Mother Vibes Chapter 1: Deep Dream

I would like to unburden myself a little, because I am very worried about this.

To begin with, I don’t know if you’ll understand me when I say that we, as individuals, have a kind of ‘vibe’—the thing that helps us differentiate and recognize people. It’s like an aura, or maybe it’s the soul. An example of this would be when you meet someone you haven’t seen in a long time, and even if their appearance has changed, you still recognize them, like they have an inner spark that remains the same.

We all get certain vibes from people, objects, places, or family. I’m sure at some point you’ve seen something and thought, ‘This gives me the same vibe as something else.’

Well, if you’re following me, my issue is that over the last few weeks, I’ve been ignoring my mother for no reason, and the only thing I feel when I look at her is rejection. My mind keeps telling me that she isn’t her. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. She’s been there for some of the most important moments in my life, like when she read grammar books to me as a child so I could learn to read, or when she built a fort of sheets in my room to sleep with me and protect me from monsters. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve known her all my life, and I am absolutely certain that the woman I saw a few minutes before writing this… just isn’t my mother.

So, why am I saying this? What evidence do I have to prove that she’s not my mother? Honestly, I don’t know. She just feels like a total stranger—someone completely new in my life, but worse, because she looks exactly like my mom. And I find it very suspicious that this feeling started the morning after a very strange night… surreal, I’d say.

That night happened last week, and to be honest, it wasn’t that disturbing or loud, but there are things that don’t add up for me. I’d rather you guys tell me what you think: is there something suspicious, or am I just exaggerating?

My mom doesn’t work; she’s a housewife. The one who supports us is my dad, who works as a pharmaceutical chemist and has a considerably high salary to comfortably support a family of three, since I’m an only child.

As you can imagine, my dad is a very busy person. He works Monday through Saturday, starting at 6 AM and finishing at 5 PM. He uses Sundays to either rest or spend time with us. Despite his busy schedule, he’s a great dad and an excellent husband. My mom and dad have been together since high school and got married when they were 28. We’re the opposite of what people call ‘a dysfunctional family’—heck, they even have cute nicknames for each other!

It’s amazing that with all that weight on his shoulders, he still manages to keep the family relationships afloat—or even his own sanity. But according to him, it’s worth it. Sometimes on Sundays, my dad organizes something to make the most of the day, like going to the park or visiting my grandparents’ house. And sometimes, he plans an event just for my mom.

The last event he organized for her (so far) was a dinner at a luxurious and expensive restaurant called Fascino della Luna. It’s a new place in town that specializes in serving food based on different themes, like friendship, celebration, or—as I suspected—love.

This event happened last Sunday. My dad surprised my mom with the reservation tickets. She was caught off guard but accepted them with a gleam of youthful love in her eyes. That’s how I spent the rest of the afternoon watching the elegant gowns she was laying out for the evening.

In my mother’s case, she wore a vain dark purple dress, that exposed one of her shoulders and really emphasized her waist. She asked me for my opinion, and I simply replied that she looked beautiful. She asked me for advice on her outfit, and the best I could suggest was to wear a hair clip. It was metallic and shaped like a butterfly; she used it to style her hair in a way I have no idea how she managed, considering her hair is short and frizzy. At least the hair clip made her stand out more.

On the other hand, I accompanied my dad to the basement. That’s where my dad’s lab is. He uses it to experiment and develop medicines, but there’s also a walk-in closet where he keeps a lot of things, like Christmas or Halloween decorations. Only we went to look for a special garment, protected with a cover so that it wouldn’t be eaten by moths. My dad, upon removing it, revealed one of the most elegant and clean suits I have ever seen: a fine brown tuxedo, with an anti-reflective texture and very soft to the touch. Honestly, I wondered if I would ever own something of that caliber (although I’m sure I’ll wear that on the day of my graduation gala).

The afternoon boiled down to them getting ready and preparing accessories for dinner until they finally got in the car and dropped me off at the house, but not before crowning me king of the household, with the responsibility of taking care of it.

I don’t think you’d find it interesting if I described my boredom as the evening wore on, so I’ll cut to the chase with something that’s hard for me to say, but that I really need to get off my head.

Have you ever had bouts of curiosity? Something that crosses your mind, and you just can’t shake it off. Even more so when you have the opportunity to… ‘quench that curiosity. My dad works with all kinds of medicines, and within that spectrum of ‘all’ are… drugs. An intrusive thought crossed my mind—one that I could satisfy at that moment, taking advantage of being home alone.

