from Mother of Mine

The young girl stepped wearily onto the number two train after the doors opened. Holding her mother’s hand, she wondered why she was making her stay the night at the one place she heavily dreaded. 

“Next stop, Winthrop Avenue”.

“Only one stop away from where we started”, she thought to herself. It wasn’t too late for her and her mother to get off and head back to Church Avenue. But she knew she couldn’t ask. She had to accept her fate. Her mother already agreed to do this and how would it look to cancel at the last minute?

“Next stop, Newkirk Avenue.”

The young girl sighed to herself, knowing that the destination was upon her. She squeezed her mother’s hand a little harder, hoping her touch would trigger some motherly instinct and change her mind. No luck. 

“This is Newkirk Avenue.”

The two of them stepped off the train and headed towards the stairs. As they exited the station, the young girl could feel tears welling up in her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. Instead, she continued walking along her mother towards the tall brick buildings where she would dwell for the next twenty-four hours. They walked through the courtyard filled with concrete and dead grass. They approached the front doors to the first building on the right and her mother reached her hand to ring one of the buzzers.

4C.

Bzzzzzzz.

They walked into the building and the foul, but familiar smell hit the young girl instantly. It was a mixture of old urine with a hint of smokiness. She started heading towards the elevator when her mother lightly tugged her towards the stairs. This happened every time. They were instructed to never use the elevators and the young girl couldn’t understand why. It seemed like a waste of time and energy to walk up four flights of stairs when there was a quicker option right in front of them. But the young girl complied.

With each step they took, the young girl felt herself wheezing for air. She wasn’t used to this amount of stairs where she was from. She lived on the first floor back home in Boston. But every time she came to New York, she found herself always having to climb and climb and climb. It seemed like the most long and ominous journey, especially since she was already dreading the destination. 

The young girl took one last deep breath as her and her mother finally landed at the top step of the fourth floor. They made it in one piece, although the young girl’s heart didn’t feel like it was still in one piece. As her mother let go of her hand to knock on the door, the young girl looked to her left to the painting that hung in the hallway. It was a beautiful picture of a brownskin woman with long black braids. She held a gorgeous black baby girl with a curly afro in her arms. The two of them posing toward the artist in front of a white background. The young girl had seen this painting what seemed a million times.

“Who is that, Mummy?”

“Oh, that’s always been there. I think I heard that was some woman who used to live here with her daughter passed away.”

As beautiful as the painting was, hearing this backstory deeply disturbed the young girl. She would think of what her mother told her about this woman and her child each time she came here and would feel a wave of sadness as her eyes met with the woman in the painting.

The young girl looked towards the door her and her mother standing in front of as she started to hear footsteps approaching. It was time. The suspense started building up in the young girl’s chest. The footsteps grew louder and louder as the person on the other side reached the door.

She held her breath as she listened to the locks on the other side become undone. This too felt long and ominous. Four flights of stairs met with three different bolt locks. 

Click…

Click…

Click…

The young girl finally exhaled as the door slowly opened. A petite woman appeared in front of them, her head slowly peaking from behind the door. She had short light brown hair done perfectly into an array of neat three-stranded twists. Her eyes appeared to be a dull grey-blue color. They had gotten lighter from brown over the years. In the past, she insisted to the young girl that she was born that way, but the wrong girl knew the truth. They were cataracts.

“Hi. Take off ya shoes.”

The young girl and her mother stepped in and did as they were told. Although they didn’t really need to be reminded. This was routine. They both knew there would be hell to pay if they skipped this part. They both slid off their shoes and left them on top of the plastic covering the woman had placed in front of the door to avoid dirt getting on her floors. The plastic covering spanned from the front door all the way to the living room.

“Go wash ya hands.”

The young girl and her mother scurried to the back of the apartment towards the bathroom and washed their hands with the pink bird-shaped soap the woman kept by the sink. The bathroom was filled with what seemed like every animal-shaped soaps, all different colors and opacities. One of the many things the woman collected in her home that seemed of no purpose to the young girl.

As her mother and the woman chit-chatted in the dining room, the young girl plopped herself down on the plastic-covered couch filled with a bunch of small pillows and dozens of stuffed animals. As soon as the young girl’s body started squeaking against the plastic, the woman swiftly turned her head and snapped at her.

“Go sit over dere”, she said as she pointed to the maroon recliner chair on the opposite side of the living room. 

The young girl grabbed her backpack and moved herself to the recliner like she was told. The wall to the right of her was decorated with dozens of square mirrors hung diagonally, creating a honeycomb pattern. Underneath was one of those large old television sets that sat inside a wooden box.  This was now used as a stand to hold different picture frames, though. There was a large photograph of the woman wearing a white lace dress and sporting a huge afro. The young girl always assumed it was her wedding portrait. But the woman confessed to her that it was indeed someone else’s wedding.

