Blue Mountains

I closed my eyes and prayed that this wasn’t true, that my eyes were deceiving me, that I wasn’t going to fail my last year of Uni. I dared to peek through my eyelashes at the stick in my right hand, and felt a tear slide down my cheek as I realised what I’d done. I’d just jeopardised my whole career, my whole livelihood, my whole reason for being here. My time at Uni was wasted, I’d blown it at the last minute, and now I wouldn’t be the golden child anymore. My older brother Michael the boring accountant would be the apple of my mother’s eye, and I would just be the screw up that had been crossed off of the family tree. I felt my feet starting to tingle, and lifted myself off of the bathroom floor. As I pushed the door open, I heard laughing coming from the lounge. I stuck the stick in my pocket, and headed for my room, keeping out of the way. I flopped on my bed, dumping the stick in the drawer of my bedside cabinet. Grabbing my pillow, I curled up into the foetal position, and cried my heart out. Ironic really, for me to be lying in the foetal position, and as I placed a hand tentatively on my flat as a pancake stomach, I prayed that my mother wouldn’t be too angry.

Three months later, and I hadn’t been home for a visit in a long while. I didn’t dare go home, in case my mother found out I’d been keeping a secret from her. She’d been impressed that I’d found my own apartment though, and got a job on top of all my Uni work. I was determined not to fail my degree, and with only a couple of months left before graduation, I was sure I could do it. Standing at the window looking out onto the rolling hills before me, I felt a faint breeze dancing through my hair, and floating around my loose cotton dress. My bare toes were cool, and felt nice against the soft carpeted floor. I turned on the CD player, blasted out my favourite tunes, and danced around the room, just letting go. And then there was a knock on the door, and I stopped dead in my tracks, turned off the music and rushed to answer it. I knew who it was before even opening it, and thanked God that I’d worn a loose fitting dress that day. My mother breezed in with the air of a celebrity, and sat down on my couch. Her immaculately polished nails, and perfectly styled hair made me sick. She wasn’t my mother, she couldn’t be. Me, the child who always managed to loose hair grips, and buttons from cardigans. The one who came home most sandy after playing at the park. But, she was my mother, our red wavy hair, soft bone structure and pale complexion, reminding me that we were related after all. I sat down opposite her, feeling quite awkward, and hoping that my dress wasn’t bunching up around my waist. She sat there, taking me in, my summer freckles that had come back with a passion, my untidy mop of hair, my bare feet and light cotton frock. Then she smiled, and opened her bag. Taking out her nail file she started to talk, while doing her nails naturally. “Sweetie,” she began, “I know you love it here, at Uni, being independent and things, but we miss you at home. You haven’t been back for two months, and your father wants to see you.” “I know ma, I just have a lot of work to do, I need to pass my course.” “And we know that honey, don’t get me wrong we know that. It’s just, you need to take care of yourself too you know. Have you been getting much exercise lately?” I stared at her, taken aback by her words, and glanced at my stomach. It wasn’t flat as a pancake anymore. I sighed, and got up. Walking around the room I decided I couldn’t not tell her, after all she’d only find out later, which would hurt her even more. I sat next to her, and took her hand, dumping her file into the bin. “Mum, I wanted to tell you something. It’s why I haven’t been visiting lately. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I wanted you to hear this from me.” She looked me in the eye, nodding her head. “I’m pregnant.” She shot up, wearing her fierce face. She glared at me for what seemed like hours, then grabbed her things and stormed to the front door. I ran after her, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. At the door she turned, “You’re not my daughter.” she yelled, and slammed it behind her, driving away as fast as she could. And from that day forward I resolved never to have anything to do with my mother, and to be the best mother to my baby that I could.

As my last day of Uni came to a close, I thought of all the things I would miss, and all of the things I had to look forward to. My baby was due in a couple of weeks, I’d passed my course, and could become anything I wanted. I walked down the steps to the river, past a young couple who looked so in love. I looked away, my heart burning from loneliness, but I’d pushed him away. We were so young, and he’d needed to be free, from me. I sat down on a bench overlooking the river and placed a hand on my swollen belly. I’d felt an instant connection with her, from the day I knew she was a little girl, I’d known I would do anything to protect her, even if it meant not telling her father. She was my daughter, and I couldn’t do to her what my mother had done to me. Not that daddy hadn’t been great, he’d just been distant, and hard to talk to. My parents weren’t exactly the best role models, so I hadn’t modelled myself on them, I’d modelled myself on me. And that’s how I wanted my daughter to grow up. Not with two parents who fight all the time, not being passed from house to house, but being herself, being happy, being with me. So I’d decided to keep her, to make sure I could be the best mother I could be, and give my little girl everything she could ever want or need in life. After all, she was my baby, and I wasn’t going to give her up without a fight.