Pumping the Brakes

“You never let me be weak.”

It was the first sentence I had spoken to my mother in years.

She disappeared shortly after my eighth birthday talking about finding something. My father had died some years before in a tragic accident. The headmistress of the school I was abandoned at told me it was a car crash, my mother screamed he was a cheat bastard and deserved it—it was the only time I saw her yell, after that she stopped speaking to me.

I saw the pictures of him during the funeral and I realized we looked alike, it’s probably why she left me. I listened to strangers give emotional descriptions of him and felt nothing. It’s when a thought occurred to me “I never got to know either of my parents it seems.” The thought grew with me along with my loneliness. Both had abandoned me in some way, leaving me to make sense of the world where I wasn’t wanted. Thankfully, the world is just like that. Families throw things away all the time, so what made me special?

My mother certainly didn’t know, perhaps my father had seen my eyes open as a newborn and the universe slotted into place. It was a nice thought, but the conclusion I came to was my mother wanted me to be stronger than her. The truth about my father ruined her to the point where if she had loved me, she didn’t any longer. This conclusion wasn’t hard to swallow, only than the fact that the only tether I had to her was the stranger she called my father. I understood that love could be weak and broken from the start.

Growing up in the halls of a school wasn’t too bad either, despite all the mean kids. The last kindness my mother gave me before disappearing was dropping at the historic manor repurposed as a school. It had to be expensive, but I doubt my mother gave a cent. After all I did clean, help the cooks, and the gardeners. I slept in a closet closest to the headmistress, but the grounds were fantastic.

I did start to notice…strange happenings. Small things I caught as a child when my attention was pulled hundreds of ways. I explored mostly, as the summers this school was empty of children. Some of the corridors were decaying—paint chipped, baseboards swollen with water damage, the wood floors bowed and worn—often during the morning I would run my rounds and then by the afternoon I would forget all about it. I remembered when I crossed the corridor again, only to find I had hallucinated it. It must have left a mark because over the next ten years I would wake up, go outdoors and sweep the walkways, I would eat, then walk the halls.

Every other day, the walls would crack and the floors would bend. I noticed it wasn’t the only pattern either, the trees edging the surrounding forest would become suddenly thin and bare then the next day lush green and widely spread with foliage. I suppose it should have scared me but it felt familiar and unknown, like my parents. Which is why I hadn’t told the headmistress when it wasn’t small anymore.

I awoke to a loud banging outside of my door. I waited to see if the headmistress heard, but she seemed oblivious to these things. I snuck out of bed, taking a sheet with me and wrapped it around my shoulders. I opened my door and the sound stopped. I glanced down each side of the hall and saw nothing, not even a stray cat that sometimes wondered in. I moved my hand to close the door when I felt it. quick breaths hitting my neck, I wanted to turn but arms held me still. I shuddered in fear and it was gone. I don’t remember sleeping well after that, I locked my door with a chair every night—knowing that the only way someone was behind me in that moment was if they were already in the room with me.

I held out for a month of little sleep. nothing else had happened so I started to feel safe, I fell asleep.

Pine nettles cutting into my arms and legs woke me. I gasped around the large hands around my neck. I tried to blink but realized the darkness was artificial and not created by my sleep-slowed eyes. I felt a weight holding my legs down as I thrashed against my attacker. My thoughts turned frantic as I rushed toward unconsciousness once again. What do I do? What would my father do? I never met him but father’s are strategic, he would’ve taught me how to get out of this. He would’ve send me to karate or judo to practice my skills. What would my mother do? I…she would tell me to buck up and never let a man catch a hint of your weakness and if they did never stop fighting, use anything. I squirmed around and my leg was freed, but I was hastily losing the brain power to lack of oxygen. I clenched my fists and they were unblocked, laying at my sides. With reluctant strength I put my hands around the attacker’s and drug my nails in. Their hands let out with a yelp, and my freed leg came up between our bodies and pushed. I pulled the bag off from my head and ran. I looked around and knew I had to be near the school, the air smelt too familiar and my legs seemed to follow a path I couldn’t see.

I burst out of the treeline and saw the school, noises drew my eyes back to the forest and I heard my attacker giving chase. I forced myself faster, I was younger though my legs were shorter. I was halfway to the front doors when they past the treeline. I couldn’t look back but I saw the night security guard circling the right side of the school, so I yelled. They turned and saw and ran, acting on their training. I only stopped running when the night guard had crashed into my attacker and I was crushed into a hug from the headmistress.

“I though you went for a walk but after a few minutes I worried so I asked Carla to help me look around the grounds and oh, I’m sorry! We went to your room to see if maybe you were there and we smelt the gas. It must have been leaking for months and I didn’t notice.”

I collapsed into her embrace, the first contact in years, and looked back. My attacker shook violently attempting to shake off Carla’s grasp.

“You never let me be weak.” It was the first sentence I had spoken to my mother in years.

A pain left my chest and I breathed deeply knowing I had beaten her, I did it. I was strong like she wanted. Now, as the police carried her away, I watched her be weak.

I spent the remainder of my recovering in the small nurses office with the headmistress’ hand holding mine.