Motherly Tendencies

Motherly Tendencies
by Tiana Gulapa

Jennifer was a normal woman. She was thirty eight years old, had two children and was a housewife. More of a trophy wife at least. She was pretty with long brown hair and brown eyes that hinted at sad yet beautiful autumn mornings. She had been married to her husband for almost twelve years and instead of happiness, she only felt suffocation.
She closed her eyes as she tried to recall the times when they were happy.
In her mind, she only saw the murky shadows of those once bright days, swimming beneath the muddy waters of her now messed up mind.
She looked at her children, happily eating the meal she had taken so long to prepare.
Tears fell from her eyes.

A memory came. It was of their wedding night. She and her husband looked so young and pure. She, the beautiful woman that she was, had her hair up that showcased her long, graceful neck. A single gold necklace adorned it. Her white gown seemed to flow endlessly from her hips to her long legs. Her husband was handsome as well. Tall, tanned, green eyed. They were the perfect couple. In the memory; as if photographed, there were cake frostings on her face and more on her husband, laughing as they were photographed by the dozens of guests that crowded them. She thought that if she remembered harder, that memory would come alive in the present so she could freely live in it, but of course, that will never happen.
Unbidden, another memory came but it wasn't as pretty as the one that came before it.
It was of her husband, often called Mado since his name was Amadeo. He was a heavy drinker and whenever he came home drunk, he would beat her and their helpless children up who were then so little they were barely making it past grade school. So one night, while her husband was sleeping was he sleeping really they went out into the darkness with only their clothes and a few bottles of water in their bags.
They stayed awhile in her parents' house but after a few weeks they suddenly died.
It was then that she suffered from night terrors; recurring dreams that never seem to wane. Along with her night terrors, her head always hurt and she only thought that the reason behind her headaches was the adjustment period they were undergoing because of the new life they chose, a life that consisted of only her and her children. She felt alone ever since her parents died and more alone whenever she woke up in places she didn't remember going to. It confused her and this made her cry harder than she already does every night.

She and her children had to move out again. She didn't have a job but she had her ways. She would sell handcrafted wooden figurines; usually of Holy saints, to neighbors and to a few other extended family members and that was how she made her money. She had learned woodcraft during the summer and the money she received from her sales was enough for a rented apartment, water and electricity bills and her children's public school education. She was desperate to give her children a better life but how can she give them a better life when she herself had seen better days? Her head would still hurt and gaining consciousness in places she never remembered going to only made it worse.

People say that memories make a person then what if hers was failing, then who was she?
Who am I? Jennifer thought.
She would often tell herself that it was just her getting old and that forgetting why they moved homes a lot were merely a side effect of aging or the early symptoms of Alzheimer's disease. She would sometimes forget to close doors, turn lights off or on and what not and she would tell herself that she was only getting old, there was nothing to worry about and that the blood on her hands were from touching her privates whenever it was her time of the month, that the hotdogs on her children's plates weren't calloused fingers or that the dreams her children were having were not repressed memories of their father's (and grandmother's and grandfather's) bloody death created by her own hands.

A memory came once more, it was of her parents. They were smiling.
Their bodies were sprawled out on the kitchen floor, beheaded. Their heads lying on their laps, mouths frozen into eternal smiles. Quickly, the memory continued on to the death of her husband. There were broken bottles everywhere and another one plunged into his neck, a trail of saliva and blood pouring out his mouth and even then, Jennifer smiled.
Sometimes, she tried to remember why she would do such things to the people she loved. Well, thought she loved.

"I only want what's best for my children. Their father used to beat them up and my parents never liked me living there anyway. At least they got uses after all. I'm fed up!" She laughed at her own joke.

A mother would do anything for her children. she thought.
She now smiled, her yellow teeth shining bright in the dark.
"It's not me if I can't remember."