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‘Mother’- Kacey Musgraves
My mom came to me in a dream while I slept. Her voice was soft, her cheeks warm with heat from the sun shining down on her face, her chestnut brown hair was out and styled after recently getting it cut. She appeared exactly as she had the morning she left for work while I stayed home to rest, both of us unaware that it would be the last time we would chat. She would die of a heart attack hours later, her co-workers at the clinic unable to resuscitate her.
“Don’t sulk, Etta. It’s draining. Let it go and move forward. If you hold on to it, you’ll leave track marks in the earth when you could be floating in the air.”
Then, as if fate didn’t want to intervene anymore, Kacey Musgraves’ album Golden Hour creeps out of the locked box hidden in my subconscious and starts to strut around in the daylight.
It comes to me so easily because I know every song, every word, every melody.
It was our favorite album, my mother and I. She stumbled upon it at random whilst listening to the radio at work, and had come home in tears, eager to show me every song.
We ate chocolate and drank a whole bottle of cheap red wine that night, and listened to it five times in a row.
I’d never been much of a country music fan. I mostly keep it simple by listening to whatever is popular at the moment on Spotify, or fluffy podcasts about celebrity gossip and horrendous dating stories. But that day, Kacey Musgraves—her voice, her soul, her lyrics—changed my outlook on life. It helped me see beauty in a terribly painful moment. It assured me that no matter what, light and joy and love are always within reach, as long as you are willing to fight back whatever darkness is eclipsing it. It made me take the time to appreciate the sun, the air, the small moments of tender love and the giant, quaking expressions of passion.
Listening to it is like wrapping myself up in my mother’s arms as she squeezes me tight and kisses my cheek, or sitting on a beach while the person I love stares atme,rather than the sunset that blooms in shades of pink across the distant horizon.
And now, the lyrics are tumbling freely through my head, the echoing melodies overlapping and begging for attention.
I have to concentrate so hard on ignoring them that I feel a migraine evolving.
I haven’t listened to it since Mom died. Irefuseto listen to it.
The thought of playing the first song and hearing the strum of the guitar strings, without her sitting next to me and smiling, physically pains me to the point of vomiting.
Distracting myself becomes priority number one. In the bathroom I set up the toiletries—that arrived last night while I slept—like I’m staying in a hotel of my own freewill. It helps to curb the tightening in my throat whenever I think of my own bathroom at home—the chipped tiles, the sky-blue walls and the atrocious water pressure. Dom mentioned they rented it out. All my things have been put in storage—my life, wiped from the map.
My stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten since my encounter with Odin earlier this morning. It’s nearly lunch and I’m desperate for something salty.
Juniper yelps with delight when she sees me exit from my room, launching herself off the corner of the leather coach where a patch of sunlight has pooled into a perfect circle.
“Hello gorgeous girl.” I rub her ears, her nose, her back. Tufts of golden fur fall from wherever my hands trail, and the sight of it settling onto the floor is both nostalgic and dreadful. These aren’t the floors of my clinic or my house. They’re owned by my soon-to-be husband, and are a perfect reflection of his dark, murky personality. No matter. I’ll clean the residue away, scrubbing till my nails bleed and its true color is unmasked. I know how to work hard, and I know how to find things that avoid wanting to be found.
I find a plate of food in the fridge stored in a container and heat it up without much thought. Potatoes and bacon sound great right about now. No one moves around the house as I eat, but then I remember Dom and Ford mentioned they were staying in the cottage behind us. So it’s just me and Odin in this big, empty house.
When time continues to tick over and nothing occurs, boredom creeps in along with a healthy dose of anxiety. Should I continue the search for the car keys? It was a pointless endeavor last night without anylight source, and from my vantage point, the car is nowhere in sight. I’d have to traipse through the snow or go poking around the garage to find it, and I’m sure it wouldn’t take long for them to catch me.
I could try the knife again.
No, you can’t. Odin will disarm you in 0.1 seconds flat.
I can’t think about this morning. It’s too much. Too embarrassing, too infuriating.
Odin was faster than I anticipated. And stronger. He barely flinched when I came at him with the knife. He handled me carefully, even though I had no such intentions. I wanted to hurt him. Not kill him, I’m not capable of that. But I wanted him to know I wasn’t frightened. I would not be a docile wife.
Though there was a moment when I slapped him that I thought he would react badly. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath and rearranged himself comfortably beneath me.
Thinking about how snug he was between my thighs makes my stomach roll.
And his face. Dear God. I hate his face.
No, you don’t,the voice in my mind whispers.
Yes, I do.
Na uh.
Shut up!
