Excellent The pain of having parents who do not accept you. In A Perfect World by Janilou This is a spiritually based story about a daughter and her mother, and their struggles. It is dedicated to anyone who reads the description, and feels that pain.

Category:  Spiritual Fiction   Posted:  August 17, 2006      Views: 333

ABOUT JANILOU  Janilou is a woman who loves God. Much of her work reflects her faith. Christian music often inspires her work. She is honored to have been named FanStory's Short Works Author Of The Year, in 2007 and 2008, and thanks all of her wonderful fans for the ranking. Their comments and support are her inspiration! She writes whenever her dairy goats allow her to escape the milking barn. If she's not on FanStory, you might find her on Facebook, using her real name, Jan Anderegg. Quote Of The Day: "Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: Always try to be a little kinder than is necessary." Sir James M Barrie She has won several contests. The contest submission Death By Taxes was the first place winner in the contest . Boys Will Be Boys was the first place winner in the contest . Twas The Night Before - Say What? was the first place winner in the contest . She is a top ranked author and is currently holding the #41 position. The Seal of Quality committee has rewarded her with 2 seals. Portfolio | Become A Fan The moment I walked into the small coffee shop I knew it was different. The rickety door swung shut behind me as if shooing me through before I could change my mind. A lazy fan circled over my head, barely moving the heavy air. Yet as hot as it was outside, it felt comfortable enough in here. An aroma caught somewhere between fresh orange peels and hot cocoa drifted across the room as I made my way to an empty booth.  The table was set for two with fake lace place mats, and a pale pink rosebud in a glass crystal vase in the center. Its surface shone like a new penny and my reflection gazed back up at me with widened eyes. Through the water-spotted window pane, I could see children playing across the street, running across a deep green lawn and jumping through a spinning sprinkler. Shrieks of laughter filtered through and I turned away with a smile, but my heart was pounding. Where was the waitress? I could hear the sounds of china being stacked and a radio played softly. With a sigh I reached across and picked up a menu from the next table, making a mental note to be sure not to order too much. It wasn't worth it. My mother would be sure to comment on my lack of self control. A waitress burst through the kitchen door and with a big smile, hurried over. Pen and notebook poised she nodded at the empty seat. "Do you want to wait for the other party to arrive or can I bring you a drink now? "I'll take a glass of your lemonade please." How did she know I had plans to meet someone? "Excellent choice! We make the world's best lemonade here!" she smiled. I couldn't help but smile back. Her long grey hair was swept up and neatly pinned. Crinkly lines followed that smile all around her face and those sparkling eyes made me wonder if she ever frowned. She turned to leave, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I hear the humble pie is excellent this week." "Excuse me?" But she was gone through the swinging kitchen door and I shook my head. My mother must have called ahead and that was so like her. This meeting was going to be much harder than I imagined. "She really does love you," the waitress called out from the kitchen. "In a perfect world perhaps," I muttered under my breath. Shivers trickled down my spine, despite the heat.  My mother sure loved something alright. She loved to weigh the balance of public opinion in her favor. Involving a total stranger in our differences today was going a little too far. I glanced at my watch. Ten past the hour. Not like her to be late. The waitress brought my lemonade and set it down on a coaster, before hurrying away, without another word. Sipping the lemonade, I glanced around the empty room. I'd chosen this place because it was usually packed on a summer day like today and Mother couldn't make too much of a scene. Ah, the irony of my planning. All my efforts to get everything 'just so', to stay in control. My mother had the uncanny ability to reduce me to a stuttering, fumbling idiot, lost somewhere between the behavior of a tantrum prone two year old and a rebellious adolescent. Both were far removed from the adult I had been for more years than I cared to remember. I glanced at my watch again and my stomach tightened. Where was she? She'd insisted that we meet, saying there was something she just had to tell me and now she had the gall to not show up? I picked up my napkin and folded and unfolded it several times before tossing it down in disgust. I hated myself for being so nervous.  