When I was around 7, my mother came back into my life.
I was 5 or so months when she just upped and left dad, and by default, me as well. Being 5 months old I didn’t notice her absence after a while, and dad told me when I was older that mum hadnt really been ready to be a mum, so she left. She did us a favour, he said, his blue eyes blazing ito mine.
The relationship with my mother was strained at the start, awkward silences and false warm smiles but eventually over time, we became closer. We would snuggle up and watch movies late into the night, old films that were her favourite in childhood, and she would let me stir the hot cocoa and use all the mini marshmallows.
She confided in me one night while she held me as I was drifting off to sleep, that dad was right - she wasn’t ready to be a mum when I was younger, but that she was super ready now. The last thing I felt before I fell asleep was her gently kissing my forehead.
Dad noticed my grades were slipping, the teachers mentioned I had fallen asleep in class. He would question me if everything was okay?
Even at a young age, I felt torn. I didn’t want anything to affect my relationship with mum, we were having such fun together - I couldn’t tell him she was the reason I was staying up later and my concentration was wandering, but I didn’t want to lie to my dad either.
I mumbled something about being distracted with my upcoming birthday and made a steadfast effort to never fall asleep in class again, no matter how tired I felt.
A few weeks before my tenth birthday, mum told me I was almost ready. She said this with a big smile and glistening tears in her eyes.
I didn’t know what I was ready for, but I felt like I should’ve, so I didn’t ask I just smiled faintly and pretended to share her excitement, an easy feeling growing in my belly.
The uneasy feeling in my belly dissipated when I woke up on the morning of my birthday to a big white box on the end of my bed.
I knew it was from my mother, dad and I had the tradition of a birthday dinner with presents opened then.
A single red ribbon was tied with a bow, which I eagerly unwrapped, my excitement growing and building until I was into the actual package - which disappointingly revealed a single white envelope with my name written on it.
My mind wandered between a gift card or maybe it was money.. but all that was inside was a letter.
“My dearest girl,
Now you are 10 - a milestone that must be celebrated in the most grown up way possible.
Let the games begin.
You are finally old enough to join in the fun, so go to your jewellery box and open the lid - you find the first joke hidden within.
What you do next is up to you,
But remember, times ticking and I’m watching you.”
Definitely wasn’t what I was expecting and I stood in confusion for a few moments before walking to my jewellery box.
Inside was another envelope, practical joke 1# - at breakfast, squeeze a bit of lemon juice in dad’s coffee when he is not looking. Imagine his reaction - it will be so funny!
That’s exactly what I did.
And, it was hilarious. Once dad had stopped spluttering, he thought it was pretty funny too. He told me I had my mother’s sense of humour and I felt my heart swell with pride.
So that’s how it started.
The envelopes came every day, with a new practical joke to complete. At first, they were funny, comical even. But then, as the number of notes added up, so did the strange requests.
Practical joke 53# at school, take the class hamster out and set it free in the carpark. Make sure it’s busy!
Practical joke #87 hide your babysitters asthma puffer. When she begs for it, pretend you have no idea where it could be!
Whenever I completed the tasks in the note, I was physically alone, but I felt my mother’s eyes watching from somewhere. At night when she would lay with me until I fell asleep, we never talked about the practical jokes, but i.could tell they meant a lot to her because whenever I was hesitant at doing one, I could feel her distance and disappointment that night when she came to do the evening ritual.
I desperately wanted to ask her about the practical jokes, why I was doing them, but whenever i thought to bring it up the words would.get caught in my throat, unsaid and burning.
I avoided trouble for most of the meaner practical jokes, I was a quiet kid,.no one at school considered it could’ve been me who stuck razors on students seats, or who put laxatives in the school canteen’s lunch serving of spaghetti Bolognese. My third babysitter didn’t think it could’ve been the kid who spent 99% of her time locked away in the bedroom that cut her boyfriends brake line when he came to visit one night.
Dad stayed away from me like I was a bad smell. He could sense that there was something not quite right with me but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. He just knew that wherever I went, bad things followed.
I hated the practical jokes, but I was too scared to stop playing them. I had never told anyone before about them, but when I got up to practical joke #135 and saw what was written inside, I couldn’t keep my anxiety, and the tears at bay and while fighting back tears at school, a teacher approached me and asked if I was okay.
I burst into tears and told her mostly everything.. I didn’t tell her that the jokes were coming from my mum and I didn’t tell her that they involved people getting hurt. I didn’t want mum, or myself I guess, to get in trouble.
