The cleave
By Edith Choy
Jennifer was not sure when it happened — the cleave.
The desire to cleave, and leave the home, and the guilt of it threatened to eat her up raw and inwardly.
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“I’m 29, mum. I shouldn’t have to ask your permission on this. Why are you even expecting me to ask for permission?”
“I’m getting old, your dad and I are both getting old,” she paused before continuing, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What doesn’t matter?” Jennifer was not sure if she wanted to hear mother’s response, but she tried to appear like she cared.
Like a bacterial infection, the toxic words would gnaw at what was initially a peaceful conscience. The peace that was initially unruffled like flowing silk creased and stretched till the tautness created holes that rifted into larger ones.
Jennifer thought to herself, at least she made an effort with the morning car rides. Those times were rare moments she could spend quality time with each of her parents. It would have been favourable if she was the one driving them around instead, but it was too long after her driving exam without any practice.
Over time, as misunderstandings and differing needs wedged a gap between them, Jennifer realised that she was not close to her family at all. Increasingly, she found that her emotional needs could not be met through talking to them, especially when it came to issues that weighed deeply on her heart. So she built her support system elsewhere. Gradually, she developed a protective husk, practised and exercised greater independence in her actions, until she felt like she did not need to account to her parents much anymore.
Jennifer knew that to her mother, this could be perceived as the beginnings of future abandonment or neglect. Fissures within the family unit were not to be tolerated. This she was especially adamant and sensitive about.
In many ways Jennifer thought of her mother like a flower: beautiful in full bloom, delicate to the touch, emitting an alluring waft and scent. But the scent could be at times, and it set an unsettling undertone to their interactions. Her moods were unpredictable, and could shift as murky waters did. To avoid the dangers, Jennifer tried to stay afloat. If she had to submerge temporarily, she would hold her breath.
