My mom picks up on the first ring. “Hi honey, how are you? I’ve been thinking so much about you? How are you feeling?”
“Good, I’m good,” I say. Blue stretches out so that his head can reach my lap. “How are you?”
“I’m doing well. We are in Charleston tonight. We have a lot of people attending—one of our biggest shows ever.” Her voice is high, could be nerves or excitement, or a combo of both. Once my mother used to barnstorm the country with her holy-rolling minister husband, preaching the Christian faith and bilking people of their hard-earned dollars. Now she’s using those same skills, without the mercenary motive, to spread the prophet’s message of female empowerment.
“I’m happy for you,” I say.
“I’m a little worried though.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“I just have a feeling. Like something bad is going to happen. Or has happened. I don’t know.”
She still doesn’t know about Rida’s death. No one has announced it. Zerzan’s been totally quiet. And the US government has not taken it upon themselves to say anything. Should I tell her? Logic starts to swirl and tumble in my mind. She will tell others, it will be letting a bull loose in a china shop. It’s not actually my place—what the fuck does that even mean? Not my place? Whose place is it then?
“Honey?” Mom interrupts my thoughts.
“Yeah, sorry. I just…there is something I should tell you.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound nervous. I’d be nervous if someone said that kind of thing to me. The woman and her damn faith. Always so sure everything is the way it’s supposed to be. Infuriating. Things should not be like this. This is fucked.
“The prophet was killed,” I say, not using Rida’s name. My mom wouldn’t know it. So few did… Rida lost her entire family when ISIS massacred them. That’s what faith can do—convince you that killing innocent people, enslaving young women, and raping them, is all good. Not just good, a must. A must-do. My jaw tightens with anger.
There is a long pause before my mom’s voice carries over the connection again. “I’m so sorry, that’s terrible. How did it happen?”
“I didn’t witness it. But from what I understand she was shot in the back during a special operation.”
“What does that even mean? A special operation?” There is an edge of anger in her voice now and I’m happy to hear it. Don’t smother all those emotions with your faith, Mom.
“It’s…” I don’t know how much to tell her. She believes Rida’s lies. Her entire gig is traveling around spreading the word of the prophet. If I tell her what happened she will probably start talking about it on stage. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Sometimes the truth can be as dangerous as lies. It certainly can be twisted into fiction in the blink of an eye. “I don’t know much about it, Mom.”
“I can tell when you’re lying,” she says. “You were never very good at it.”
For some reason I take offense at that. “Mom.” My tone is harsh.
“It’s true, sorry.”
“It’s true? You know what always pissed me off about you, Mom?” I don’t wait for her to respond. “You never owned your shit. Ever. You drank, you prayed, you did fucked-up shit. But you never owned it.”
“I didn’t. That’s true,” she says, her voice quiet but not chastened.
“I knew I never wanted to be like that, like you,” I say, hoping to hurt her.
“So now you own everyone’s shit?” she asks, her voice free of malice but also not curious. She’s trying to teach me a lesson. Point out my own foibles.
A long silence stretches. My throat is tight, my shoulders hunched. Blue wiggles further up the bed, and bumps my elbow. I lay a hand on his neck, digging my fingers into the thick fur.
“Yes,” I finally admit. “I do feel the need to try to change things, Mom. And when I try to stop interfering with other people’s shit, it sticks to me anyway.”
“That’s what shit does.”
“I can’t escape it.”
“It’s not an escape, honey. It’s a letting go.”
“Pretty sure with this metaphor it’s a washing off,” I note, playing with one of Blue’s ears. His eyes are closed and he sighs with appreciation.
“A cleansing, then. Yes, that works. A releasing.”
“You don’t release shit off your shoe, Mom. You wash it.”
“Let’s not get lost in the analogy, honey. The point being, it’s not your shit to begin with so why are you owning it? Why are you making it your problem?”
“Someone has to.”
“Do they though?”
“Mom, you’re up on stage every night telling people what to do.”
“I’m telling them about their worth. I’m preaching that women belong beside men in ruling this world, Sydney. That’s my calling.”
“Well, Mom, remember I started as a dog walker—I picked up shit for a living.”
“Maybe it’s time for a new career.”
“How did we even get on this topic!” My voice raises and so does Blue’s head.
“Robert told me what you’re hoping to do.”
Anger explodes inside of me. “What?” I ask through clenched teeth. Robert is talking to my mother about me. What in the actual fuck?
“He told me you want to burn it all down. I understand the sentiment. But Sydney, that’s not how it works.”
