I Love You, Mom

by Svetlana Netjosova

Translated from Russian by Scythian Dead

Do you remember what time your daughter did part company from you? Certainly you do. I was then seventeen and always doing well at my school. I was ever so well-behaved and obedient a child. Our form mistress Lyudmila Sergeyevna was commending me at parents' meetings all the time while she held me up as an example to them all. I would make you so proud. You, however, tried hard, especially in public, to keep that from being shown.

My father had abandoned us when I was only seven. From then on, you had been at pains to make sure that none of our neighbors could have thought and worked out that it was becoming difficult for you to earn a living.

I would hear you crying at nights and I was listening to you moaning and breathing heavily when you looked through our modest wardrobe: "This old dress to be altered, this pullover to be knitted again, and this jacket to be turned." It had always had me awkward to appear before my friends and schoolfellows wearing your garments. I could not see that it was possible for us to live otherwise. You was not capable of helping me out with any extra money. Even so I felt ashamed of my old clothes.

Because of my poor background and decided disadvantage, my classmates of the highest circles were never taking me seriously. But what could I have done? I would recall your "know-your-own-mind" and set about either doing my homework or reading books instead of flying in a hurry to have a good time at parties, discos, fantastic gigs.

You were a most formidable lady in the workplace. When I came to your office you tried to send me home as quick as possible: "Olyen'ka, you can see, can't you? I've got a lot of work to do." I could understand that you had far too much work to do and so many subordinates to give orders to.

You had an urgent need to maintain order and discipline all over the place. Your eagerness for keeping high standards of cleanliness reached absurdity. No sooner was I slow in getting to sweep the room or giving my shoes a good shine than you flew off the handle. Oh, dear! What an argument it was going to spark off! We would become just a bundle of nerves. Since then, I have already figured out everything. Yet at that time...

I hated you for the way this life of mine went on. There was another one which I compared ours to. Do you remember my friend Elya who you forbade me to see a lot of? Inside her family circle, it was very noisy and disorderly. They were fun people to be with. Her father used to tumble in from outside into the flat, sometimes tipsy, bringing with him plenty of packets, bags, and boxes. "Fall on it!" he shouted to his family, "I got a bonus pay today." Sure enough all of them would get together. Inside those packets, there was everything and for everyone. Elya liked pastries and accessories very much. She shared sweets with the others and, after that, ran off to her dressing table to try the trinkets on. Ah, how I then envied her! I said to myself, "What do I live for? Why ever do I feel so unhappy?" I was absolutely heartbroken over it. I felt sick at heart, but, like you, tried to pretend that it was all right with me until he came over.

On my sixteenth birthday around the simple yet well-prepared table there sat adults: my grandma, my godmother, and our next-door neighbors. Of people my age, only girls had been invited. I was not hoping that you would allow me to ask whomever I choose to the party.

All the toasts had been proposed, and all the tarts had been eaten. This was just at that moment that someone had done some loud ringing to the doorbell. I myself ran to answer it.

"Hello, daughter!" he said. "What a pretty girl you are!"

He showed himself up and kept standing in the doorway with his winter coat thickly covered in snow, and held a basket with beautiful red roses, in spite of February, just budding.

"Dad, daddy!" I cried out with surprise.

Thus radiating sheer joy I rushed myself towards him. What great pleasure it gave me! The relationship between you both might have been rather strained. What did I care about the way you thought of and treated each other and how you would look at that? I almost went mad with the opportunity to see him, cling to his wet coat, and smell his expensive eau de Cologne. After so many years he had not forgotten about my birthday and came to see me. "He did not turn from me. He really loves me." It felt good being beside my father.

He was not let into the room. You had driven him away. You neither shouted nor explained yourself. "Go away," you said as staidly as you told a subordinate employee what to do. Having left the gift and flowers, he went out. Do you remember the way I burst into tears and darted into my room?

For quite a while I had been sitting with my head buried in the teddy bear I liked the most. Then, with my hands trembling, I began to unwrap the gift. It was a small box. Inside there were gold earrings, a pendant with my sign of the zodiac, and a finger ring. But the most important thing was a note. It read: "Olya, I'm writing you because I gave up all hope of making it to talk to you. I'll stay the night at a friend's house and am going to be in the city for three more days. Tomorrow, after school, will you drop in, please? I love you very much. Dad."

I met him. He questioned me closely about you and how we had lived. He let me know where he worked and took up his residence. Father explained me why he had left us. He need not tell this, though, if he did not want to. I knew what he had been talking about: Father came to give me his help. He offered to let me move in with him, promised his whole-hearted support for my entering a good university. It was plain that my father was really somebody and well off. Why did it matter that he had a new family? The most important was that he did remember me and wanted the best for his daughter.

We then agreed that I would not let you know. Simply I would start getting ready to come over to him when I finished high school. My father said he would send off some money to me.

I might not know whether you could guess that I managed to exchange letters with him c/o Elya. When the time came he transferred me the money. As soon as you went to work I packed all my stuff into my school bag and left home for the station. Just before the train pulling out, I made a phone call to say to you, "Mom, don't get angry. I'm leaving you for my father." After I had said this, I hung up on you to prevent you from telling me anything.

Fifteen years went by. I have already a daughter of my own. My new house is beginning to look more like a real home. My father helped me with my graduation from the university, my entering into a marriage and settling down. Do not worry about my living - it has all been taken care of - I make a good one. I lacked the will to set my mind to see you once more. From Elya I have heard that you found my runaway from home in that manner very hard to take. After being taken ill, you were said to shut yourself off from the rest of the neighborhood. I would, very much, like you to understand me, but afraid of you, I could not even write you a letter.

One year later, obliging Elya ruthlessly dropped me a line: "Your mother has had a heart attack. She is dead."

I know that you have forgiven me, otherwise I am sure my life would not have been happy. But never will my heart cease aching over this sorrow. It was because of me that you were gone. Yet I did love you, mom... I do love you so much. Can you hear me? I am sorry.

Yours,
Olen'ka.