text: She never wanted to be a mother, not in any of the ways that could sustain her through the first eighteen years of a life, that is. She wanted to be a mother in the way that some want to learn to play an instrument or wish to discover a hidden talent. The wish is genuine, but the dedication to following through is flighty at best. The older the child grew, the less they held her attention. Every day they grew more independent and less a living doll, the more her interest in them seemed to evaporate. After all, what good is a living doll if it can tell you no? If it can push back against your control, opinions and desires rather than being the trophy and living accomplishment you set out to harness to begin with. She never realized this about herself, though. That she was having child after child in order to grow closer to a mother who had kept her at arms length all her life, just as her mother before her. Three generations of women devoting their every choice to getting the attention, acceptance and love of the other and being unable to harness it, at the cost of their own freedom and long forgotten dreams. But Sandy was different, or at least she hoped to be. As a child, Sandy had been prone to daydream and get lost in thought. Her mother had thought she was flighty, a child untethered to reality for the sake of escaping responsibility. But Sandy was dreaming herself into this very moment that lay before her. After a decade of having door after door slammed in her face, or worse yet, sending project after project into the endless void, she was finally going in for a second interview with a woman who seemed just as passionate about her stories as Sandy was. Walking into the sparse office, the modern decor and leather seats crafted into what some may call futuristic angles, Sandy found herself feeling once again out of place. But this was nothing new for a woman who had never felt at home in her own body. A body she was taught to feel ashamed of and attempted to hide, only to seemingly draw more unwanted attention to herself. Sandy sighed as she scanned the room for a seat she could squeeze herself into, settling on the one she thought would cut into her sides the least but knowing getting back up may present its own challenge whenever the secretary called her name. These spaces were never designed with her body in mind, a fact she had faced as far back into her childhood as she could remember. Most of the world wasn’t designed with her in mind if Sandy were to be as honest as she wished she could be. It was as though the bigger she got over the years, the more invisible she became, and so her writing grew into the one outlet that never abandoned her. “Sandra Davis?” The smooth voice of the secretary cut through Sandy’s drifting thoughts, finding herself taking a deep breath as she gathered the courage to attempt to lift herself from the seat she had squeezed her frame into. You learned a sort of secret ballet when you were bigger than the world thought you ought to be. A dance you did with every seat, doorway and transportation source you encountered to ensure you could maintain that invisibility that society expected you to uphold at all times. The relief on must have flashed across her face as she popped loose from the seat, the secretary gracing her with a knowing nod. “I always hated those chairs. I keep telling her the look is not worth the discomfort it brings nearly everyone but you know how some folks can be about ascetics.” Sandy did her best to keep up as she followed behind the woman down a series of hallways through the offices, not daring to do more than nod along for fear of sounding out of breath should she dare to utter a syllable. “And here we are. Abbey should be with you in just a few minutes. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?” Sandra didn’t dare look at the seating situation before the woman left. “I’m alright but thank you so much.” Turning on her heels, Sandra realized how much faster her footsteps were when alone, a sting of all too familiar pain hitting Sandra’s side. Even in the smallest of ways, she felt herself a burden. But that was why she was here today. She was finally at the door to taking hold of her life, of the dreams nobody in her family seemed to believe in beyond the niceties of not outright telling her to not pursue them. Her mother in particular had always been a difficult nut to crack in this regard. She would never tell her not to pursue her writing, but she would also take every opportunity to remind her of every possible plan b she could be looking into. Sandy would share a breakthrough she’d had with her work, hesitantly so, only for the conversation to inevitably cycle to her mothers’ long forgotten dreams of publishing and how she just never could find the time but always hoped to. Never a “well done Sandra” or an “I’m proud of you, dear” to spare, her mother was neither supportive nor unsupportive. Squarely placed in the middle as she was with almost all things, Sandy had finally given up on seeking her approval at all. Had stopped sharing updates about her life and her work for fear of feeling that al too familiar pit in her stomach grow each time news of any progress was met with her trademark silence. Shifting eagerly in the equally uncomfortable seat in the publishers office, Sandy found herself wondering what her mother would say if she could see her sitting there now. She was further than