What happens when I take drugs? Obviously nothing good, but how bad is it? What will I get to see, say, smell… or perceive?

I spent that moment fighting my mind NOT to do it. I can’t do that to my dad, or to me. I wouldn’t go into his lab without his permission to get high out of curiosity; it’s very clear to me that there are delicate, expensive, and dangerous things in there. But, as many reasons as I had not to respond to that thought, I gave in.

I went down to the lab and walked over to a tinted glass case with a lock on it. On it was a police seal, indicating that this lab is authorized by the city to handle illicit substances. I ignored it and, sure enough, what I suspected: the lock was locked. Perfect, there was no way to open it, and I could now abandon this silly thought. I spoke too soon.

As I was leaving, I bumped into the coat rack where my father’s robe was, producing a jingling sound, it turned out to be my dad’s keys.

I don’t know if my dad forgot to leave the keys somewhere else or if something else happened, but… sorry, Dad… your son was born with a great curiosity and doesn’t know the limits he can go to.

I’m a lousy son.

I just took the keys and opened the display case. Inside were a bunch of bags and vials with labeled substances and fluids. Cocaine, marijuana, heroin, methamphetamines, etc. All organized and spaced apart to avoid contamination.

At that moment, I judged myself: Am I really going to do this? I didn’t know what the hell was happening to me or why I ignored all the lectures about avoiding drugs in school, but I grabbed a bag of cocaine.

I placed it on a piece of note paper I took out of my dad’s notebook, and, in one puff, betrayed his trust.

Despite the shock I experienced for having done this stupid thing, nothing happened for the first few seconds—long enough for me to enter a small crisis.

“Shit, what did I just do?”

I started frantically putting everything away to avoid leaving any evidence behind. I closed the display case, left the keys where they were, and threw the paper at the bottom of the garbage can.

I should have felt terrible at that moment, but for some reason, I felt… very happy. I was shivering and felt like I could run a marathon (a clear effect of cocaine). My attention was completely diverted to the dressing room, and I remembered the outfits and things inside.

I went in and started digging through everything: Christmas lights, paper ghosts, old toys, and, obviously, the costumes. I began trying them on, hallucinating that I was someone important (God, how embarrassing now that I write that). Honestly, I don’t remember the rest well, but I do recall that everything stopped when my hand brushed against a cold texture among the suits.

I held my hand in that cold space until I could visualize it better; it was a lock covered by the wall tapestry. It was rectangular in shape and, to tell the truth, very minimalistic and boring. The more I touched it, the more I noticed something: there was a circular and empty space above, as if something should be there. Wanting to get a better look at that structure, I took out my cell phone, and a harsh reality snapped me out of that trance. It was almost 10 p.m., and my parents would be home any minute; I couldn’t let them see me like this.

I took off the suits, closed the dressing room, and ran to my room. I jumped into bed and pretended to be asleep. To tell the truth, it took me a while because my head started to hurt.

Difficulty sleeping tormented my skull that night. I felt the rhythmic throbbing of my blood pumping inside my ears, as if one of my arteries was about to burst. My breathing grew louder and more unbearable, and to make matters worse, I was very thirsty. I felt my room twisting and contorting in an infinite spiral that would swallow me up if I got out of bed. My eyes saw nothing but a colorful and confusing, grainy texture. My breathing became deeper; the sound of the throbbing in my ears began to thin out more and more with each breath I took, and my consciousness faded with the sheer desire to drink some water.

Submerged in my groggy bed, I felt like I could only float. The dream world had never felt so heavy before; I was so disconnected from the outside world that I could only lie still, waiting for a ray of sunshine to pull me out of that deep dream. But my consciousness was pulled back into the real world when I felt my bed being shaken.

I returned to my room, the sound in my ears was dulled by a loud, deep rumble, as if a building were being torn down. Then, I heard my windows vibrate and hit the frame, creating a piercing resonance that startled me awake. My shelves, with my things—my notebooks, my desk—everything was shaking.

It was trembling.

Thoughts tumbled through my mind as I returned to my conscious state. What is happening? Am I in danger? What should I do? Where are my parents?

I jumped up from my lying position as I thought about where my parents were and why they hadn’t come to my room. But as I became more aware of the world around me, I noticed that the only thing I could always hear at night was present: silence.

My bed was not stirring, the deep sound was gone, and my room did not elicit those vibrating noises. The silence returned faster than ever, and another sea of questions flooded my tired mind. What happened? Is it over? Was it… real?

