At Last We Meet

Due to my premature entrance into the world, I was on lock down in this cold glass dome . They had tubes running from the inside of my nose, from my throat, all over my chest and one that was actually insidecmy foot with a very sharp painful object at the end. There were lots of strangers in and out they would touch me quickly with little affection , and never with their skin. Gloves covered every hand that touched my skin. Masks hid every smile or sneer. Gowns covered their clothing styles.

There were the same three faces often. A short tiny woman with long dark hair and dark eyes. A man with dark hair and scared eyes. And an older large woman whose eyes made lots of water. Tears. Yes lots of tears flowed from that woman, who I later found put was my grandmother. Th3 man with the eyes filled with fear, that was my dad. He was young , like my mother, the tiny woman with long dark hair. He was the firat human touch me with their skin. In fact, when he picked me up and laid me against his bare chest, skin on skin, I felt like we were a part of one another. And we were . He was my dad. I remember him saying Hi little man I'm your daddy. You gave us a scare. But he held me and I felt wanted for the firat time. But h4 had this uncertainty in his voice . Like he wasnt really sure if anything was or would ever be ok. Th4 big soft lady held me. Her eyes still leaked a lot but she told me I was a miracle and her angel. I dont know what that meant but it seemed to calm me. She would sing me this song, Way out here they have a name, for rain and wind and fire. Th3 rain is T3ss, The fire is Joe and they call the wind Mariah. Mariah. They call the wind Mariah. Before I knew Mariahs name and heard her wail and whining, I had a boy and he had me and the sun was always shining. Mariah". And so she went on. The song was nice, her voice was low and raspy and out of tune. But I later decided I liked her out of tune songs. They were comforting.

So my Dad would come read books. My grandmom would sing to me. My mom, she was always angry. My Dad I quickly learned made her angry. I dont know what h3 did or said but whatever it was, it always made her angry.And that anger wouldnt fester long before the yelling would begin. Then she would pick me up quickly with fingers gripping me much tighter then usual.The louderbshe would yell, the more abrupt the movements became. Then when she put me down , it was the same. Fast movements abupt and sometimes painful. But that was my mommy. She disnt mean to hurt me. Right?

At the age of 3 months I was ready to leave the hospital and ho home. That was when I really met my mom for the first time . The real mommy. Not the one most of the wo told kn ew. The quiet smart sht little girl. No that wasnt the real mommy. Y mommy had dark eyes. Cold hard hands and a frozen heart. See my mommy was a killer. An little did I know that soon it was my life she would try to take. . Again and again. But again, I'm getting ahead of myself.