Back when I was a teenager, I had a job that typically ran from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. Actually, my parents approved of their school aged child working in direct contradiction with federal labor laws. My narcissist mother put room and board money over my welfare and education. But that's a story for another day.
I woke up around 3 or 4 p.m. and as I always did, headed to the kitchen for coffee and a cancer stick. (Yes, once upon a time I used, as I observed the Patriarch do it his whole life).
As I came through the kitchen, the matriarch was cleaning fish. She snapped impatiently, “I want you to get in here and help me clean these fish.”
She was inconsiderate like that. I had just woke up after a long night shift and not even had time to wake up with coffee.
It was clear to me, from the tone of her voice she was eager to provoke confrontation. Especially since there were no witnesses. She snorted, “One day God is going to break YOU! David and Danny's knee caps and command you to bow down before me and beg my forgiveness!”
Still half asleep I retorted with, “If that's so, who's going to judge you?!”
I hadn't even had time to wake up, enjoy my afternoon wakeup coffee before she had dropped the fish and came bolting after me.
The porch was under construction and I tried to jump over the railing, but she caught me in midjump. Dangling by the hair of my head, wringing, hard as she could.
Like a worm on a hook I wriggled with all my might to pull myself free of her grip.
Finally I broke free. How much hair I lost during the struggle I will never know. But as I took off sprinting a sibling appeared, attracted by the matriarch's manic commotion. “Get her!” shouted the crazed matriarch. “Grab her!” I was running for my life and looked over my shoulder in a panic. “If you have any love in you for me, leave me alone!”
I ran as fast as I could and on my hands and knees crawled into the safety of the crawl space under the TV Repair shop building. Finally, I was momentarily able to catch my breath. I heard a neighbor come outside after she heard the bloodcurdling screams. “Is everyone okay?”
The narcissist matriarch being an expert at crocodile tears and facades, had already had time to compose herself and fall back into character of a skilled manipulative gaslighter, to project guilt and shame on to her victim.
Maliciously she replied, “It's Sharon. She has mental problems.”
I was left sitting in the crawl space with her whole lifetime of deception, still never ceasing to amaze me.
