Faith’s Letters to Her Mother: RULES
RULES
Audio
Dear Runaway Mother:
Sometimes I just to want slap myself. Calling Blane was a stupendously stupid thing to do. Almost as foolish as paying a PI to find you. But let’s let that sleeping dog lie.
Thank God he didn’t pick up before I came to my senses. What was I going to say? Hi, what’s new? I’m miserable by the way. No, I don’t want to get back together. I just wanted to hear your voice. I was hoping you were miserable too. How pathetic is that?
So why didn’t it work? Well, runaway mother, it did work and that’s the point. The sex, companionship, someone to play devil’s advocate and call me out when I’m faking it. So why did I walk away? Could be that I sensed the big question coming. It was fine as long as he gave me space. But as soon as I sensed him angling to get it in writing I bolted.
What is marriage anyway other than a piece of paper that says I own half of you and you own half of me? I don’t want to be somebody’s possession. Is that so wrong? I don’t want to have to sell half my soul to have someone to wake up with every morning.
Okay, I admit that excuse has more holes in it than Swiss Cheese. Relationships are fine as long as the back door is always open. Those are my relationship rules. But before you convict me, runaway mother, think about the role you played in who I’ve become.
My PI gave me photos of you on a CD. I have it at home but I haven’t looked at the photos yet. Eventually I will but first I want to see if there’s a psychic connection between us. Can the mother-daughter bond survive all those years of absence?
I think I saw you yesterday. My PI says you work at Holt Renfrew in Yorkdale Mall. I went there and pretended to be browsing. An electrical current when up my spine when you – if it was in fact you – walked by me. Did you feel it? Did it freak you out?
Alright, enough navel gazing. I made my own rules and I have to live by them. Blane is a mistake I simply have to live with. Just like I’ve lived with your absence all these years.
But there’s one loose end that bugs me. A little itch that says there’s something risky just over the next hill that I want badly. I’ve got too much at stake to let a loose end like this one keep flapping. But what the hell is it? Is it you, runaway mother?