Beth
by MaryAnne Kolton
Beth
hoped she might at last be unhooked from the shame of her errant father and
manipulative mother now that they were both dead, but she soon learned it
didn't work that way. Her depression
deepened and the tapes of “not good enough, never will be, just like your
father” refused to be stilled. Barely audible, they swarmed like gnats
around her head. The non-stop voices of
her parents gave her headaches so violent that she was unable to complete the
course work for the last semester of her business class. She failed to eat, lost too much weight and
spent days in bed. She slept the hours
away. Depression settled deep into the
pores of her skin.
At
some point during the next three weeks when she crawled out of bed to go to the
bathroom, Beth stood in front of the sink and risked a glance at the
mirror. She was shocked by what she saw
there. An emaciated woman of
indeterminate age looked out at her.
Filthy hair hanging from her head in clumps, face grey with grime,
soiled, tattered pajamas hanging from a skeletal frame. Beth tilted her head and listened, startled
by the near silence. The voices were so
muted she was hardly able to make out what they were saying.
