#VocalNPM

“So there’s that .”

she said as a statement.. matter-of-fact.

Omg, my eyes stared at the floor, fighting the urge to run out the door

because lying between us? In the middle of the floor?

Lay the menstrual pad from my whatever drawer.

My Mom had a way of making you pay

in the most humiliating of ways.

“Katy-Liz?” she’d say (firing up a cig)

“You are a disgusting pig.

Why do you promise us the moon

and always re-nig?

Clearly, you don’t even love us

while everything we do is

for you. I mean what about that expensive shampoo

I bought for you last week?

You think that was cheap?!”

Then staring at me dead in the eyes

she yells for my Dad.

“Tim!! You’ll never guess where I

found Katy’s menstrual pad!”

At that moment I thought to myself

shit

am I going to argue this time

or submit

because all I wanted to do was land a karate-kick

into those saggy tits of hers.

Instinctively my mind went to that place

that allowed me to hide behind my best poker-face.

So as my eyes glossed into my hundred-yard stare

I started to prepare for yet another round of emotional warfare.

In my family, the pit of humiliation

meant a permanent notation of your eternal damnation.

There is no salvation to be had, unless someone abated

the situation

and that someone being my Dad.

By definition, my Father was the most user friendly guy around.

Meaning he wasn’t well-rounded.

He was like a mOUnd of clay,

and at the end of the day

it simply depended on whatever cards he decided to play

in order to make his life easier and keep his wife at bay.

“Actions speak louder than words” Mom would always say.

So when my Dad showed up at this particular frey

in his hands was my Mom's ashtray

and a dead give-away that there’d be no leeway for me.

Because you see, my Mom could be a beast .

And that day? it was clear that

together they’d feast

on me.

I was told that the cause of this war, were the contents I chose to keep in my whatever drawer.

Which confused me to say the least because my therapist said it was a “necessary release” and

that giving me something of my “ very own” would “decrease her stress and allow her to find some inner-peace at home”.

My therapist was such a pussy.

He knew I lived in a combat zone but was trying to walk the fence

so that my Mom wouldn’t take offense

at his suggestion.

“What if she continues to do everything half-assed?” my Mother responded. To which I immediately became despondent because in contrast to her? The way she did things made me feel like

an amateur.

It didn’t matter how hard I tried

to get it right

because it was always taken as a personal slight

in her eyes.

“The drawer is not a reward but a right” my therapist explained,

“Everyone should have something that is just theirs regardless of the rules.

Katy needs to find some tools to navigate her life at home

and at school and the drawer will allow her a bit of control .

Which will help her start setting her very own goals.

Where we go from there and rest

is up to you and Tim to address.”

So I ended up getting the drawer.

Making me feel like I won the war because there were no conditions

attached or tallies to score

since it was my right to have it.

And furthermore, it calmed that nervous chatter in my brain

which was telling me to abstain from celebrating too soon.

And MAN I wish I’d been more in tuned..

Because the afternoon I walked into the hallway-of-doom

I had been at my best-friend Gina’s eleventh birthday party (whose family lived up the street).

Even though our Moms were tight

Gina’s mom Hattie had discreetly taken me in as one of their own.

I never really knew what family was like

till I entered their home.

Which was bittersweet because as

much as it made me feel

relaxed and complete, I had never felt so alone.

Especially today

because my cover had been blown

and I absolutely knew I had to pay.

And I was right as she took it away.

My statement pieces of betrayal, anger and humiliating shame.

The pieces that made me feel real, that were carefully stored

within the particle board

walls of my whatever drawer had quickly become fair

game and a literal feast

that my parents could gorge themselves on.