Cherish

Cherish, teen mother and Outsider Girl, tries to find some time for herself and discovers it’s “not about me”.  Cherish also appeared in OGW April 1, 2010 and May 20.

Cherish:  Seven am, before the boy is awake.  He got me up at four, then he went back to sleep.  I tossed and turned, got up, made the coffee for my mother and me, sat down at my computer.

Free time.  Writing time.

Only there’s an email from the Disney store about a sale on hoodies, and next thing I know I’m browsing their site for about an hour, and I’ve put like sixty dollars on my PayPal account and I’ve bought the boy stuff like a white tee shirt with Jack from Nightmare Before Christmas on it which I figure he can get away with wearing to school ‘cause the uniform is a white shirt.

I want him to stand out.  I want him noticed.

That’s how it is now – screw me getting noticed, nobody ever noticed me for the good things anyway.  And now I don’t have to worry about me anymore, it’s all about him.

I haven’t written one word.  I have like six pages of a children’s book, one I’m writing for him, my sweet little boy.

For him.

When will it be for me again?

Was it ever?

But guess what -- I have a beautiful boy going into kindergarten this year, so who the fuck am I to complain?

Only, I can’t help it.  I want a boyfriend, friends, a new hoodie for me, a full night sleep going to bed before one and up after nine and then a day to write and draw like I used to but—

He’s awake now, tugging on me leg, smiling in my face.  Then he sneezes, and the dripping boogers make him cry so I have to go now, have to clean his face.  Story over.

For today, it’s not about me—

It’s Not About Me.

Cherish

Cherish returns to OGW, still struggling with her son when she's still a child herself.

Cherish:  Maypole still leaning against the wall, kid-sized, ribbon-wrapped.

Cd's in stacks of various sizes -- two, six, four, eighteen -- no shit, I counted.

Computer desktop repeating images of havanese puppy, documents and folders all over the desktop, too many, a mess.  Like everything else.

Three separate mugs of broken pencils, dried-out felt-tips, a child-sized scissor, a laundry marker for writing "JONAH Johnson" in his underwear for school.

His clay handprint, one finger broken off missing, uneven red paint splotchy, cracked.

Pepsi Max I'm drinking.

Pepsi Max -- three empty cans.

Ashtray, full.  Shaking hands.  Stack of bills too high, checkbook balance staring up at me, too low.

"Mommy, wanna play a game?" Jonah asks, coming out of our shared bedroom, a room which hasn't seen a date for four years.

     "Mommy can't.  Go back to bed.  I hafta do this."  Mommy -- I mean, Cherish, I mean, me -- I drag on a cigarette, blows out with pursed lips, in a direction away from Jonah.

     My son runs into the hanging cloud of smoke however, trying to catch it in his little brown fists.

     "Jonah!  Don't!"

     "I'm catching the smoke, Mommy."

     "Don't I said!  It's bad for you!"

     "I hafta 'tect you Mommy.  From the bad smoke."  His pajamas are worn-out, and the Hulk top doesn't match the Batman bottoms. 

     I gasp, almost break-down, but stop myself.  "Jonah, please, Jonah!  Go back to bed now.  Mommy has to finish--"

     "Whatcha' doin'?"  There's a hole in the armpit of Jonah's sleeve that I see when he holds his arms up to reach my neck, which he grabs as he tries to climb on my lap.  He gets bigger everyday, and when he pulls on my neck with all his weight, it hurts, a lot.

     "Jonah!"  Too loud.

     His mouth opens in an "O", and then he bursts into tears.  Between gulps of air he chastises me --  "We... s'pposed to... 'tect each udder... Mommy."

     "I know."  I sigh.  I kiss his head.  "You're a good boy."  I pull him onto my lap, fucking annoyed as hell but what can I do?  We have to protect each other.

Cherish

Cherish:  New Outsider Girl Cherish is a young mother, trying to complete high school and still raise her son Jonah with love and attention.

     Cherish: “But I don’t like school.  I want to stay with you,” my son says, pushing out his lower lip.

     My heart breaks for just an instant, and then I’m back on task.

     “Jonah, you have to go to school.  Mommy has to go to school.  Same as every day.  It’s the same every day!  Come3 on baby, why do you have to do this to me?  Put on your shoes.”

     “No.”

     “Jonah!”  I break.  I grab him hard and pull him to me.  I shove his feet into his sneakers.  “You don’t need me to dress you, Jonah.  You’re a big boy.”

     He clutches at me, but falls when I move back too quickly.

     Great, now he’s crying.  Great, that means there will be no time to make my lunch or get to my first class on time, and it’s all his fault and I hate—

     Pulling him into a hug, I say, “It’s okay, baby.  Mommy’s here.  I love you so much, baby.”

     “Can I go with you today?  I want to stay with you,” he says, pouting again, tears stopped in their tracks on his cheeks, guilting me until I wipe them away with my sleeve.

     I’m angry again.  Everyday we have this stupid argument!  He thinks I don’t want to be with him, but I am with him almost all the time.  After school, I don’t do my homework, I play knights and pirates with him.  I read to him, I bathe him, I feed him a fucking butter sandwich because he won’t eat the grilled cheese with bacon that I made specially for him.  I watch “Tutenstein” and “Little Bill”. 

     And after he’s in bed, when he gets up at ten o’clock, when I’ve finally has time to start my own homework – when he comes out of our room into the living room and my mother yells, “Jonah get your ass back in bed this minute!” and he tilts his head, smiles and says, “One more hug kiss?”…

     I drop everything, and I hug his scrawny body, kiss him on the lips and tuck his head under my chin so I can suck up the scent of baby that still lingers in his hair even though he’s already four.

     I will never graduate if I don’t get to school.  I will get another zero today on my homework. 

     “Quit babying him Cherish,” my mother says.

     “Please can I go with you?” Jonah asks me.  “You can walk with your friends and I’ll be really quiet.”

     I laugh at that.

“Hey,” I say.  “How about if instead of Gran driving you, you walk with me and my friends.”

“Cherish, honest to God in His Kingdom, how you gonna ever make something of your life if you don’t start teaching him life is what it is and get used to it, so what it sucks!  Get yourself to school girl!  Come on Jonah.  You with me.”

Zipping Jonah’s hoodie, I say to my mother.  “Naah Ma, he’s with me today.”

She looks at me like I’m the stupidest child who ever walked the earth.  She rolls her eyes.  “I’m gonna be late for work,” she says.  Leaving, she doesn’t even stop to kiss her grandson.

I pull him close.  “One more hug kiss,” I say.  We hold on tight for each other, believing that no matter what anyone says, we’re going to make it.

So what if we’re a little late.