinny straps that wrap around her ankles. Wherever she is, shes not dancing tonightnot without her dancing shoes.

In the kitchen, the air is thick and grey with smoke, but when I squint I see her standing in front of the refrigerator, her arms open wide. I run to her, but she disappears, and all I have left is an armful of smoke. Somethings wrongthe wooden clock on the wall no longer says tick-tock-tick-tock. And the little boy and girl who came out to play have gone away.

Not knowing what to do with myself, Im sitting on the floor sucking my thumb when Mommys dancing broom falls over, hitting me on the head. I pick it up, put it next to me on the floorhoping she will come looking for it, hoping she will come looking for me.

When I go to bed, a dark grey shadow is moving up and down, round and round, on the bedroom windowits looking for the lock, looking for a way to get in. I scream and crawl out of bed, dragging my comforter into the closet where I sit hugging Mommys dancing shoes. My father comes in and puts me back to bed. No ones there, he says, its only a dream. Pulling the covers over my head, I tell myself its only a dream, only a dream. But it feels so real. The following night the shadow returns, and once again I scream. Lickety-split, my father throws open the window and leans out, looking first one way and then the other, leaving his snowy fingerprints on the windowsill.

Go back to sleep, go back to sleep.

Before he can lock the window, the month of November comes rushing indropping chunks of cold moonlight on the bed, on the floor, and on me. When Daddy pulls up my covers, I can smell the tobacco on his hands and hear the cellophane on his Chesterfields making crinkly noises. Sucking my thumb for the longest time, I cant fall asleep. When will Mommy come home? is she lost? are the little boy and girl who lived in the clock lost? will I ever see them again?

I dont understand this. Shes never left me alone before, not even when she goes to the mailbox. Were friends, the two of us going everywhere together. All day long, Im listening for her footsteps in the hallway, listening for the key in the lock. No one calls my name, no one comes to play. The place is a messthe walls are scared to death, the tiles on the bathroom floor are wet and dirty, and even the kitchen linoleum has lost its shine. Everybodys talking at me, but I dont hear a word. When will the rain stop? when will the sun come out? whats happening? No one tells me a thing.