The Waiting Game

It happens every 3-4 months. Usually when the seasons are changing. She missed the winter one, mainly because of the wedding planning. But, it’s been almost a month since the wedding and the beginning of spring so, here’s a welcome back to the monster.

I was waiting for it to come. Constantly checking my imaginary watch, waiting for it to hit scream o’clock. Honestly, by now, I know how it all goes. It’s quite sad how used to it I am.

I could see it in her eyes this week as my brothers constantly pissed her off with the littlest things. I think that is how you know. It’s in the little things. Normally, she’ll get pissed off at reasonable things, like when my brother doesn’t clean up after himself, despite constant reminders. Or when I come home late. But when she stormed off to her room and slammed the door over the fact that my brother had a little bit more popcorn than the rest of us, I knew that clock was ticking faster.

I was the reason for the start of this specific episode though. I usually am, if I’m completely honest. The reason I start it, the reason I say the things I say or do the things I do when I know the monster is ready to wake up, is because I just want it to be over with. The days or weeks leading up to the wakening are brutal. She’s always in a state of constant sadness or infuriation. I need to awaken the monster because as soon as it happens, she cools off in her room or with a long car ride, and by the next day, or at least, the day after, things are back to normal. Well, if you can call it that.

She was already pissed off when she woke up. She couldn’t scream at my brothers for their lack of consideration for other humans in the house (in the form of not sharing the last of the leftovers) because my father works from home and was on an important phone call. She asked me for a cup of coffee when she woke up. I was fine with that. All morning she laid in her bed, pissed off at the boys, just boiling in her own temper. She even locked the door to her bedroom.

Then, she asked for a second cup of coffee. She called me on my cell phone while I was in my room studying for my last final. She asked in a not so nice tone. I said, “I’m studying,” knowing full well the reaction that would occur with such as response.

“Fine…” Phone clicks.

Five minutes later, a text message riddled with negative connotations:

The next time you need a ride, don’t bother asking me.

My chance to really kick it up a notch. “Time to wake the monster from hibernation,” was the thought that ran through my mind as I typed my response:

Stop doing that. Just because you’re pissed off at the boys does not give you the right to treat dad and I like shit.

No response. So I typed another one:

You’re an adult, mother, and a role model. Act like it.

“Oh boy,” I thought to myself. “This one is gonna be intense.”

Her response was quick to that:

All I was asking for was coffee. You don’t have to disrespect me. You haven’t earned the right to disrespect me. Just because you’re an adult now. The hell with you… You’re only ungrateful. You tell that to yourself. You act like you’re spoiled rotten bitch.

Now, this was an intense response via text; however, not the response I wanted in order for her to release the monster. Time for the kicker:

Says the woman who raised me.

I heard the door to her room unlock and stomps over to mine. Her hand slams on the door multiple times. Her angry voice screams all the obscenities she could think of. She runs to her room to grab something to unlock my door from the outside. She opens the door screaming more obscenities and starts to throw everything she can set her eyes on towards my laptop and I, which are both sitting at the desk.

Then, my dad comes to the rescue. She stomps back to her room and slams the door. As soon as my dad looks at me, tears come to my eyes.

“I was waiting for it to happen.”

He nods, “I know. Me too.”

Mahalo and Aloha,


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