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The Fourth Way

Story - Mother Load By L.C.

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Mother Load
By L.C.
September 2005

A seemingly innocuous exercise, this holding business.  Courtesy of Martha Welch.  Openly desperate to try anything with the man I love to hate, and hate to love, when words now only served as swords….. This Holding Time sounded innocent, appealing, even comforting.  Ha.   My only friend Suspicion should have been there when suddenly I found myself and my horrendously huge belly pressed against his; down there on that cushion littered floor, grabbing each other tight like two samurai wrestlers, staring into those  unbelievably beady eyes. Shoulda known.  Within minutes, my hatred of this man surpassed new heights.  I was clawing at his face, screaming obscenities, seeing red.  He had the unmitigated gall to not only meet my fury, but surpass it.  Suddenly, he was my mother, overpowering me, ready to beat me, once again.  I became small, paralyzed. Voices of sanity penetrated, assuring me this man had not once laid a hand on me.  I could suddenly see again, just for a moment.  I so wanted to trust him.  I gathered my trembling legs, and jumped across the great abyss, declaring that I wanted to unhook this poor bloke from my mother, once and for all.  To see him for whom/what he is. (That is another tale to be sure).   Suddenly fierce furious rage came from below, a volcano churning hot with unbearable pressure, finally given flow. And boy, did it flow.  I faced off with my mother for the first time in my life, no longer shrinking at her rage, her beatings.  I fought back, screaming kicking and punching with all I had suffocated with for 40 years.  I was heard. My mom heard me. Our unborn child heard me.  The beady eyed man heard me. (Who by the way, had suddenly moved into the bearable human being status.)  Fran and Dermot heard me.   The neighbors heard me.  And finally the greatest sweetness lies in knowing that Toronto’s finest, our men in blue, the SWAT team in their full riot gear, they heard me.  I could see in their eyes, they wanted to ask for Fran and Dermot’s number, but were a little shy yet. This kind of power could go to my head.


L. C.