either of them had ever gotten. Surely that counted for something? She had spent years bringing her stories to life herself, recording herself reading them for her small YouTube following, even crafting some into her own one woman radio shows. But this was the goal she had set for herself. The ever elusive mark she couldn’t quite seem to hit and at any moment the woman who held the key to the next step would be walking through that door at her back. Sandra winced a moment at the thought of what she looked like from behind, having poured herself into the seat in a way only those who battle to fit into seats regularly can. She was a cat in a box two sizes too small, but would have to play it off as always from the moment Abbey entered her office, which judging by the clicking footsteps that were approaching, would be in the next few seconds. “Well there she is! Sandra Davis, the newest voice to grace my desk.” Abbeys’ voice was warm but firm as she swept across the office and into her seat behind the large desk. “Now then, I’ve spent a great deal of time with your submission as well as pouring over these other short stories you submitted within your portfolio. The good part is, you have an incredibly distinct and strong voice, which isn’t something I can teach so we are in great shape there.” A laugh bubbled up at the end of her sentence which Sandra was sure was meant to soften what came next, but nothing ever seemed to soften what she had grown to see as the inevitable. “That being said, I think you still need some time, Sandra. I need for you to make more direct, firm choices in your work. No standing in the middle of road and waiting for traffic to push you in one direction or the other. Now, I--“ A high pitched buzzing began to creep in above Abbey’s voice as Sandra fought to hang on. Another no. Another door closing in her face when it felt like surely this was going to finally be the yes she had waited for. How could she be indecisive? How could she be exactly what her mother had always been, when she had fought so hard to remove every last trace of her influence from herself? Sandra caught herself just as the room began to spin, coming back to reality, back to the present moment once again in spite of the disappointment sitting like a two ton weight upon her chest. “But what I will say, “ Abbey continued, “is the bones are good, Sandra. More than that, the bones are fantastic, which means we have something to work with here. You just need more time.” More time, always more time. Always wait a little longer, always fall down seven times, get up eight but something inside her wanted to stay down this time. Wanted to give in because this had been it. This had been the moment that Rebecca, her mother, would finally see her. And just like that, it was gone in an instant, like scraps of meat tossed to a horde of hungry hounds. Her dreams were ribbed to ribbons for the hundredth time and it would be up to Sandra to put them back together again. Abbey wasn’t telling her no, but she wasn’t telling her yes either. Sandra found the irony of her being called indecisive while being sentenced to a veritable no mans land almost laughable. Almost. The car ride towards the hotel was lingered on, traffic merging and battling all around her, but Sandra was worlds away inside her own mind. She couldn’t help but think of the year she had spent dedicated to her latest project. A world filled with vampires, elves and humans all attempting to find balance and peace amongst each other while in the real world, humans couldn’t even find a way to agree on seemingly anything. The worlds contained within Sandras’ mind were an escape she longed to share but continually ran into every conceivable obstacle along the way. And a part of her as she blinked through the tears she hadn’t realize she’d begun to shed, wondered if the path forward was one she had to blaze all on her own? If maybe the door that awaited her, was one she’d need to build with her own two hands, because not everyone was ready for someone who looked like her, to create what she longed to. But did any of her heroes wait until the world was ready for them? Had Kitty Black Perkins waited for the world to be ready for the first black Barbie she created? Had she coyly designed a doll to everyones’ tastes? Or had she brought her own view of our beloved culture forward and dared to stand out? She imagined where NASA would be had Katherine Johnson waited for permission to do her job during the first manned space mission in ’62. So many black women who had come before her, unapologetic in their dreams and aspirations, willing to be the first and to build the doors and windows through which others would follow. Maybe it wasn’t the way Sandra had dreamt it, but she was going to publish this book and the subsequent installments and whatever other worlds she could manage to capture on paper as her mind would race faster than her fingers could manage. Because if there was anything Sandra knew in this world, it was that she was meant to be a writer. She was blessed with the gift of storytelling and she would not rest until that gift was one she could share her way. She would not settle into life to please anyone else and just maybe that determination could set a blaze that would catch on. Maybe setting herself free could finally free Rebecca and Sandra could have the one thing she wanted just as much as she wanted to be a writer. Her mother.