When I was younger, my mother used to sing me a special lullaby to get me to sleep. It wasn’t your typical ‘A-tisket A-tasket’ or ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’, or ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,’ this lullaby was specially made for me by her. She would sing it to me whenever she could, before and during nap time, making my meals, while I was falling asleep. I once even caught her singing it to me just as I woke up. Like she was sat there singing to me the whole night. She sang it so much that throughout my toddler and most of my childhood years I’d sing along with her. I’m pretty sure I learnt the song before I could even walk.
Throughout my pre-teen and teen years, I slowly stopped singing the song and then eventually forgot it. It upset my mother, but she just had to face the fact that I wasn’t her little boy anymore. Of course I wouldn’t sing silly little nursery rhymes with my mother. No one else my age was doing it, so like the sheep I am, I followed along with the crowd. I have done all my life, follow. I followed my mother in my childhood, then I followed a troubled group in my teenage-hood, and so on. But, no matter who I followed, my mother was always the one I’d go back to. After I got caught in a small car accident, there was my mother, after drinking so much I passed out in a bush on the other side of town, there was my mother. She was always there for me somehow, no matter where I was, she’d be there to pick up the pieces, singing that same lullaby from when I was a child. What was even weirder, and creepier, was that no matter what happened, she’d always just smile at me. Smile and sing, sing and smile, pick me up and brush me off, smiling and singing. I was sort of appreciative in a creeped-out way. I knew no matter what I did, she’d never give me in trouble. I was her special little boy, I guess I always will be…
In my mid-twenties, I left. I moved to another country to start up my very own business. I waved my mother goodbye from my car as I drove off. This time, she wasn’t smiling. That was the last I saw or heard of her. I think, leaving my mother behind was possibly the worst decision I have ever made. Worse than the drinking and drug abuse, worse than the mental spiral downward into a hole I couldn’t dig myself out of. Leaving her was worse. Maybe it’s because of the way she reacted, my mother. I thought she’s be happy her little boy was finally growing up and becoming a man. But instead, she resented me for it. I promised I’d come back for the holiday months. I promised I’d call her and FaceTime her every day. No matter what I promised, she’d just scowl at me. No talking or singing, nothing. Just scowling at me, until I left.
Now, in my late forties, I had given up about hearing from my mother. Until a few weeks ago. She arrived at my door, pounding at the wood in the pouring rain until I answered. It was around four in the morning when she arrived. I didn’t know how she got my address, or what city I was even in. It didn’t matter at the time though, my mother came to me, smiling with open arms. It was the first time I was actually happy in a long time. The first thing she did when we sat down on my living room couch, was sing that special lullaby to put me to sleep. Curled up in her arms, like I was back in my childhood. I couldn’t help but hear my mother’s voice go, distorted and deep before I let sleep take me away. I was too tired out of my mind to try and make sense of it, like I was put under a spell.
Now I am here. I’m not sure how I got here. It’s dark and cold, like a basement. But my house doesn’t have a basement. It’s empty, this room. Cold and empty. Except for an old school type computer which I’m currently sitting at. I’m surprised this site even works on this old thing. It’s the only light source in the room. This cold, dark empty room. I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been down here, all I know is that I woke up in a daze to someone, no, something singing. Singing my childhood lullaby, the one my mother made up. But, it can’t be my mother singing. This, this thing it, sounds demented, deranged. My mother doesn’t sound like that. It won’t stop singing. I can hear it walking up and down behind me. Singing. How does it know my song? Please make it stop singing. I can’t handle it anymore. It’s like, like an old record stuck on loop. Singing and pacing, pacing and singing, watching me from every corner and singing.
”Round and round the garden Round and round we go, Lovely little daffodils Swaying too and fro With a skip and a song We carry ourselves home Round and round the garden Forever we will roam”
Singing and pacing, pacing and singing, repeating and repeating and repeating. Non stop, no breaks or, or breaths. Not stopping unless to stare at me. All I can hear is the tap tap tap of- something. And singing. Singing and singing and singing, non stop just singing! God I hate the singing! But I can’t get it to stop. No matter how much I plead or beg it won’t stop. Please make it stop.
Please, mama just make it stop…