Read Online The Sunday List of Dreams by Kris Radish - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kris Radish
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she can feel the plane start to lower its belly towards earth. Why is #7 from the list so important? Will it make everything else easier, the dreams closer, the numbers in my pocket sing louder? What is it that makes mothers go wild like this? Why do they freak out if their kids, who they have hopefully raised to be productive citizens of the universe, change course a bit?
And that goddamn insane love of a mother for a child.
“Do you have children?” Connie asks her new friend.
“No. I have absolutely no desire to bring another human into the world. I would not be a good mother. It’s something I’ve always known. I can nurture hair and faces and run the show at work, but babies and this instinctual thing women are supposed to have, well, it passed right by me.”
“Good for you,” Connie tells her. “For knowing, I mean.”
“You make me want to cry,” Mattie says softly.
“Why?”
“Most people freak when you tell them you don’t want to be a mother. It’s like the third question at every frigging party. What do you do? Are you married? Do you have children? It’s how society defines us and it pisses me off. You are the first person who ever responded in a positive way when I said I didn’t want to be a mother—well, except for my own mother and about eight hundred men who just wanted to screw my brains out and didn’t want to have to worry about me wanting them to be a father.”
Nurse Nixon has a parade of bad mother stories in her head that kick off and start running. Bruised arms. Burned fingers. Empty tummies. Mothers on crack. Unwanted pregnancies. Little children who have been molested and tell you it’s okay if you want to touch their pee-pees. Even in Indiana, land of flowing cornfields, basketball heroes, home-baked bread and the Christian brigades, babies cry and suffer and lurch towards adult insanity because so many women become mothers without the credentials of the heart and soul.
“Nothing really prepares you anyway,” Connie tells Mattie. “You think, especially if you have been medically trained like I was, that you’ll jump right in and some magic thing will happen and you will know how to become their everything overnight. But it’s almost impossible to be ready. And then there they are, this thing, this person, this
face
resting below your left breast and two things happen.”
“Two things?”
“First of all, you are scared shitless,” Connie tells Mattie. “Even if you’ve had other babies and can bounce one on your leg while you write poetry and cook dinner and save the whales. Then, you look at them and see this wonderful pathway into the universe. This transforming tunnel that is like an electric charge that turns you into a raving maniac, a protective lioness, someone who could push over a car, rip off the face of a stranger, kick ass from one end of the world to another, to save your baby. You go mad. Mother mad.”
“That’s it then,” Mattie tells Connie, clapping her hands to congratulate herself. “
That’s
why you are going to New York.”
“Why?”
“You’re mad.”
“I suppose. I have to do this. I’ve missed Jessica. I so want to know who she is, why she is, what she is, everything about her.”
“Look, she’s still your baby. For crying out loud, my mother still makes me lasagna every year for my birthday and sends me towels, and asks if I’ve had a flu shot. If it snows in Milwaukee, where she lives, she calls to make sure I’m not driving.”
“I get all that.” Connie shakes her head. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m talking to you like this, but what the hell. Part of me, well, part of me is totally embarrassed that she didn’t tell me, embarrassed and maybe a little pissed off, and I feel a weight around my heart that needs to let go so
I
can let go. I’d also like to see if we can figure out how to forgive each other.”
Mattie reaches over to touch Connie on the arm as if to hold her back.
“You look pretty damn
And that goddamn insane love of a mother for a child.
“Do you have children?” Connie asks her new friend.
“No. I have absolutely no desire to bring another human into the world. I would not be a good mother. It’s something I’ve always known. I can nurture hair and faces and run the show at work, but babies and this instinctual thing women are supposed to have, well, it passed right by me.”
“Good for you,” Connie tells her. “For knowing, I mean.”
“You make me want to cry,” Mattie says softly.
“Why?”
“Most people freak when you tell them you don’t want to be a mother. It’s like the third question at every frigging party. What do you do? Are you married? Do you have children? It’s how society defines us and it pisses me off. You are the first person who ever responded in a positive way when I said I didn’t want to be a mother—well, except for my own mother and about eight hundred men who just wanted to screw my brains out and didn’t want to have to worry about me wanting them to be a father.”
Nurse Nixon has a parade of bad mother stories in her head that kick off and start running. Bruised arms. Burned fingers. Empty tummies. Mothers on crack. Unwanted pregnancies. Little children who have been molested and tell you it’s okay if you want to touch their pee-pees. Even in Indiana, land of flowing cornfields, basketball heroes, home-baked bread and the Christian brigades, babies cry and suffer and lurch towards adult insanity because so many women become mothers without the credentials of the heart and soul.
“Nothing really prepares you anyway,” Connie tells Mattie. “You think, especially if you have been medically trained like I was, that you’ll jump right in and some magic thing will happen and you will know how to become their everything overnight. But it’s almost impossible to be ready. And then there they are, this thing, this person, this
face
resting below your left breast and two things happen.”
“Two things?”
“First of all, you are scared shitless,” Connie tells Mattie. “Even if you’ve had other babies and can bounce one on your leg while you write poetry and cook dinner and save the whales. Then, you look at them and see this wonderful pathway into the universe. This transforming tunnel that is like an electric charge that turns you into a raving maniac, a protective lioness, someone who could push over a car, rip off the face of a stranger, kick ass from one end of the world to another, to save your baby. You go mad. Mother mad.”
“That’s it then,” Mattie tells Connie, clapping her hands to congratulate herself. “
That’s
why you are going to New York.”
“Why?”
“You’re mad.”
“I suppose. I have to do this. I’ve missed Jessica. I so want to know who she is, why she is, what she is, everything about her.”
“Look, she’s still your baby. For crying out loud, my mother still makes me lasagna every year for my birthday and sends me towels, and asks if I’ve had a flu shot. If it snows in Milwaukee, where she lives, she calls to make sure I’m not driving.”
“I get all that.” Connie shakes her head. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m talking to you like this, but what the hell. Part of me, well, part of me is totally embarrassed that she didn’t tell me, embarrassed and maybe a little pissed off, and I feel a weight around my heart that needs to let go so
I
can let go. I’d also like to see if we can figure out how to forgive each other.”
Mattie reaches over to touch Connie on the arm as if to hold her back.
“You look pretty damn
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