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Echoes of my mother’s voice reverberated in my mind as I tossed and turned, fighting away the demons who taunted me. I chiseled away at memories made of stone and flesh and bone until I walked down a pathway alone.
I could picture sadness crawling beneath my mother’s skin, though her eyes were without tears. Her hands rested in her lap with nothing to do because “in her lap with nothing to do because there were no shoeboxes of photographs to sort through, and no memories of me remained. Thousands of black wings filled the sky until they covered it in darkness. Endless shadows serenaded the emptiness. Tears were the only currency I possessed, but they weren’t for sale, so I couldn’t “pay the piper.”
My mother repeated this phrase a lot to me while growing up—meaning I had to accept the consequences of my actions. The only way she could justify knowing her father abused me was by convincing herself it was all my fault. I had to pay some imaginary piper for all my evil deeds and wrongdoings.
I woke up realizing it was time for me to let the piper know I owed him nothing. The piper owed me plenty, though, and I intended to collect.”
Excerpt From: Samantha Hart. “Blind Pony.” iBooks.
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