Hated myself indeed. Years upon years of control, manipulation, disapproval and interference.  Of trying desperately to appease or please her but any effort to win her approval was followed by the despair of knowing I never could. I usually avoided her these days.  Who knew why she wanted to meet me today?  I was certain it would be something I had done wrong. The door opened and closed with a bang and I swung around, heart pounding. It wasn't her. A young girl stood in the doorway, dressed in grungy looking clothes with long sleeves that were torn and ragged on the ends and far too warm for a day like today.  She walked right up to my table, chattering like a little bird, her big blue eyes wide with wonder as soft brown curls bounced around her face. "Hi!  I'm Maple. I was six but it's my birthday today and now I am going to be seven!  All year!  Seven is all grown up you know!" "Well happy birthday then!" I offered. She shrugged and looked longingly at my lemonade. "That looks good." "Would you like one? Sit down, and I'll buy you one, my treat," I said returning the eager smile she launched at me. Somehow my meeting with my mother didn't seem important anymore. Maple slipped into the other side of the booth and gave me another big grin as the leather seat squeaked, making her laugh out loud. "Oops!" she giggled, bouncing on the seat. "I like watermelon, too." Even the dirty old clothes didn't detract from the shine in her face. "Waitress? Excuse me, but could we..." I called out. "Coming right up!" the waitress sang out from the kitchen, before I could get the words out. She appeared with another big glass of lemonade, and two huge slices of watermelon.  With one hand she slipped a plate in front of both of us, deposited the watermelon and the lemonade without incident and stood back beaming at us like a Cheshire cat!  How had she known?  She winked. "Maple is a regular. Besides, who wouldn't enjoy a big juicy slice of watermelon on a day like this? It's a celebration!" "I guess so. But where are all your regular customers?" Her eyes twinkled. "Guess you didn't see the sign on the door, huh? We're closed today. Cook is helping them re-shingle that old schoolhouse they're turning into a museum down town." "Oh, I'm sorry! We can leave! You should have said something!" I exclaimed. She shook her head with a smile and watched Maple drain the last few drops of lemonade from her glass. "Here Maple...another one? No matter. You and Maple are our special guests today. I'll bet you two could find some interesting things to talk about sitting here, sipping lemonade and making friends." Maple grinned at me through a half eaten slice of watermelon. Well at least I knew why my mother hadn't shown up! Closed indeed. She would have a grand time with that one. "So Maple, what grade are you in?" She shrugged her shoulders and wiped her mouth on a dirty sleeve. "Don't go to school much. Grandmother keeps me home a lot so I don't waste the teacher's time. Too dumb, that's me." "But Maple, you have to go to school. It's the law! What does your mother say?" I replied. This was ridiculous! A dark cloud swept her face so quickly I thought I might have imagined it. She looked out the window and stared at the children still playing and laughing underneath the sprinkler. "I'm sorry Maple. We don't have to talk about it." I was struggling now. I didn't want to upset her. Maple turned back and looked at me. "My mother wishes I had never been born. I ruined her life, her marriage, everything she had. She hates me.  I'm a worthless person who should never have been born. Grandmama says so too." she said, her voice flat and listless. I knew why I was here in this tiny café.  God had sent me to minister to this dear little girl. Father God, in Jesus's name, please give me wisdom here.  Fighting back the tears in my eyes, I pretended not to notice the ones she brushed from her own. "You know, Maple, it sure is strange to hear you say that because my mother said the same things about me when I was your age. She still does." Maple looked up with a sad little smile. "My mother says I'm not pretty like the other girls...the ones she wishes were her daughters. But you're so pretty. Your mother must be blind or somethin'." My heart writhed in pain. The same cruel words I had grown up with and worse were being flung at this dear little girl. Words with the power to cut so deep that the wounds they inflicted never truly healed. "Maple, it's not true. I don't care how many times you hear those things. You have to listen to me. You are a very pretty girl." Maple sighed and shrugged her shoulders under her woolly, old sweater. I knew she didn't believe me but I wanted to plant the seed.  