“But you’re not supposed to wear white at someone else’s wedding.”

“I know, but I didn’t like the bride.”

“So you wore a white lace dress to her wedding and then had the photographer take a portrait of you?”

“Yeah, so.”

Petty, petty…

The real television stood in front of the recliner on a black shelf along with a silver DVD player and cable box. In front of the television on the floor was a ceramic dog. 

It wasn’t long before the young girl’s mother said her good-byes and headed out the door. The young girl watched as the woman rushed to the door and turned each lock and bolt, making sure the door behind them was secure.

“Did you wash ya hands?” she asked as she started walking back to the living room.

“Yes, grandma. You saw me do it already when I came in,”, the young girl replied, now looking up at the woman as she stood over her, her eyes looking down on her with doubt and suspicion.

“I didn’t hear the water running. Go wash ya hands again.”

“Grandma! I alrea-”

“Altia! Go wash ya hands again!”

The young girl obliged, stomping her feet obnoxiously on her way back to the bathroom, letting the woman know that even though she was doing as she said, she wasn’t pleased about it. To no surprise, the woman followed behind the young girl and watched her from the bathroom door.

“Get unda the nails. Use more soap.”

The young girl rolled her eyes and continued washing her hands for what felt like hours.

“Grandma, can I be done now?”

The woman squinted her eyes at the young girl before finally relaxing her face and giving a small smirk.

“Fine. Change ya clothes. I don't want the germs from the train on my couch.”

Despite the fact that the young girl was being picked up the following evening, she knew that her grandmother’s antics would make it feel like an entire week. 

---

“You gonna sleep all day?”

The young girl shot up at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. As she opened her eyes, she saw her grandmother standing next to the bed she was peacefully sleeping on. 

“Huh?”

“You’ve been sleeping all day. Breakfast is on di table.”

When her grandmother walked out the room, the young girl looked over at the small alarm clock on the nightstand beside her.

7:06 AM.

She rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh as she climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. There was no use in arguing that it was still early or trying to negotiate more sleep. It was a lost cause. Always.

After breakfast, the young girl and her grandmother headed out the door. Her grandmother had a dentist appointment in Downtown Brooklyn, and they were already running behind because the young girl dared to sleep past six in the morning. After closing the door behind them, the young girl started walking towards the stairs.

“Wait,” her grandmother said as she twisted the door knob a few times.

“Grandma, it’s locked!”

“How you know?” her grandmother said as she continued fidgeting with the doorknob. When she realized the door was in fact locked, the two of them started heading down the stairs.

“Why can’t we ever take the elevator, Grandma?”

“Because it’s dirty.”

When they reached the large iron door that would let them out of the building, the young girl reached for the handle. But her grandmother slapped her hand away before she could touch it.

“Don’t touch that! That has germs!”

She reached in her purse and pulled out a small packet of napkins and pulled one out. With the napkin placed carefully around her fingers, her grandmother reached for the handle and pushed the door open.

“Never touch these doors with ya bare hands!”

“Why does my mother keep bringing me here?”, the young girl thought to herself as she followed her grandmother out the building. 

The two of them walked towards the train station at the end of the block. The young girl started heading toward the stairs down the station when she was quickly yanked away.

“Where ya going?”

“The train? I thought you said we were going downtown.”

“Not on the train! That’s dirty! We are taking the bus. Come!”

“But that’s gonna take forever!” the young girl whined as her grandmother dragged her in the direction of the bus stop across the street.

When the bus finally pulled up, the young girl watched as her grandmother once again reached into her purse for her napkins, this time pulling out two pieces-one for her and one for the young girl.

Don’t touch the poles. Hold on with dis.”

Hours later, the young girl and her grandmother would return to her apartment building. As her grandmother opened the heavy door in front of the building, the young girl thought she’d try her luck.

“Grandma, my legs hurt! Can we please take the elevator? PLEASE?”

“Why ya wanna go in dere?”

“BECAUSE that’s what elevators are for!”

“Stop being lazy and climb the stairs!”

“But grandma-”

“Listen! Ya know the homeless people come in here and piss all over the elevator floors? It’s dirty in dere!”

“Let’s just check if it’s clean before we go all the way up then.”

“No! What if the door gets trapped and we stuck in dere and then we can’t breathe and we pass out without oxygen?”

The young girl gave up. Her grandmother had a scenario for everything. Most likely, the worst case. And least likely to actually occur.

Soon, the young girl would be picked up by her mother. As they left, she could hear her grandmother messing with the all the locks behind the door, ensuring that the door was in fact locked.

As the young girl and her mother walked onto the sidewalk outside the building, she looked up to her grandmother’s bedroom window up on the fourth floor. She always waved from the window. The young girl waved back before turning around and continuing to walk with her mother. Strangely, she was kind of sad to go. As annoying as her grandmother could be, she was also amusing. The young girl knew her grandmother loved her, but she also thought she was batshit crazy.

