The day that I finally snapped at my mother was a day that comes back with a full clarity and shame. My mother was not the easiest person to grow up with - two girls alone in a small place. We both had strong personalities and strong wills, and we often fought like banshees. I didn't have time or patience to try and understand her problems as well as being a teenager dealing with a moody mother.
When I was a younger teenager I was fine with staying home and catering to her whims. Especially her very bad days when she would have migraines and the house had to be kept dark and quiet. Those seemed to fall most often on Sundays; she managed (struggled?) to keep Saturdays, for the most part, "girl's" day.
Saturdays we'd do our errands, go shopping, and always do at least one thing fun. A movie, the zoo, shopping for something silly.
When I got into my mid-teens, these Saturdays seemed more like a chore, for both of us. My mom's forced smile was obvious and I'd smile back, gritting my teeth while she half-heartedly showed me some top she thought I would like - holding some image of me as a tall blonde all american type girl, which I clearly am not. Things that were not appropriate, and definitely not cool.
I would give my right arm to have even one of those days again now.
One particular Saturday my mother was especially exhausted and even moving seemed painful for her. I do today think a lot of her physicall ailments were psychosomatic and derived from her deep depression. This Saturday she had wanted some ice cream. Her favorite was Rocky Road with rainbow sprinkles on top. Always rainbow; she said the chocolate ones didn't taste right.
The line was long, the day was hot. I wanted to get this day over with so that I could go out with my friends and hang out at the mall. She obviously didn't want to spend time with me so the ice cream was perfunctory. And to top it all off they were out of rainbow sprinkles!
She was mad; she asked them how they could possibly be out of sprinkles? Her face was turning red. I was embarassed and angry at her. She was acting like it as the $5/hour guy behind the counter's fault, or at least the end of the world.
We got our ice cream and sat down. Mine tasted like cardboard and I pushed it away. I just wanted to get this forced ritual over and go home to be with my friends. My mother would not shut up about the sprinkles, going on and on about how incompetent the store was etc. Then she got even madder when I didn't want my ice cream and sat there picking at it.
"Fine! If you don't want your ice cream then just throw it away! It's not like it was FREE or anything." She picked up the cup and threw it in the trash and stomped out of the store.
I blew up. I was so tired of her, so annoyed that she was not like a normal mother and that everything had to be drama with her. I followed her outside where she stood w/ her finger tips pushing against head.
"You are SUCH a BITCH!" I screamed it. I let all my pent up rage flow out of me then and let her have it - all my disappointments, petty grievances, angst of the teenage girl. "I can't believe you! Why can't you just LEAVE ME ALONE and STOP BEING SUCH A BITCH?" I stormed away and stood by the car. She came over and we both stood there obstinate. Finally she pulled out her keys and got into the driver's seat.
We never mentioned it after that. I saw tears in her eyes, but I couldn't tell if they were tears of sorrow or rage. I never asked. She never told me. I still remember that day, and I hate how the bad memories sting so much more and are so much eaiser to recall than the good ones.