Sisters, Daughters of this Cruel World by Naomi Oppenheim
Let’s imagine, for a moment, that after months/years/seconds of deliberation, I finally decide to pick up the phone and give you a call.
And you answer. Maybe I would say, Hi, Hello, It’s been a while, how are you?
And you would say nothing.
And after an awkward silence I might say, I bet you are wondering why I called.
And then I would say, I miss you. And then I would say, my life doesn’t feel complete without you, even though it actually is. But anyway, maybe I’ve stitched myself up enough for us to hold each other without our wounds bleeding together and getting all infected and full of puss.
When I look in the mirror, I see you, I would say, and I don’t turn my head away. And I feel you when your favorite band comes on the radio and I don’t change the station, or at least not as quickly as I used to, and sometimes it makes me feel better to realize I could pick up the phone at any moment, and start a whole new future, and fill you in on the parts of the past you missed, or at least the important ones.
Anyway, how have you been?
And you would say nothing.
And after another awkward silence, I would say, I’ve been good! Kind of. I just got home from a trip to some beautiful places with some wonderful people you have never met before - except maybe one of them once. And we sat in parks and drew each other and wrote poems together and we drank lots of wine and ate lots of bread. And now I’m sitting in this weird space where a lot of things are not really over, but they almost are, and other things have not started yet (but they are going to, maybe, soon). And it’s an uncomfortable feeling, like dying, or knowing you’re going to die, but knowing after the dying you will keep on living. And you’ll be different, but not as much as you hoped.
You know?
And you wouldn’t answer, but I wouldn’t expect you to, so I’d keep talking.
I’m learning to read playing cards like tarot, I’d say, and also a bit about astrology. I’ve been considering looking at your chart, but I thought it would be weird to just reach out out of the blue asking what time you were born after we haven’t spoken in so many years. Though I guess we’re on the phone now so it’s not as weird to ask. Anyway, I’ve never even stopped to consider whether I believe the things I’m learning - it never occurred to me that it might not be absolutely and unquestionably reliable. I guess some of us are so desperate to believe in something bigger than ourselves that we don’t stop to ask questions. That’s probably why so many of us end up in cults.
Or organized religion.
Or both.
Anyway, I pulled some cards about making this phone call, and they said, Wait. Not yet, but soon, and it will hurt.
A pause, silence.
I’ve been thinking a lot about you, which you may have guessed, since people don’t just call out of nowhere. Someone told me recently - our mothers aren’t our mothers, they’re our sisters, and our mothers are this cruel world. Well, I have to be honest. That comes as quite the relief. You wouldn’t be my first choice. And while sometimes my mother is you, and sometimes it’s this cruel world, sometimes it’s this kind world, which has led me into loving arms and taken me further along the path of healing than I knew existed, and never knew to imagine myself traversing.
And haven’t I carried you, haven’t you been with me the whole time, healing?
And weren’t you my first choice?
Wouldn’t you still be?
Sister, sister, it is lovely to see you here.
I’ve been dancing, as much as I can, and Thank the Goddesses because I do believe that the body is the site of the best parts of healing. And when I dance, I feel at home, and I feel strong, and I feel the vice grip of the guilt you’ve given me loosen a little bit, and I think, maybe I could choreograph a dance for us that untangles the web of pain we’ve inflicted upon each other (and subsequently others).
And I personally am very open to the idea as long as it never happens, or at least not until we are both a little more healed. But I wouldn’t say this part out loud. And you wouldn’t say anything.
I would fill the silence, telling you about what I’m studying in school, telling you that I want to work in the mental health field, that I want to be someone who helps people who are hurting and who are healing - having always been someone who is hurting and healing, and all.
And not just because of you, I’d say.
Remember, I chose you, and we’re sisters, daughters of this cruel world.
But it would still hurt to tell you this, just like the cards said it would; would still hurt to hear you saying nothing, and hearing myself still so uncomfortable with silence, pouring my presence into the empty spaces, a cushion to soften your sharp edges.
And I would say, I saw you blocked me on Facebook.
And I would say, you’re kind of mean.
And I would say, you are my child. I gave you life. I gave birth to you. And I gave you my childhood as a gift, but not wrapped in ribbon, no bow, not ceremoniously given, just left on a counter with a note attached that said For You, and you took it. And are you sorry?
I went blind for you, I’d blurt out. Then I would laugh a bit, and say,
I don’t know why I said that.
And you would say nothing.
And now I’d be getting a little bit angry.
So I’d ask again:
Are you sorry?
Are you sorry?
Are you sorry?
And you wouldn’t answer, because you aren’t there and never were - I didn’t call and never would have. I freeze with fingers on the keys remembering the cards.
Not yet, sister. Wait.
But soon, and it will hurt.