Twenty Years Later…

The young woman closed her laptop and sat in silence. She had just finished a follow-up appointment with a psychiatrist, hoping to get a prescription for edibles to help with her anxiety. Because that’s all she thought she was supposed to have-anxiety.

“After reviewing your self-assessment, I strongly believe you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD.”

But that couldn’t be right. The young woman has seen OCD in television and movies. She was nothing like that. Those people were extreme.

She pulled out her phone and started searching for common symptoms of OCD, hoping for proof that the psychiatrist was wrong about her.

• Fear of being contaminated by touching objects others have touched.

• Doubts that you've locked the door or turned off the stove.

• Intense stress when objects aren't orderly or facing a certain way.

• Might people high in OCD symptoms experience higher levels of revenge?

“This doesn’t even sound like me. This sounds more like my grandmother if anything”, the young woman thought to herself. And she was nothing like her. Impossible. She decided she would bring her concerns of her obvious misdiagnosis to her psychiatrist during their next appointment. Surely, there was a huge mistake.

Later that day, the young woman hopped in the shower so she could head out to the nursing home where her grandmother was staying. It was times like this when she missed driving the most. When she lived in Georgia for two years, she had her own car and could easily get to wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. But now that she was back in New York to help look after her grandmother, she was back to taking public transportation everywhere again. This wouldn’t be too bad, except it took her almost two hours sometimes to get to her grandmother’s nursing home all the way in Sheepshead Bay because the B44 bus was trash. As the water ran over her body, she began reminiscing about the convenience of driving instead of waiting for the train and bus to get her to the middle of nowhere. But it wasn’t long before she started to remember the stresses that came along with having a car. The extra bills, like gas, insurance, fixing whatever went wrong that week. And it seemed like something went wrong EVERY week. But what she was most of all grateful for in that moment was no longer subjecting herself to the confines of the car wash.

When she first moved to Georgia, she opted to wash her car by hand. It took her months before she finally gained the courage to take herself to a car wash. It wasn’t always that way, but she had developed a fear of confined spaces within the last few years. She had somehow convinced herself that a car wash would be her demise. She feared getting stuck inside, and somehow all the oxygen would run out. She pictured herself gasping for air while the car windows became concealed with soap suds, making it impossible for anyone to see her inside. At that point, she would give up and most certainly die. This was just one of her many paranoid scenarios for everything. Mostly likely, the worst case. And least likely to actually occur.

She meticulously washed her body, reaching towards her array of different soaps, each for a varying part of her body. Before leaving the bathroom, she found herself turning the water back on.

“I don’t remember if I washed everything. Let me try again.” The young woman aggressively scrubbed her body, making sure to return to any spots she believed she missed. When she was satisfied, she hopped out, put her bathrobe on and walked to her bedroom, but not before grabbing the roll of toilet paper and bringing it to her room. She was fed up with being the only one of her roommates to supply toilet paper when it ran out. She had once come home from a weekend away to a stack of paper towels sitting on top of the toilet because her roommate couldn’t be bothered to buy more toilet paper. From that point, she decided she would buy her own toilet paper and keep it in her room.

Petty, petty…

 After closing the door behind her, she reached for her deodorant and put some on. She used shea butter oil all over her body and was going to reach for her clothes before she stopped herself.

“Wait, what if I missed a spot?”, she thought to herself as she once again reached for her deodorant and applied it while looking in the mirror, making sure it was applied evenly under each armpit and not missing anything. As she continued to get ready, she couldn’t help but think about what her grandmother was like when she was still healthy. Her mind always went to that photograph of her grandmother in that white lace dress. As beautiful as the photograph was, knowing soon it would be all she had left of her deeply disturbed the young woman.

When she finished getting dressed, she grabbed her house keys and put them in her purse. This was always the first thing she did before leaving the house for fear that she may one day lock herself out. She waited until she reached the front door of her apartment before putting on her shoes.

“Wait, did I grab my keys?”

She frantically looked through her purse in a panicked manner, only settling down when she felt her keys resting at the bottom. She left out a relieved sigh and walked out the door. Before heading down the stairs, she fidgeted with the door knob to make sure it was locked.

Twist…

Twist…

Twist…

Aside from being locked out, she also feared leaving the door open and coming home to her place being robbed. The door was locked and she headed down the stairs.

When she walked outside and headed towards the train station, she couldn’t help but feel like she forgot something. She checked her purse after turning the corner of her street.

“Okay. Keys, wallet, lip gloss, everything is there.”

She kept walking further from her apartment, but couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling. After walking for about eight minutes, she reached the train station. But she stopped herself before going inside.

“Shit! What if the door isn’t completely locked?”

The young woman turned around and headed back to her apartment to check.