Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-02-13 - 4:04 p.m.

The Lowest

This morning was one of the worst mornings I can remember.

I borrowed money from my mother this morning. I had to do it; I had no acceptable alternative, believe me. So after thrashing around down every other avenue of thought, I came to the bitter and miserable conclusion that I would have to swallow all my pride - and a lot of other stuff besides - and do this thing.

I thought I understood the price. I did know that of all my relationships, of any relationship I have ever HAD, that this was the one that would be the worst to complicate with money. I have never borrowed or accepted money from my mother other than very small amounts for my birthday, and that only very occasionally. I want you to know how far down and out I had to get before I would go begging to her.

I knew it would come at a very high cost. I knew that when she has loaned money, even tiny amounts, to others, that I have never heard the end of "so and so OWES me" and "you'd think the least she could do after I LOANED HER MONEY..." and so on - all the hallmarks of a transaction that goes way beyond simple principal and interest. When I've had the temerity to ask, "Well, didn't she pay it back?" the answer has always been something like, "Oh, I don't even know, I don't keep track of that. It's not about the MONEY, you know." So I did know. I knew that after having done this, no matter how promptly I repaid the loan, there was a good risk that a) she will always feel that I owe her more than I can give, and b) she will conveniently forget that at least the money was repaid on time and in full.

I asked for the money last night, and I went to get the check this morning, as agreed. I needed to pick up the check and go straight to the bank and deposit it, and then on to work. When I arrived - twenty minutes later than I had hoped to be - I woke her up with the doorbell, and she said, "Do you just have to SNATCH the money and run? Can't I even have a cup of coffee before I have to write the check?"

I made her coffee. I sat.

"Will I ever see this money again?" she asks.

I am so humiliated. As though I had borrowed from her before and not paid it. As though I had ever borrowed from her at all.

"Yes, of course you will. As I told you, I will pay half of it back within ten days and the rest according to this schedule. Of course I will pay you. As soon as I get my first paycheck I will pay half."

"So how much are they paying you?"

I answer. Because I have to. Because the check she hasn't signed yet is the price of my privacy.

"Well, what are you doing with the money again? It's my money, I have a right to know where it's going."

I explain. Again. Because I have to. Because I have no choice; I am borrowing this money, and it is not a free thing, and I know this. But I have explained and explained.

"I just don't understand how you got yourself in this position."

I'm now in tears; I am going to be late to my new job, she will not sign the check until I explain over and over, until I am fully abased. "I am so sorry to have to do this. I would not do it if I could see any other way. I am very grateful that you are doing this for me."

"Well, how do you think that makes ME feel, that you don't even want to borrow from me?"

What do I do with THAT?

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I don't know what else to say. I'm very grateful. Thank you. It doesn't feel very good to have to do this."

"Well, I wouldn't know, I have never had to borrow." And then, "Why didn't you come to me earlier?" She starts to cry. "I just don't understand how you could let yourself get in this position."

The check is on the table, unsigned. I need it. I need to go. I need to get OUT of there, I need to go back to the world where I am an adult, where you owe money and you pay it and the debt is cleared; but now my mother is crying, and I am crying, and she isn't signing the fucking check, and I am powerless. I can't say the truth: "Mother, if it were an option, I would walk over blazing razor blades before I would borrow from you. If I were young enough to make any money at it, I would walk the streets first. I hate this worse than you will ever, ever know. And I know that you DON'T hate it - you will hoard and gloat over this debt."

I hate that I did this. I hate that I got myself in a position where I had to do it. I hate it that I know this debt can never be paid off, because it is not about money. I've signed an eternal contract for guilt and indebtedness. No gratitude or payment will ever be enough. Today was only a taste.

Today, foreclosure and bankruptcy look like an oasis.

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