Strawberries and Cream

I was cursed with a very long memory. Some things I remember vividly, and some in flashes with blurred edges. I was raised by a child. Or more so the remnants of a child left forgotten while parents and older siblings flew high over project buildings. I knew the way of the world way before my time and yet, there I stayed, feet still too small to carry me through to where my mind was. I was told that once I got older, I’d understand. But who could ever understand such things?

The memories come in fragments, horrible flashes at the most inconvenient times. I was five when my mother took the meaning of the word “playing” from me. Her use of that word changed the trajectory of my life forever, and I never seemed to get that word back. These memories have kept that word and my mind hostage. Me, my mother, her boyfriend, and my little sister shared one big room in my aunt's house at the time, so there was no limit to what my baby eyes would see, but there was a limit on what I could understand. That was the gap they tried to fill, they wanted me to understand, to join in, to “play.”

As she went over the rules of the game and the objective, my child's mind shattered. Amid all the broken pieces lay the picture of my mother, forever distorted. I knew for sure that I didn’t want to play these games. But my feet were too small to carry me anywhere else, so there I stayed.

The word “play” remained forever tangled and locked away in that memory. If someone at school and then later at work would innocently invite me to join in on a game, I would be 5 years old again, sitting there in that room. Play wasn’t the only thing I lost in the fire. So many of my favorite things went up in smoke, never to be acceptable in my mind again.

It wasn’t until last year that I was finally able to buy a bottle of my favorite shampoo. My daughter Eliza and I took in the fragrance of each shampoo bottle in the hair care aisle and her squeal of enjoyment made my heart smile and brought me down to her level. She had found it, Strawberries and Cream. As I gave her a bath that night and washed her hair, my eyes filled with tears.

My mother washed my hair once. It was late at night, my older brother and sister were out for the night and in my room, the tv was watching my little sister sleep, so I was left alone to act my age. I used up almost all the V05 shampoo to make a mountain of bubbles for my bath. My mother’s bedroom door creaked open, and my little head peeked up out of the bubbles. I thought I was caught but she just smiled. She asked if I wanted help washing my hair.

My sister was the one to always wash my hair. My stepmother would get her turn on my weekend visits with my father. My mother lived at work and slept on her commute, she was hardly ever home. Spending that time with her was a treasure I didn’t know I was looking for. As she gently scrubbed my scalp we laughed about how delicious it smelled.

Every cup of warm water poured over my head filled my heart and showed me I was loved. She conditioned my hair with all the time in the world, softly and patiently untangling each knot until my curls hung unfettered down my back. I was powdered and lathered with lotion, and she helped me step into a pair of new black and white cow pajamas. I mooed and we burst into a fit of giggles again. She led me towards her bedroom door and my smile fell, I heard the bell in my ears. She said,

“Go play,” and she closed the door behind me and left me with him.

The smell of Strawberries and Cream mixed with his was a stain on my soul, twisting my insides until all I could do was stand outside of myself. Weeks would go by before I’d wash my hair, and almost never at my mother’s house. Of course, by then my hair would be completely unmanageable and my stepmother would have to step in. She would pull at my curls and spew hate all over me as I stood naked, cold, and shivering in the shower. Her words would only echo what I knew in my heart.

My memory was no match for Eliza’s excitement over the shampoo. Buying it was easier than the explanation. I washed my baby’s hair and she giggled in the bubbles of the bath and said it smelled so good she wanted to eat it. She lay back in the tub as I poured the warm water over her head and she smiled up at me. I saw myself reflected in her eyes and felt the warmth of the water fill her soul, then cleanse mine. I softly and patiently combed each knot out of her hair as the sweet smell of Strawberries and Cream filled the bathroom. I took her out of the bath and wrapped her in her favorite robe, lotioned her up, and helped her into her favorite pajamas. I tucked her safely into bed and we read her favorite books and listened to her lullaby playlist until we both fell asleep, happy, loved, and cared for.

My curse is not yet broken, but the cycle ends with me.