I was feeling dark and have watched WAY too much Law & Order.
Here's the result:
Mother bent over the oven door relishing the heat against her face, embracing the slight singe. The savory odors of pot roast assaulted her senses, confirming another dinner well done. With a clack of pearls, she lifted her offering from the hellish depths and swiftly turned on her heel. The familiar click of her well-heeled stride functioned as well as any dinner bell. The clatter of pencils and slapping of notebooks confirmed that the children were dutifully putting aside their homework. Glancing at the clock as she tidied the already impeccable counter, she knew Father would strut in any moment, carrying with him the bustle of the office and slight cologne of winter.
As if cued by a master director, the door swung open, sending a cooling breeze throughout the cookie-cutter household. With a shiver, Mother patted her hair and removed her apron. Greeting her husband with a slight lift of the forehead to receive a chaste kiss, she relieved him of his burdensome parcels. After stowing his briefcase in its honorary location, she followed to the table and primly sat: spine straight, shoulders back, as her mother had instructed since infancy. She daintily inclined her head for the monotone, meaningless blessing before quickly snapping back into place.
It was as if the merest softening or shift created a great anxiety, sending her heart fluttering; the canary in the mineshaft warning of danger. However once the meal commenced, lulled by soft crunching and the clattering of silverware, Mother managed to relax. Another goal accomplished without a hitch. Everything was running smoothly and if things continued in such a fashion, it would all be neatly wrapped up shortly.
The children enjoyed their supper, commenting on the particular flavor only Mother could achieve. Conversation shifted to the familiar topic of school and it was once again safe to retreat to her inner sanctum. She had become a master at being physically present and yet far, far away.
Mother drifted back to her own childhood dinner table. It inhabited a decadent dining room, delicately staged to present the perfect impression on visiting guests and banker friends. Each night her parents sat at opposite ends of the table, contemplatively consuming various delicacies. Silence reigned throughout, the breadth of the table emphasized by the worshipful, loving gazes her mother sent in her father’s direction. These were accepted with sheer entitlement, as his women were mere collectibles, articles which must shine brightly at all times. They were talismans of father’s success, weights and measures to compare with cronies and competition alike. This role was dutifully fulfilled. Each day she watched her mother gingerly apply the mask of make-up, carefully covering the bruises and welts of the previous night.
The merest falter would set him off - a stammer, a stumble, a glance. Anything out of place was a provocation against order, a rebellion which must be squashed with brutal efficiency. These violent reprimands were accepted with pure love and remorse. Vicious slaps and crashes were punctuated with imploring lamentations and declarations of devotion.
During such episodes, the childhood Mother would roll over in bed, crushing the pillow to her head in an attempt to fill her ears with feathers. All of dinner’s decadent offerings would enter into ferocious combat with sheer disgust. The light, fluffy down was no shield against the nearby storm. Through the years Mother’s confusion and frustration solidified into a hard, cold mass of disdain. The radical nature of her parent’s relationship became the representation of all things irrational and repellent, to be lumped together with the other foul tendencies of humanity. Strict years of training and practice had allowed Mother to eliminate such debilitating emotions, replacing them with sterile, numb rationality. Her inner ocean had been calmed, reduced to a mere puddle inhospitable to life.
All of life’s decisions had originated from this place. Cool calculation had brought Father into her life: the perfectly acceptable, mild man of her dreams. Instead of crashes and slams, nights were filled with silence and static. She felt nothing, a mere shell of a relationship, the zenith of her work for a perfect life. Or so she thought.
Her first glance into the ecstasy of pain came by accident. While replacing a button her normally nimble fingers wandered. A slight falter in precision created a sharp, electrifying shot of awareness. Glancing down in bewilderment and disbelief, she became hypnotized by the rich hue of crimson, a screaming reminder of all things passionate. A shiver ran down her spine and she let her eyes drift closed to more fully experience the throb.
Soon she couldn’t get enough. Her day became a search for accidents to momentarily lift the suffocating veil of indifference. Always graceful, she managed to bruise without the slightest indication of a blunder. No one noticed her careful ballet of collisions nor the slackening precision of her knife skills. Nicks and scrapes were left undiscovered territory, apathetic relationships facilitating unhampered continuation.
As her life of extremes bumped along, Mother began to worry for her children. If these were the only two options, violent love or stifling dispassion, what could the future possibly hold? Despite her general numbness, she had developed a certain fondness for them. If not out of motherly concern, than sheer pride demanded that they grow in the optimum manner. She became embroiled in an inner debate. She lost sleep and soon even enthusiasm for her life of physical mishaps. It seemed all her work had come down to this decision which would mold her legacy.
Tonight, however, all of this seemed far in the distance. She had long resolved that dispute and taken swift and sure action. She could finally be at peace, sleeping much easier for the past few weeks. As she slowly returned consciousness to her surroundings, her brow was wrinkle free and soul vacant of worry. If she allowed herself, she surely would be filled with a feeling of contentment, maybe even joy.
She swallowed her last bite and glanced around at her dear family. Both the children were slumped over, eyes glazed and unfocused. Father, always of weaker constitution, seemed to have vacated his chair, though a quick glance placed him under the table. As she too started to drift, she was allowed the first genuine smile in years. Like all of her accomplishments, this too had gone undetected, smoothly coming into fruition. And now all of her struggles were complete.
