Misplaced Mermaid

My father used to tell me a long time ago I was his little mermaid. I can’t remember exactly what starting that endearing name, but I’m guessing it was my longing for the sea. The sea was our backyard, well when we used to live in the cottage anyways. I would, as a child, run through the back door and instantly sink my feet into the grains of sand that would lead to the most tremendous blue waves any surfer would die to ride. The water was my best friend and now that I think about it in my later years, my lover in a sense to. I couldn’t wait to feel the water course throughout my hair and run against my body, as if it was telling me ‘hello’ again.

But that’s over now; the sea was no longer my friend. Funny how fast things slip past the cracks in your mind. I thought I put had put that away in the back of my mind with her, my mother. A woman I couldn’t really even ponder being my mother actually. She probably wouldn’t even formally consider me her child now that I think on it. We always had a peculiar way of looking at each other. I saw her as a wild child who didn't want to grow up, and I guess she saw me as a little girl who misunderstood her idea of fun.

From what father told me in my later years, my mother didn’t have a childhood like I did. She grew up on a desolate farm with only her father, a preacher. So instead of playing like other kids would in a park or something, she was stuck with a bible in one hand and a sickle in the other all the time. I never fully understood the grasp of all my father was telling me about her past life, but I understood one thing; she now as an adult was making up for her prior missed childhood. She was having such a blast, she ended up with a mistake, me.

My father never wanted to admit it, but I knew deep down inside I killed her. I killed her growing spirit that only wanted to be free of confinement and rules. I used to see the way she would look at me as if I was the one who was holding the chains and keys to the cell. Her body was declining everything that had to with me. I could do nothing, but run into the comfort of the waves that would whisper encouragement in my ear.

One day I remember running towards my friend, and saw it was at the disposal of someone else. My mother to be exact. She finally gave up on everything and decided to make the waves her last goodbye to the world. The water washed over her, and cleanse her of everything negative I suspect.

I can’t say I miss her. I won’t to be exact. I feel like she made her choice and I made mine. We just suitably didn’t connect like we were supposed to. I saw her as a little kid, and she saw me as a misplaced adult. I guess that’s the way it works sometimes. All I can do now is move on and keep those memories locked away and label them as stale peanuts.