I was at work yesterday when I got a call on my mobile phone. My mothers ringer is Darth Vader's march. The pit of my stomach ached. Why is she calling me?
"Hello?"
"Hi, Dom!"
Hi Dom? Am I dreaming again? Is this my mother? I was audibly shaken, surprised, awed at what I perceived as audacity. My mother in her loyalty severed ties from me. It was her belief that hearing my voice, knowing that I was out here “hurting” myself and allowing others to hurt me was too much to bear. Out of sight, out of mind, free of immediate pain, I imagine.
“Why are you calling me mother?”
“I wanted to hear your voice. Don’t you want to hear mine?”
“Everyday mother. Each moment of each day without you, I want to hear from you. I am however attempting to respect your wishes.”
“Perhaps though, we should speak once a month or so, just to catch up. I’m just trying hard to grow up Dominick. It is so easy for me to be dependant on you. After all, you are Dominick, you solve problems. You’ve raised me to this point and I’m just trying to grow up.”
We talked about my dreams, my one bout of depression since I left. We talked about the letter that I had begun. We discussed the ins and outs, the byways and shoulders of the roads we have traveled during the last few months.
Is this a game, or an attempt at staying connected? I don’t know. What do you think?