HEArtandHEAd

Maybe coloring will fix me

A lifetime’s worth of “sorry’s” to be said and I don’t want a single one. They’re just enchantments that only work on her now. I’m immune to their magic, but only from her.

I’m not sorry.

I was thirty three when my mother asked, “why won’t you talk to me? Why can’t you say to my face why you’re so angry with me? I’m ready to say sorry!”

If only.

I’m sorry for being afraid of you. I’m sorry for making you feel guilty for hurting me. I’m sorry for saying no when you tried. I’m sorry - it’s my fault you hurt me. Definitely my fault.

“I’m sorry” makes things right, right?

She said, “Why did you tell me you lied when you didn’t? You don’t know what lying is? Aww, you’re so innocent. But I spanked you for no reason and now I feel awful.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

I’m sorry. You told me to say I’m sorry and that it would “make it right,” so, I’m sorry. I’m sorry makes things right. You told me it would.

After she spanked me and I cried, and my brother said he had spilled the toys, my mother found me again and said, “I’m sorry.”

Oh wait, no.

I was afraid and confused - I was three, mind you -
so I told her what I thought she wanted to hear. Saying “no” clearly didn’t work, so maybe answer in the reverse.
Maybe that would make her happy again. With me.

So I said yes.

I was three when my mother asked, “did you spill these toys in the bathroom?”
I said, “No.”
My mother asked “are you lying?”
I didn’t know why she looked at me that way. Like I did something wrong by being here in the hallway answering her question.