I concluded that it might have been some effect of the drug and my lack of sleep, for I still felt dizzy and heard my own throbbing. But the question that had come to my mind earlier was still there.

Had my parents come home? I wanted to go downstairs to see if they had arrived, plus I was still thirsty. But it was too hard to get out of bed and make my way to the kitchen with all this dizziness, so I just lay back down, worried. Yet, just like the sensation that the ground had been shaking, my worry suddenly vanished when the light on the stairs turned on, and I heard my father’s unmistakable footsteps running down. I was still dizzy at that point, and I could only assume that maybe he was getting ready to go to work because it was Monday. So I lay back down, relaxed, and tried to go back to sleep. This time, falling asleep was easier than before, even after experiencing that unpleasant and confusing moment, only to be suddenly awakened by my alarm.

I woke up reluctantly, as my head was throbbing, but I no longer felt drugged. I went downstairs in my pajamas to do what I had wanted to do the night before: quench my thirst. I went down and drank about three glasses of cold, pure water; then I made myself some toast and a glass of warm milk. I had breakfast and then went to take a shower.

As I got out of the shower, I noticed something odd in the air. The kitchen was quiet, the TV was off, and there were no footsteps upstairs. The house was completely silent, as if it were… empty.

Where’s my mom? I asked myself.

After drying off and putting on my uniform, I went to the door of my parents’ room, which was closed. I knocked.

‘Mom, Mom, are you there?’

I knocked several more times, but there was no response. I didn’t want to go in because I don’t like entering my parents’ room without permission. My mind cleared a little as I figured maybe she was just tired (or maybe even a bit tipsy) from last night’s dinner, leaving her exhausted. In the end, I decided not to bother her anymore and just thought about how ironic the situation was. Finally, I grabbed my backpack and caught the bus to school.

While I was in class, I thought about what dish my mom would greet me with, since I leave early on Mondays. Then I figured she must be too tired to cook and considered that it might be my turn to make dinner (though I’m not very good at cooking). It was the least I could do to give her a break.

The doorbell rang, I grabbed my backpack, and boarded the bus to go home.

When I got off the bus, I checked my pockets and searched my backpack, only to have an unpleasant surprise—I had left my keys inside the house. Maybe it’s not so much about opening a door, but I really didn’t want to upset my mom, even over something so small.

I rang the doorbell, sat down, and waited. Nothing. I rang again. Still nothing. I waited like that for about 2 minutes. Just as I was starting to get worried, I heard the doorknob turn, followed by the sound of the bottom of the door dragging across the floor as it opened. I stepped inside, opened my arms, and hugged my “mom.”

“Hi, Mom.”

She greeted me warmly, and I looked into her eyes. My calm state left my body as I made eye contact with her. There was something wrong with her.

“Mom?… Are you okay?”

She looked at me confused.

“Yes, honey, my head hurts a little, but everything is fine. Have you had lunch yet?”

I glanced at her again, her eyes, her neck, her lips, they were hers; she was in front of my mother. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something very wrong with her now, as if something was missing. Maybe it was her more pronounced dark circles under her eyes, perhaps brought on by last night’s dinner.

I responded with a “no” to her question, and she excitedly affirmed that she had prepared my favorite dish. Steak with mashed potatoes. I ignored my insecurity for a few moments, put my backpack away, and served myself lunch. It tasted just as good as she had always made it; each bite was a pleasant sensation as my hunger was satiated, a calmness well pronounced by the placid taste of the food. I felt I could stay that way, but that feeling was interrupted when I sensed something staring at me, right in front of me.

A pair of exhausted brown eyes watched me, with her hands resting on her chin and a friendly smile.

“Is the food delicious?”

This is not the first time my mother has watched me eat lunch; she usually accompanies me with chatter until my plate is empty. This has never bothered me before, but now I felt a discomfort similar to that of being stalked by a stranger.

“Y-yes… Mom.”

Saying that last word took a moment. I continued eating my lunch, each bite feeling heavier than the last, and I could feel my body starting to sweat. Then she got up from her chair, came over to me, and kissed me on the cheek.

“I’m glad you liked it, son,” she told me with a welcoming smile.

An intense shiver ran through every cell in my body. My eyes widened, and I gripped my fork tightly as the woman went into the living room to watch TV. I fought the urge to spit out the food and tried to relax. I must still be a little high, I thought. How could I be so unaware of my mom like that? The heaviness in the atmosphere was enough to take away my appetite, so I put the leftover mashed potatoes back in the pot, left the steak in the pan, and went up to my room to do my homework.

