Maggie, breathe

Margaret walked her sister to the door and closed it behind her. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment. She took a few mind-relaxing breaths and determinedly headed for the telephone.
“Mom?” she mumbled. “Can I talk to you about something?”
Margaret sat down on her bed and absent-mindedly allowed her hand to caress the cashmere throw her grandmother had given her years ago. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose; the corners of her mouth reached for her ears as though the memory of that day were being relived in her mind.
“Mags, are you all right?” her mom asked worriedly. There was a short silence heard on the other end of the phone, and then a soft cry. “Mags, you can ask me anything. But ask me- you’re scaring me. What is it?”
Margaret opened her eyes. She moved the phone from her right to her left ear. She held it tightly. “This might seem out of nowhere, or maybe- maybe you won’t want to talk about it,” she spoke quickly and nervously. “Joni just left. I was trying to explain to her why Ryan and I split up. I told her it was because I never got over certain things from my past. Our past. I remember so many things, so many times, so many,” she breathed. She breathed again and continued, “I remember dad being a jerk. I remember him being a jerk to all us. He was aggressive and violent and so-,” she interrupted her own thought with a cry.
A few seconds passed and her mom said, “Mags, honey, slow down. Calm down. Now start over.”
“Dad did throw the toaster at Joni, didn’t he? He hit you, right? He would scream- all the time. He screamed, right? Joni says I’m making it all up and that none of this happened. I mean she said that you guys would fight, but who doesn’t fight? Everyone fights she says. She said that you and dad would have your moments but toasters would never fly and hits were never taken. She told me that he didn’t do any of those things. She said her was a great father, to both of us. Am I crazy mom? Did I make it all up? Am I crazy?” Margaret was wailing at this point. Tears were streaming down her face, soaking through her sweater and hitting her throw blanket at a swift pace.
Her mother could hear her heaving on the other line. At a loss for words, her mother just kept repeating, “shh, shh.”
“Every time I fight with Ryan I think ‘oh no, he’s yelling, oh no, he’s dad, he’s gonna hit me,’ every time, mom, every time,” Margaret stopped for a moment. She breathed in and breathed out. Breathed in and breathed out.
“Mags, you are not crazy. Shh, shh- not crazy Mags, breathe,” Margaret’s mother said to her in a soothing voice. “Joni is right. Well, she isn’t right- but- she’s right, ok Mags? Joni remembers somewhere deep inside of her, somewhere hidden, that dad did- did get violent at times, but Maggie, she has chosen to forget. She has chosen so indomitably that the memory has been erased. It might not be the best therapy I have ever imparted, but Mags, it works. She’s happy. Don’t push her.”
Margaret was sitting on the edge of her bed still obliviously stroking her blanket. Her head was dropped and her breathing was methodical.
“As for you Mags, yes. A part of you needs to deal with the things you saw when you were younger. But baby, don’t let your memories get the best of you. They are past. Ryan may be yelling. But Ryan isn’t dad. He won’t do to you what- he won’t do that to you. Listen, Mags, are you listening?”
“Yes mom,” Margaret answered.
“Your father loved you. He loved Joni. He loved all of us. But he’s gone now. He may have gotten the best of us while he was living, but you can choose how you want to remember him. That day that he brought that new toaster home and Joni was finger painting our brand-new white kitchen cabinets a bright shade of pink- dad didn’t get mad. He let the toaster slip between his fingers and it hit the floor. He and Joni spent the day laughing and playing outside on the slip-n-slide,” her mother let out a little laugh as she convincingly retold the tale that had haunted her daughter for years. “Choose your memories darling. And choose carefully.”