What My Mother Never Knew #23: The Other Side

There were many times when I crossed over. Where I crossed to, I'm still not sure but I can say that it was no place for a child. And certainly, despite all my posturing, and sexual antics, and perhaps higher than average intelligence, the truth was that I was still a child in most ways: self-centred, emotionally insecure and undeveloped - a wounded bird puffing up to appear bigger and more frightening that it really is. And secretly living in terror at the thought of its own smallness, at my own weakness. Perhaps this is what actually drove me to cross the line, to risk losing touch completely.

The first time that I recall drifting too far out to sea was in front of the little convenience store in a small small-town Ontario strip mall. Long summer days had us looking for ways to entertain ourselves and we had engaged in a game of mutual hyperventillation-asphyxiation. Crouching, one would hyperventillate and then be strangled in one way or another until passing out. As pre-teens, we thought this quite entertaining - the sensation of being able to trigger our own unconsciousness.

It was perhaps my 6th time that day - I'd really stopped counting by that point but the tell-tale headache had begun already so I know I'd done more than a few 'trips'. But this trip was different. When I came to, instead of recalling a meander through some musical dream world, I recalled nothing. And my chin and nose stung like they'd been polished with 100 grit sandpaper. My friends told me that I'd gone out for too long and that they couldn't wake me up. And rather than simply nodding off, I had fallen face-first into the pavement and convulsed on the ground, grinding into the cement. I'm sure they laughed at first, perhaps it looked as if I were making love to the sidewalk. But then they worried and tried to shake me out of it.

It took a few minutes longer than usual, but eventually I did wake up, dazed and embarrassed, trying to figure out where I'd gone. I don't believe we played that game again and though scared, I'm not sure whether the gravity of it actually did sink in at the time. Now, as an adult, I wish I could go back to that day and pluck myself from that situation, talk to that child for a while and maybe even say "I love you". I'm not sure if I would have been able to hear it though.

There were other times, actually too many to explore here, when I delved deeper than I meant to, when the experiment went awry. One memory feels sharper than the others though, as if it just happened.

It too was one of those meltingly hot summer days that leave one listless and vague. Or perhaps it was the bud that we'd been enjoying on the grass overlooking the tourist promenade near the harbour. People walked by, paid for goofy characatures of themselves, licked the drips of their sticky icecream cones, scolded their children and held hands. We were indifferent, more concerned that Tony was monopolizing the splif with his three-minute monster-lung tokes. But Sarah had just gotten paid and there was ample supply so we really didn't need to be worried. The sun beat down on us that day, sucking the life from me. Finally, I convinced my friend that we needed to go to the air-conditioned mall for reprieve and munchies.

So the two of us shook the grass from our jeans and went our own way, snaking through tourist-infested sidewalks and idyllic cobblestone marketplaces, artsy vendors, fighting for their share of people's expendible income. We found the mall and entered through one of the department store entrances (Sears or The Bay I think). My friend, always driven and extremely efficient in her stride, started to outpace me, and then I began to experience something strange. My vision slowly clouded, as if I were looking through dirty water or television static. It grew worse and worse. I called out for Sarah. "Sarah - WAIT!!". I heard the familiar impatience in her voice as she came back to the spot where I was now frozen.

"Come on! We've only got 40 minutes before the bus comes and I want to get some coffee and straighten out before I go home".

"Sarah, something's happening and I'm really getting freaked out..... I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!!!" I cried.

"Look, keep it down - everyone's looking at you. Are you sure you can't see anything?...Here, just take my arm and I'll walk you out. I've still got that bag on me and don't want anyone trying to help us." She gave me her arm.

God, I wanted help. My vision had gone completely - it was just black. I could hear everything but I felt like I was a million miles away. And I felt terror, like I was about to die, or slip away to another dimension. If I could just sit down for a minute.... But then we were moving again, me trusting the arm I now gripped like a baby's bottle, my only sense of security. I wanted to scream.

I soon felt the rubber escalator grip beneath my hand and clung to it for balance as we were lifted to the food court. With a cold drink in my hands and a seat near the corner, I began to regain my composure. The drink was gone in moments and my sight, gradually restored. I cried a bit. My head felt like a truck had rolled over it. My friend looked at me like I was crazy, like maybe she wasn't sure if I'd really lost my sight. I didn't have the energy to explain to her. And I didn't really have an explanation to give. I assumed it had something to do with the enormous quantity of weed I'd smoked along with the heat.

Of course I couldn't tell my mother about my meltdown or there would be more questions.... and then lies. There were many other times when I so much wanted to tell my mother what was really going on. All of it. But I'd made the choices, and any admission at this point would be an admission of my own failings, my own incompetence. I found myself in a catch 22. Beneath that pride wanted to be nutured: held and comforted, and told that it would be OK. Yet I had developed such distrust of my mother by this point that I actually recoiled if she came too close to me.

Maybe it was lingering impact of my earlier sexual abuse. Maybe it was my resentment toward my mother for being too wrapped up in herself and in her incessant pursuits of men. I'd grown up too fast and was now left in a position of parenting myself. I was no longer willing to accept that from my mother. My father was too far away and my mother's live-in boyfriend was only there for my mother, with the exception of one or two sexual flirtations towards me. I really could trust nobody. And clearly, I couldn't even trust myself. As my drug use shifted from recreational to habitual, I think I may have been simply trying to opt out of the whole ugly mess. That day in the food court, I wanted out so bad. I wanted out yet beneath that, I just wanted to go home.