That's Not My Mother

Saturday mornings used to be my favorite time of the week. Waking up fully rested with the sun streaming in through the blinds, nothing to get ready for, just time to lie in bed and hear bits of breakfast conversation float in from the kitchen and bird songs chirped from the tree by the window.

Of course, one morning was different.

I had the dream years ago; I'm not entirely sure when, but I was just a little kid. It was one of those dreams that starts with you waking up. It was a Saturday morning, I woke in my bed as usual. Even now it all feels so real. Everything was almost as it should have been, but it was all a little bit... off. The usual clank of silverware and low drone of morning conversation was gone, replaced by a muffled silence that I could almost feel inside of my ears. I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, just before I entered I heard a quiet sizzling. I stepped in to find my mother scrambling eggs on the stove, as she frequently did. But it was wrong.

“Good morning." The words trickled from her lips, cold and flat. She didn't move at all save the slight parting of lips to let the sound escape.

Then I was struck by a horrible thought. I'm not sure how it came to me but it suddenly filled my head, leaving no room for anything else.

That's not my mother.

Fear washed over me, permeated every cell in my body. I was frozen. Somehow I choked the words out,

“Mom, what did we have for dinner last night?" It was all I could think of, in my fear-filled brain it was a foolproof test of identity.

She didn't reply. Moments passed like hours, until her head slowly began to turn towards me, but I wasn't going to see what happened when I met her gaze. Suddenly freed, I bolted out of the kitchen as fast as my legs would carry me, and I woke up. Sun streamed in through the blinds, the normal, welcome sounds tickled my ears. I entered the kitchen, and must have been visibly upset as I was greeted by my mother asking if I was alright.

As I was about to reply I looked into her eyes and saw an emptiness that wasn't there before. The fear I had felt came back, but I pushed it away and replied, in an unconvincing voice, “yeah, I'm fine."

Saturday mornings aren't as nice anymore. I still wake up well rested and greeted by sunlight and familiar sounds, but every once in a while I look into my mother's eyes and my head is filled by that same horrifying thought...

That's not my mother.