come with me.

I will take your little hand away from your mouth. Wrap it in mine and I will open the door and lead you out. Into the cherry blossom garden of this tiny cottage in this tiny village. Down past the vegetable patch where you think the rabbit lives. Through the grass so manicured by that small foreign man whose name I have never cared to learn. We will move slowly as you’ve only just started to walk. You’re not quite sure where your feet end. I should be proud of you, your little powerhouse muscles propelling you forward of your own accord but all I can think is hurry up hurry up your father will be home soon I should have started this sooner.

We will pass the play house he has had built for you. In years to come the two of you will probably have it knocked down as I know you will never use it. The frill curtains will remind you of the delicate white flowers on the tips of all the branches surrounding us today, and you will think of me and hate me.

Your tiny jam paw is hot and moist in mine, grasping and desperate. I will never let anyone ever know that on some level, the feel of it sickens me. I feel like you are devouring me, drawing me under in your unselfconscious, unconditional need. From the first moment you were laid onto me. That very second with your high pitch scream and mucous covered body with me half alive and bleeding to death I felt a wave of revulsion at the sight of you. Looking at the doughy indistinguishable faces of the nurses, with their sycophantic expressions and mouths forming words I couldn’t hear all I wanted them to do was take you far away from me.

We will go to the old cherry tree at the bottom of our English garden. It has taken us a long time to get here. I should have carried you but my hands are full carrying the things I need. You try to climb up on the swing that hangs from the thick branch and for the thousandth time I stop you because you would fall off and hurt yourself. At times I have wondered what would happen if I just let you fall.

I will give you your favourite toy. The elephant your father brought back from India. It is missing one beady eye and is looking frayed already yet you have only had him for a few months. The powerful destructive force that you are astounds me sometimes. You sit at the thick base of the tree and become absorbed for a precious few moments. I don’t want you to watch me, although I know you won’t understand. I don’t want some hack psychiatrist to pry repressed childhood memories from you many years from now. They always blame the mother anyway.

I’m trying to picture the next few moments. All I can seem to picture is you at your wedding. Your English rose bride swathed in white next to you and your father standing solid behind you. I wonder if you will be embarrassed at my absence. If you will look to your new wife’s family and wonder how their nuclear normality survived. Will you flush hot-faced at a simple question from an orbiting relative? I hope you won’t be sad and I hope no one mentions me. I hope your father finds someone else to be his. I hope you find a way to put me out of your mind. It would be better if I were just forgotten.