The Girl Who Couldn’t Cry

“……,” her mom demeaned, criticized, and yelled. Do the words she said really matter? The girl sat there silently, looking out at the fences and bushes passing by the car, knowing that any words she tried to say in return would just lead to more accusation and criticism.

Waiting for this particular rant to be over, she remembered what her brother once taught her to do while driving in the car. As she watched the different objects go by outside, she pretended to be running, like the fastest runner; jumping, like the highest jumper; and doing all kinds of obstacles, like the best you have ever seen at Cirque du Soleil. Running along a guard rail at 60 mph, jumping up into the high tree above, swinging from one of its branches to do a flip onto the road sign passing… “…….” The cruel words continued and interrupted her adventure. Stay strong, she told herself. Don’t cry, don’t show emotion, don’t talk or argue; just look ahead and keep quiet, then it will end more quickly. She was right. She knew the harshest words and tone were usually followed by the switch, and this time was no different. It stopped for a brief moment, enough for the girl to take a breath and swallow the sadness in her throat, and then her mom, in a bizarrely incongruous kind voice, said, “I was thinking we would stop by Richardson’s Creamery for some ice cream. I know that’s your favorite. We could get some mint chocolate chip!” The girl forced a smile, “that sounds great,” she said. And the day went on, like any other day, like any other time.

The switch happened frequently, often when going places with other people. From the time the car shifted into park and the door opened and closed, the words of her mother’s mouth would go from torment to joy. Or when company came over, a person walked into friendliness and kindness, not aware of the anger and hate in the mouth of his or her host moments before the door opened. Switch on, switch off – she was so seamlessly adept. This made it impossible to talk to anyone about it. The girl tried a couple of times, only to be met with disbelief and disgust at a mean accusation about such a kindhearted person.

The girl continued to try to have a relationship with her mom. From time to time she tested the waters, to see if talking was actually feasible. It wasn’t. The goal was always as few words as needed to make sure that nothing seemed wrong to her mother. That got her through the day in the most bearable way.

She also saw her sister, who wasn’t afraid to talk back, call her mom out on the outrageous things she was saying - but that didn’t end well. Grabbing and pulling at each other’s hair in the living room; fighting; going in circles both physically and in their shouting. What was the point? Silence was certainly the better route.

And then it wasn’t.

A few slaps here and there, it really didn’t hurt that much, it surely wasn’t abuse. There was no man throwing her around, punching her, really hurting her. It was just a slap sometimes, from a little woman angry at the world, just needing to vent. The girl stayed silent, afraid of what might come about from anything else, mostly afraid that no one would believe her. Her sister eventually caught the exchange, seeing silence on one end with yelling culminating to a slap on the other. Her sister screamed at her mother and threatened to kill her if she ever saw her do it again. It was just a slap. The girl thought. But underneath her thoughts, in a place in her mind she didn’t want to admit was there, she was deeply grateful for what her sister had done. The slapping stopped. The words didn’t, but by now, the girl was a master of controlling her own words and emotions.

Could it all change?

Away at camp, the girl learned about forgiveness. She learned that people can be given second chances; but more importantly, she learned that forgiveness is the way to move on. Maybe if she tried that simple gesture, things could change.

Driving down a bumpy road, on the way to swim lessons, the girl decided it was time. She built up all the courage within her, swallowed the fear she felt, and just started talking. “Mom, I just wanted to tell you something, it’s… it’s about when you used to slap me. I just wanted to tell you that I forgive you.” She closed her lips tight, terrified, nervous, happy - she couldn’t really tell what she was feeling. But she never expected it to end with these words from her mother, “I don’t know what you are talking about, I don’t remember ever doing that.”

I don’t remember?!?

Those three little words changed the course of what their relationship could have been for years to come, and probably the rest of her life. How could she not remember? The unending thought haunted the girl’s mind.

Life went on as usual. Her silence, intermixed with a few polite words to get through each day. She finally had reprieve in high school when she earned a scholarship to boarding school and was overjoyed to be able to get away.

The strangest thing happened through those years, into college and grad school – she wasn’t able to cry. She felt awful when people told her sad things and she would just smile. She dislocated her knee and laughed. The doctor couldn’t believe the hysterical laughter as he popped it into place. The girl realized it was probably all that time in her early childhood where she forced herself and learned the ability not to cry that made it so now she couldn’t.

What about her mother? She is better now with no kids in the house. Or maybe that is just the way it looks from the outside. She still thinks that this girl, this daughter, was always the best out of all her children growing up. She was a star athlete, great academically, and never talked back at home. She was polite and quiet, and the best child a parent could have. Ha.