she is always there. she is there when you leave work at 5, parked next to your slowly breaking down 2003 camry, getting out of her car to hand you some lemon bars and chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, because she misses you. she is there outside your condo with tomato plants earlier in the summer. she is there on the phone asking you for a christmas list, so she can get you gifts that remind you that she is always there.
she is in your first grade classroom, pulling all the work you were turning in to your teacher out of the dropbox to look over it and make sure it was good enough. she is in 5th grade going through the homework you're going to turn in the next day to make sure it's perfect. she is there in your high school, roaming the halls in front of your classmates, going to each teacher to talk about your grades, your friends deriving an incredible source of humiliating language aimed at you from it.
the first day of your first job out of college she is always there, sitting next to your desk for two weeks straight. after the work day was over, she'd be there at home to eat dinner with, to say goodnight to. she is there the first day of your first job ever, ordering a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. some days she is there three times, your eight hour shift broken up by three stops through the drive thru as she orders something different each time.
she is always there except for the very few times she is not. at age 3 you are left at home for an hour or two (it was only supposed to be 15 minutes), just lying on the floor reading dr seuss. she doesn't get home until 5 at the earliest, sometimes 6, sometimes 7, and the later it is the more you can actually watch the few tv shows you want to watch. she is gone sometimes on sundays to show houses and you can actually bust your toys out and let your imagination run wild, as long as it's all put away by the time she is there. she isn't there when you finally, for the first time, open up that you are being bullied. neither parent is there. they don't need to be there for that. there are more important things to attend to.
she is there when she is "supposed" to be. she's there at every sporting event, band performance, graduation ceremony. she only forgets you at school once, and is only late 100 times. she is there in the basement to make sure you are working out in 7th grade so that you can get better at sports. she is there when she measures the circumference of your biceps to see if you are making progress.
she is there in your counseling sessions she works to sign you up for in high school because your grades are dropping and clearly that means she needs to be there even more. she sits there and you clam up, unable to open up to the counselor. she's there again with your counselor in adulthood, your dad and her taking you there in the blizzard of a saturday after you dropped out of school again, her sitting in the room animated while your father sits there silently. she is there driving you to your counselor every week for the first couple years until she seems content that you are actually going to your session.
you go to australia when you are 17 and she is only there once, on the phone, in a 24 day period. you have the time of your life. she makes sure the next time you travel she tells you she has to be there once a day, time zones be damned, as if the time of your life has to be contorted and manipulated and reduced to something she can hold, until it's not even the time of your life, but of hers. you tear up writing this paragraph at the realization.
she is there even when she is not. when you're driving around town, in every vehicle that looks remotely similar to hers, your heart skipping as you know she'd be watching every move you make on the road, judging your competency. in high school she is calling your friend's houses at random times when you go over to remind you she could be there, and you should be.
she doesn't need to squeeze you tight to make it feel like you are being choked. her presence leaves you with constant claustrophobia, and when she is gone it doesn't relent. she has trained you to know she is behind your shoulder, in the car in the next lane over, on the phone, outside your classroom. she is always watching. you didn't have time for church growing up, but you got your dose of omnipotence. you would lie awake at night in fear wondering where she would be next. your computer? your nightstand? your backpack? your private writing? she is always there. and so you dream of getting so far away she couldn't possibly be. so many thousands of miles that there is no way she could be anywhere near you. and then you think about how'd you'd have to come home for days and days and days at a time for holidays, because she is always there.