The teacher listened with concern on her face and promised she wouldn’t say anything, but if I really didn’t want to do any more jokes, then I didn’t have to. It was that simple.
It didn’t feel that simple at all, I still thought mum might be mad at me, but I also considered the fact that the teacher was an adult and would.have a much better knowledge of what was a good idea and what wasn’t.
I decided not to do the prank.
It was the first night in years that my mother did not tuck me into bed, hold me as I fell asleep. Infact, I didn’t hear from her at all for over a month, my sadness and dispair growing with each day that passed.
Her letter arrived and it was short, she was upset, disappointed. She pleaded with me to be a good daughter, to play the practical joke. She wanted me to prove my love for her.
Practical joke #135 was in my bedroom when I got home from school, the scent of my mother’s powerful floral perfume still filtering through the air as if I had just missed her.
I begged to a god I didn’t believe in, but had heard about at school. I begged that the practical joke would be different this time, but in my heart I knew it would be the same.
“Push Mia down the stairs. Make sure to push her extra hard so she tumbles and stumbles the whole way. How funny!”
Mia was dads girlfriend and she was pregnant. I didn’t know exactly how far along, but her bump was getting pretty big at that stage, and she mentioned to me how would I like having a little brother?
I liked Mia. She was nice. She made dad smile and his frown lines got less since she had been around. I didn’t want to push her, but I didn’t want to lose mum again. Even though Mia was supposedly my step mum, she was just so different.. no one loved me the way my real mum did.
So I decided to do it.
I know.. I’m messed up. At 10 I understood the consequences but not the reality of what I was planning to do.
All morning I watched Mia as she got ready, making dad’s coffee and then cleaning up the mess from where I’d spilt my arts and crafts the night before. There were multiple opportunities but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I felt the weight of letting down my mum but it was overrun by not wanting to hurt Mia. Instead, I broke down when I heard my dad’s car pull up in our driveway, and after 4 years of keeping secrets, I told Dad everything. And I mean, everything.. I pleaded with him to.explain it all to mum so she knew it wasn’t my fault.
His face was pale, and I noticed he was crying. He told me to wait in my room for a moment while he talked to Mia and I tried to earwig but it was all hushed sentences.
After A while dad came in and told me the police were coming and I had to tell them everything as well.
The next few hours passed in a blur of blue and red lights, similar questions being asked by different faces,my dad and Mia looking anxious as they filled out lots of paperwork.
I was scared I would be going to jail, but they didn’t arrest me.
Instead, I got to go to a psychologist every week. I got to draw my feelings. No one ever told me what happened to mum exactly, just said she wouldn’t be back.
As I grew into a teen I searched for what I could online but there wasn’t much, just a few articles and a death notice i couldn’t make sense of. It said my mum had died the year I was born, but of course that was wrong. I actually even questioned my dad about it, and he just stared at me as if id told him I was a vampire. I guessed he found it as bizarre as I did, and left it at that. We never talked about mum or what happened again, it became a distant memory.
I turned 18 a few weeks back.
Just got my own place. I work at the library. It’s quiet, safe. I enjoy life. I have.. forgiven.. myself for the things I did when I was younger. My life is in a differnt place now.
Or so I thought, until I got a letter in the mail today.
It was a single white envelope, and written in my mother’s beautiful cursive handwriting, Welcome to Adulthood!
My hands were shaking as I pulled out the card,
'’So the time has come - my baby is now an adult,
A woman of beauty and grace,
My dear you have such stylish taste,
Head to the wardrobe quickly to find your newest clue, hurry now, time keeps ticking and never forget, mother is always watching you.”
It’s been a few hours since I got home and read the letter. I haven’t gone to the wardrobe yet, I can’t bring myself to do it.
The thing is, my dad called me today as well, while I was still at work.
He called to tell me that now I was an adult, he thought I deserved to know the truth about mum.
The article i’d found as a teen was right. She had died the year I was.born. she took her own life and dad couldn’t bare to tell me so he’d done what he thought was better at the time, and told me she had left us willingly.
He said it was a mistake but he was.young and dumb, he didn’t know better.
He told me the police had never found the lady who was pretending to be my mum, the woman who was leaving me practical joke notes to find and complete.
I felt sick as I took all this in, a complete stranger had lied to me for years, had physically held me while I slept. I thanked dad and stumbled home in a daze, where the letter was waiting for me.
I don’t know who she is.
I don’t know how she found me again.
I’m scared to open my cupboard and see what practical joke she has waiting for me to complete.
WWYD?
(I’ll update if I can!)