Broken Wings (Broken Wings 1)

She stared at me, looking like the things I was saying were finally taking hold.

“We can’t go off, Phoebe. I gotta wait here for Sammy. We’re goin‘ to California. His cousin owns a beauty parlor in Encino and there’ll be a job for me. I always used to talk about goin’ to California,” she said, smiling. Then she stopped. “He shouldn’t have left me here so long.” She leaned toward me. “Those people, that doctor, they ain’t nice at all. They want to keep you here because they get more money that way from the state.” She smiled and nodded. “They don’t think I know about such things, but I do.”

“You can get out of here, Mama. You can get out of here and be with me. We’ll go to California. I promi

se,” I said. “I’ll just get some part-time work and raise the money for our trip. I can do that.”

“Can you go out and come back here?” she asked.

“Yes, certainly. I’ll find some place to stay and I’ll find some work.”

“Well, go on and buy some cigarettes and come back,” she said, and waved her hand as if I was dismissed.

“Mama, why are you talking about cigarettes? I’m talking about starting a life together, a whole new life.”

“I started a new life,” she said. She rocked herself again. “I don’t know where my clothes are or anything.” She stopped and looked at me. “You know what I’ve been thinking, Phoebe? I’ve been thinking your daddy did this. Somehow, he did this, got me in here. Well, you go home and you tell him it’s not going to work. I’m not going back there, you hear me, girl? That’s my message and make sure he understands it’s firm and final.”

I stood there staring at her, watching her rock herself, start to say something, stop, and then rock on.

“Mama,” I said softly. I reached out and touched her shoulder. She didn’t turn to me. She kept staring ahead.

Whatever it was that you had to reach back into to find yourself was still quite buried under confusion in her, I thought. I had been too optimistic, even arrogant, to think that I merely had to appear and all sorts of good thoughts and dreams would be revived, the mother in her would come rising to the surface like some corpse dead and under water for too long. The sunshine would resurrect it. The new hope would renew all that naturally binds a mother to her child and a child to her mother. Memories of the umbilical cord would be vivid and startle her and she and I would walk out of here like mother and daughter should.

When do you stop believing in fairy tales? I wondered. Or is it that you never stop? Even on the day you die, you think about doorways to paradise, to places without pain and sorrow where the only shadows that hover alongside you are the ones that want to dance with you.

Well, you don’t dance, Phoebe, I told myself. You walk out of here alone.

I lowered my head.

Doctor Young appeared in the doorway and opened it a bit more. I shook my head at her, and she beckoned me to come out.

“I’m going now, Mama.”

She didn’t turn to me. I drew closer and I kissed her on the cheek. She felt my tears, tears that moved to her skin, and she brought her hand to it.

“Am I crying?” she asked me.

“No, Mama, I am,” I said.

She nodded.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” she said.

“Me neither, Mama. It never does anymore. Goodbye,” I said, and walked out.

“You shouldn’t be discouraged,” Doctor Young said. “We’ve only just begun to work with her. Give it time.”

I smiled at her. Another one who believes in fairy tales, I thought.

“Where are you going now, Phoebe?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted.

“Come to my office and rest awhile. We’ll talk some more about your mother’s condition and maybe I can help you understand,” she suggested. “Are you hungry?”

I hadn’t realized it, but I was now that she mentioned it.

“Yes, I am.”