Splitting

 I was surprised when they allowed all three of us into the examination room, but by then I’d taken my chastening to heart and was holding my impulses at bay. I was behaving for the new authority in our lives. I had stopped trying to fill my mother’s silences. When she looked towards me beseechingly, I just looked back without a word. A pocket of space was growing around me or was it around her? I never could tell the difference. She was the isolated one, having been led by my father and me into the den of the enemy—that diagnoser, that final arbiter of her mental fitness.  Even though I kept still, I told myself I was sending her encouragement, but encouragement for what I wasn’t prepared to say. Even now, all I can come up with is courage and the strength to endure what would come next, last in her life.

My father had removed all but his physical presence from the room. I couldn’t detect even the slightest hovering nearby of his thoughts or emotions. Maybe he’d retreated all the way back to South Philly where he’d been the favored son in a prosperous family, strong, handsome, and in control. Or maybe he’d gone to wherever he went to bargain with his god—they’d always had a close relationship—what will you take to spare her?

I became the silent witness, taking in what I could, objecting only in my mind to the questions that my mother couldn’t answer. Even I don’t always remember the date, I thought when my mother couldn’t say what year it was. Don’t you see she’s wearing a digital watch?  I chided when she was unable to tell the time on the analogue clock with its moving hands. These are false measures! You didn't give her enough time! You’ve terrified her so that she can’t think! My objections tumbled over one another when she didn’t get a single question right. But I remained silent and submissive as others took over.