One day it might be enough to help her overcome her past...to know that once, a long time ago, someone had believed in her. She continued with her story. "Grandmama stays mad at me for days. She hits me with sticks or a belt and she won't stop until she has counted to one hundred. Sometimes when it's really dark, I am so naughty that she locks me out of the house.  I hate that so much.  It scares me.  She tries to love me but..." She hesitated and looked around the room before leaning in closer and whispering. "It's just that she just can't stand who I am and what I did to Mommy. Mommy and Daddy wouldn't have had to get married except for me. I ruined her life and now I am our whole family's dirty little secret." I felt the bile rising in my throat. I had to contact the authorities as soon as possible. Maple continued to nibble at her watermelon rind as though it were perfectly normal for a child to state that and believe it to be true. Hearing a sniffle, I looked up. Our waitress was standing there, tears rolling down her face, holding two fresh glasses of lemonade. She leaned towards me as she placed them down. "Told you she needed to talk to someone," she whispered. I glared at her. "If you knew about this why the hell haven't you done something about it?" I hissed back. She shrugged her shoulders. "It's too late for Maple I guess." "Over my dead body it is," I replied, still under my breath. I turned my full attention back to Maple, who had already started on her lemonade with loud slurping noises. "Listen Maple, honey, people should never say those things to children. Not to anybody, even adults. It hurts them so much inside forever. There are people who can help you and help your Mommy too." "Oh no! I must never tell because they might get taken away and if only I wasn't so naughty..." Her little hands clasped tightly in front of her and she began to wring them. Her words betrayed an inner conflict I knew so well. Before I could speak again, the door banged and footsteps approached us from behind my seat. A tall man looked down on us and held out his hand. "Come then, Maple." I nearly upset the table trying to get out of the booth and on my feet. "Wait just a minute!" I gasped, looking across to the waitress who stood calmly wiping a dish with a towel; and then at Maple who was gazing up at the man as she reached to take his hand. "You can't just take her!!" I sputtered, not certain how I intended to stop him but I grabbed his arm and he turned to face me. I sank back down into the booth. I knew this man. I KNEW THIS MAN! I opened my mouth but the words would not come. Maple looked at me and then up at the man. "But I didn't get to tell her yet, how sorry I am," she said. Jesus looked down at me tenderly. "Oh I think she knows now, little Maple Ellen, and I think she understands." I looked at Him and then back at Maple. Ellen was my mother's name. This dear little child was, my mother. "I am so very sorry," my mother said to me. "I hated myself for years because of what I did to you. It's no excuse I know and you don't have to feel sorry for me but I wish we could have been friends. I wish I had learned to love myself before it was too late for me to learn how to love you." She hesitated and looked up at Jesus before continuing, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I called myself 'Maple' when I was a child. Maple trees look rough on the outside, but on the inside they have sweetness running through them, if you just know how to reach it. Just last week I gave my life to Jesus and at last I understood what you had been trying to tell me all these years. I wanted to meet you here today to ask if you could ever forgive me. Then it 'happened' and I begged Him to let me meet with you before I, well, left." She stood there before me a grown woman, years of regret and sadness bursting through her voice like a shattered dam giving way. "I did love you....I really did. But every time I tried to tell you the words came out wrong." She paused and as I looked at her standing there I thought my heart would break for her as I saw the grief in her eyes. "Me too Mom. I mean I love you too," I replied, biting my lip. "It's too late now you know," she said, sounding more like my mother. "Yes I know." Slipping out of the booth I stood and wrapped my arms around her. "But you know something Mom? It's just the beginning for you and now you are going to get to have those wonderful times you longed for, and I, I do forgive you." I thought of how often I had read Peter's words asking Jesus how often we should forgive those who sin against us. It had seemed so hard to do, until now. She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling. They were still my mother's eyes but clear and bright with no trace of disapproval. I had never known what she had been through, suffered, as a child. She had kept her secrets well hidden. "Come My little