I took out my biology notebook and started my school assignment. My eyes were fixed on my notebook while I listened to music with my headphones. My hand manipulated the pencil in a controlled manner to the sound of my thoughts, which were organized to give an answer: “Mutations correspond to alterations in the DNA sequence of an organism.”

After a few minutes, the high volume of the music began to overwhelm me, so I took off my headphones and turned them off to ease my head. I rested and meditated for a while: What else can I add to the task? I stayed like that for a while, quiet and thoughtful, but then I felt a tingling sensation; I had the feeling that a presence was watching me, as if someone was at my door. I turned my head slowly…

My mother was lying in the hallway, motionless, her eyes wide and dilated, staring in my direction, her skin pale as if her soul had been cruelly ripped from her body.

“MOM!”

I jumped out of my chair and shook her; she didn’t seem to be breathing, but I could feel her pulse rapid and uncontrolled. She was still alive, but motionless.

“MOM… RESPOND!”

Nothing. Quickly, I grabbed my cell phone and frantically called an ambulance. My fear of something worse happening to her was evident as I spoke to the person on the other end of the line; I couldn’t keep calm and my voice cracked as the clock ticked. I will never forget how my mother’s paralyzed eyes were fixed on me as I spoke to the person on the other end of the line.

“PLEASE COME, MY MOM IS UNCONSCIOUS!”

The minutes felt eternal as I stood next to my mother’s motionless, cold body. My agony increased with every passing moment with no sign of the ambulance, until I finally heard the sirens. We went to the hospital. I called my father, and he left work immediately to come see my mother, who was quickly treated in the emergency room. The doctors told us we wouldn’t be able to see her until she had stabilized, so I stayed with my dad in the waiting room, worried, especially my dad.

My dad hugged me to comfort me because I couldn’t hold back the tears, and a question kept running through my head throughout the day:

What is happening to my mother?

First, I didn’t recognize her when I got home, then I felt uncomfortable when she watched me eat lunch, and now she fainted at my door. I don’t understand how so many things have happened to her in such a short time. A doctor came and asked me for a statement about how I found her. I explained everything, and he wrote it down in his notebook before telling us that my mother was recovering and that we could see her soon, but she wouldn’t be discharged yet.

The room where she was treated was small but cozy. My mother lay on the stretcher, connected to a breathing machine, and she was already awake. I hugged her, and then my dad hugged her too.

She said she didn’t know what had happened and didn’t remember anything from before she fainted. She looked very confused, and even though I still had that strange feeling about her, I decided to ignore it because I was too worried.

She stayed in the hospital for two days, and the doctor’s diagnosis was that she had suffered a moderate epileptic seizure. They said that if I hadn’t called the ambulance, she would have been in worse condition. The only concerning thing was that the doctors didn’t know the cause of the seizure. They couldn’t find enough evidence to pinpoint a reason, so my mom will need to come to the hospital periodically for more tests, and for now, she’ll have to stay in bed.

Days passed, and my mom recently called me to bring her water, as she was going to take her medications. I stayed in the room with her; she took her pills and then asked me something that, honestly, chilled me to the bone.

“Son, didn’t you like the food I made for you the other day?”

I didn’t freeze out of fear, but out of guilt. She knew I had put the food back in the pot, and maybe she went up to my room afterward… and then she had the epileptic seizure. She always puts so much effort into making my favorite dish perfect, and I didn’t want her to feel bad after what happened, only to find her passed out outside my room.

“Yes, Mom, I was just in a rush to finish my homework.”

She responded with a look full of pity and hugged me. I thought it would be a comforting moment, but unfortunately, it was the opposite. The hug was brief, but it felt like a long, uncomfortable embrace. That feeling of rejection came back, and it was spinning around in my head. When I pulled away from the hug, I started thinking… I wanted more space, so I walked towards the door.

I backed out of the room and glanced at my mom with a neutral expression. She was trying to sleep. I looked at her closely… and I noticed something that indeed, THAT does not fit in sight.

I know it’s confusing how I could not recognize my own mom like that, but I’ve known her all my life. She’s the person I’ve spent the most time with so far. I love her, but this feeling of unease makes me question that, and the only explanation I can come up with is that she’s not my mother. She’s never had epilepsy before, and she’s never made me feel uncomfortable just by being near her.

Maybe… maybe I’m just overreacting to that horrible chain of events. But what I do know for sure about my mom, and what I know in general, are these two things:

Hair doesn’t grow that fast, and my mom looks really bad with long hair.