Chapter 3

Rachel Dealtry

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t look at her face, it’s just too upsetting. Some days I can do it, some days I can breeze in and look at her picture, feel her spirit watching me and just say a silent “Hi” and that’s ok, it’s ok to do that, but some days, and today is one of those days, she burns a whole in my heart. The well is too deep, the mirror too cracked, the soul too destroyed. I pull myself together; lift the water off my face with the palm of my hands, take a deep diaphragmatic driven breath and place the photograph back. I feel something pulling at my nylon tights and I bend down to see what the hell it might be, I don’t figure it out, but whatever it was has left a ladder. I say this out loud “I have a ladder” my voice sounds different, dulcet, toned, deeper “You’re worried about a ladder!” shouts back at me! “What the...” I look up and see a young Joan (my mother’s best friend) staring right back at me. “We’re at Woodstock and you’re worried about a fucking ladder in your stockings, deary me!” I am astounded because when I look again at my laddered tights, I notice that my legs look different, my legs feel different, I feel funny, woozy, dizzy and the sounds, the music, everything... is... different. I touch my hair which is thick and wavy, I feel around my face for recognition and then suddenly it dawns on me and I feel as though I cannot breathe, I am drowning, being pushed down under a blanket of water, it takes me, intoxicated, I splutter, gurgle, drift. Everything goes black and then something strikes me, hard on the face. I open my eyes and see stars glistening all around the sky and my eyeballs roll around inside my head. It’s Joan again; she’s leaning over me, pulling at my limp arms. She sings at me “June, June, wake up. You just blacked out” Of course! I know exactly who I am and I know exactly where I am and this is just the final nail in the coffin of my day. I AM MY MOTHER. I sit up and look at my left hand and sure enough, a simple gold wedding ring sits there, staring back at me. “Fuck June, are you alright? Cum-mon, we best get a friggin move on we don’t wanta miss Canned Heat”. No sooner had Joan mentioned Canned Heat, the heavens opened and this wasn’t just a shower either, it was torrential. Joan pulled my arm and we ran through the crowd, sopping wet. She squeezed me through the smog of delirious air, I just let her pull me through the squelch. Before I knew it we were somewhere near the front, right up by the stage. No-one seemed to care that we were soaking wet, it was like being in a giant swimming pool with lots of happy people. She gripped my hand and I wondered how I would manage to release it so that I could gain a perspective on what was happening to me. I knew that my father must have been there somewhere and the last thing I needed was to see him. As the band started and Joan flew her arms in the air, I edged away from her, slowly manipulating my way through the crowd, I was groped a little and offered a smoke which I politely avoided, I reasoned with myself that this was psychedelic enough without enhancing anything. When I found a safe spot, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a compact silver mirror. Staring back at me was her, was my mother and I couldn’t help but say “What the fuck is going on?” the reflection smirked right back at me “That’s really not the best way to greet your mother Becca”. I felt my stomach summersault, snapped the mirror shut, crouched on the floor as I felt the vomit rising through my legs and up into my throat, I keeled over, the music was playing through my chest, the swimming pool was just mud  rising and my body was sinking again. I knew that I had to make a decision, because right there and then it didn’t feel as though I had any choice. Joan was here, my father was here... somewhere, and I was lost inside my own mother. I debated opening the mirror again and asking her advice on the situation, but knowing that it was there gave me a sense of security. I could do that later, in private. ‘You are at Woodstock’ I told myself, ‘you are your dead mother and you are fighting it. Later, later Becca, we will deal with this later.’ I let the sick go and as I breathed in, I let something go, I let myself go. Finding my bearings, I drifted back through the crowd searching for Joan, I’m not sure how long it took to reach her, but I’ve always been fairly good with directions. I saw her on the shoulders of a chiselled god and I made a dash for her. Reaching up, I squeezed her hand as tight as I could; she bent down “June – June. Are you feeling better?” I jumped up “Yes, much much better! This is wild!” There was warmth on my shoulders and something tickled my neck. I turned around slowly and looking back at me with dewy eyes was my very own father.