“You think you know how it works?” I ask. “And when the fuck did you talk to Robert?”
“He is my son-in-law. He’s always been very good to me. You know that.”
I lean my head back and close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. Robert is such a fucking snake. He’s always stayed close to my mother. Tried to convince me to have a relationship with her.
“Honey, I didn’t call to fight. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’m sorry.” She does sound contrite. “I want to see you. I want a good relationship. I want you to stop trying to remake the world—to burn everything down, as you so delicately put it—and recognize how lucky you are.”
“That’s why I want to burn it down, Mom! It’s not fair, can’t you see that? It’s not fucking fair for some people to have so much and others to have so fucking little!”
“But if you burn it down then no one will have anything, particularly the ones on the bottom. Is that really better?”
Blue raises his head as Nila and Frank stand. The two younger dogs leave the room and Blue hops down, taking up a post in front of my bedroom door. “I have to go, Mom, someone is here.”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too,” I say, even though I don’t want to. But she could die…or I could. And I’ve reached a point in my life that I don’t want the last words to my mother to be ones of anger. No matter how much she pisses me off. See, I’ve grown.
I hear Merl’s voice at the door. Mulberry shows him into the bedroom and he smiles at me. The dogs all greet each other with high tails and prancing feet. “How are you feeling?” he asks, settling at the end of my bed. The six giant beasts lie down around the room so that there is hardly any place to step anymore. I smile at the carpet of dogs. This is nice.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just didn’t eat enough this morning. I’m not used to being pregnant. I doubt one has time to adjust before it’s over.” I smile at my own joke.
Merl smiles with me. “I see.”
“I talked to my mom. Told her about Rida.”
His expression softens into concern. “How did she take it?”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “You know, she’s got all that faith to fall back on. Annoys the shit out of me.”
Merl breathes out a laugh. “Yes, I’ve noticed that about you.”
“It’s just such bullshit,” I mutter.
“I think you may have it wrong, Sydney.”
“Oh really?” I grumble, my gaze falling to my hands where they rest on top of the covers…on top of my belly.
“Yes, faith can be dangerous. But so can not having faith. Humans can be dangerous no matter what. I know you like to blame religion for the ills of the world, but it’s just people. Beliefs are dangerous no matter where they spring from.”
I shake my head. “I think it’s different when you put an almighty god at the top of a pyramid and claim they are the one telling you what to do. Seems more dangerous to me.”
Merl shrugs. “I think we have to have some kind of faith to move through life. You have faith in Blue.”
“That’s different.”
“You’d kill for him. Die for him.”
“I wouldn’t enslave for him,” I point out.
“And neither would most people—for anything. Sydney, you’ve seen enough to know that even the most evil of men is still a human being. We are not just one thing. You are a killer, and soon to be a mother. You save lives and you take them. Two seemingly opposing things can be true at once. Accepting reality makes life easier.”
“I won’t accept the world the way it is.”
“Then it will be much harder to change.”
Mulberry clears his throat from the doorway. “Enough philosophy,” he says. “Sydney needs to rest.”
“I am sick of being in this bed.”
“It’s been like an hour.” Mulberry laughs.
Merl rises. “I’ll see you later.” His dogs stand, and mine follow to see them all out.
Mulberry returns moments later with a cup of tea and my three dogs in tow. “Want to watch more of that movie?”
“Sure.” He puts the tea on my night stand and then lies on the other side of the bed on top of the covers. Exhaustion comes for me and all I want to do is cuddle up, lay my head on his broad chest, and rest. So I do. I scoot over, Mulberry raises his arm, in a gesture as old as time, and I fit into the spot where I fit so damn well. His arm comes down, curling around my back so that his hand lands on my hip.
Sleep comes like a subtle riptide, pulling me into a dream without me noticing. I’m still in my bedroom, still cuddled close to Mulberry. But the sound of a baby crying pulls me from the bed. I follow it through the open door. The carpet is dotted with blood. I follow the trail, through another open door into a nursery. Flowing white lace curtains, spattered with red, sway. I push them aside; the crying growing closer as I travel deeper into the room.
Feeling warmth on my feet, I look down. Blood is spreading across the floor, so that when I pick up my foot, I see white carpeting underneath—but the blood quickly fills the spot. And now I have nowhere dry to put my foot. But the baby is still crying.
Anxiety starts to brew in my chest. And Blue is not there to swipe his nose across my fingers. This is a dream. Otherwise Blue would be here. Okay, wake up. Wake up. But I can’t…I can’t wake up.