one." Jesus said, as He gently brushed a final tear from her eye. A grown woman and a little girl took His hand. Little 'Maple Ellen' looked at me. "You really forgive me? For everything?" I nodded. "Yes Mom, I do. I only wish..." My voice trailed away.It was gone, the chance to enjoy her here on earth. "I'll wait for you at the top of the stairs! By the gate, until you come. Then we can play together!" she exclaimed. She was a little girl again and I had to smile through my tears as she stood there, hand in hand with her beloved Savior. It was perfect and she was about to enter a perfect world. "That would be wonderful," I answered. With one last longing glance in my direction, my mother turned and looked up at her Savior and her face lit up with pure joy. From that moment I knew I was forgotten until a future time. The two of them walked hand in hand across the room and upon reaching the door they simply kept walking and vanished. Our waitress stood there leaning against the counter, smiling and crying, just like me. "Breaks me up every time,"she said, flipping off the lights over the booths. "Closing time now honey. No charge today." She began to whistle a tune, and started wiping down tables, as though we both hadn't just watched Jesus walk out of there with my mother as a small child. I picked up my purse and walked to the door in a daze. Hot air rushed against my face as I stepped out onto the street. There was large sign hanging on the door. CLOSED ~ GONE FISHING. Suddenly I felt myself falling, floating and falling again, and I awoke, my heart pounding but lying in my own bed. It had been a dream. Just another foolish dream. They kept haunting my sleep. I rolled over and stared at the sunshine streaming through my bedroom window. Time to get up! Today was my mother's funeral. She died late last week and we had never had that lunch or ever planned to. I would never get to hear her say those words I longed my whole life to hear; that she was sorry; that she was proud of me for who I was. Nor would she hear me tell her that I did forgive her, for I had tried to forgive, especially since her sudden death snatched her from us before I was given the chance to say goodbye. But the truth was, I didn't know if she would have even cared. I climbed out of my bed with a deep sigh, the fleeting glimpses of the dream still in my mind, and headed to the kitchen to make some strong coffee. An hour later, I was showered and dressed in clothes I hoped even my mother could have approved of, and ready to head to the church for her funeral. The rest of my family would be waiting there, each with their own thoughts and regrets, their own sorrow. I walked outside and the warm sunshine flowed over me as though trying to comfort me. I could almost feel God's hand on my shoulder. He was indeed a wonderful comfort to me at times like this but dreams like this made it harder for me to come to terms with her death. My heart was still an empty void. I sank down into the soft seat of my car, and the sunshine reflecting off something, caught my eye. On the seat beside me lay a small heart shaped basket. It was wrapped in ruby red cellophane, tied with a purple ribbon and filled to the brim with leaf shaped maple sugar candies. With trembling hands I picked up the note tucked underneath. It was my mother's handwriting and it simply said. "Don't eat them all at once. Love, Maple." I looked up at the deep blue sky through the leaves of the giant old maple tree under which I was parked and began to sob. I pictured them climbing the stairs to heaven hand in hand. God and a little child saved by grace. I love you Mom! Take care of her, Jesus, and thank you so much," I whispered through my tears. The leaves above me rustled in a sudden gentle gust of wind and although the street was silent, I was certain I heard Him whisper back "I will, you are welcome, go in peace." I smiled and turned the key. For the first time in my life, I would. Recognized Share your own writing! - Information on our membership for writers. Author Notes I wrote this story for a girlfriend of mine whose relationship with her mother was one that harmed her more often than it helped her. It breaks my heart that people don't realize the damage they can do to a child's psyche with just words, much less the physical abuse that often accompanies it. And yes....I am unashamedly "preaching to the choir" in the spiritual part of this story and aware of it. It is not supposed to be real. Just another way to look at how much Jesus loves us all. Reviews, even critical ones are welcome. I have learned more about writing and how to improve what I love to do on this site than anywhere else in the past ten years. Blessings. Jan Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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