witty-remark's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
Here, my mother reveals herself to me like credits rolling at the end of a film. All of her sides lined up like criminals with their back pressed against the wall. I point an accusatory finger through the two-way mirror. On the drive home from the airport, I reach for her purse. Something small poking through a flap catches my eyes. "You smoke again." I sigh without the decency to embed a question mark. She nods. "Don't start with me..." She grips the steering wheel, forcing a smile. A defeated grin sinking down like the corners of her eyes. Her features slipping into a frown. The darkness closes in on us like a shrinking ribcage. We pulsate through it with a steady throb. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Gravel crunches beneath our tires; the perfect soundtrack to my nostalgia. The passenger's window transforms to a small tv screen that flickers with my memories. There's no remote to change the channel. There's no other channel to change to. There she is. Raven haired and beautiful. Hopeful and bright. Angry, as well. Always temperamental. She fixes our breakfast. She slaps our face. There she is again. Does she know he cheats? Has he cheated yet? The memory folds up like an origami crane. A simple shape alters to something complex before my very eyes. Oh, that's us. At the airport. I don't know what my face looks like, but it doesn't hold the resolute dissatisfaction of my brother's.
In the car again, I shift uncomfortably in my seat, sheepishly shaking my head at the recollection of my less than sympathetic ways. An easy silence circulates between us and we breath it in like the smell of pancakes on a Sunday morning. I clear my throat. "Did you think you'd be...here...ten years ago?" The gravel sputters under our car drawing back that familiar noise of my father's voice on the telephone. A spirit that doesn't care enough to haunt its home. My mother draws in a long breath. " Did I think I'd be here?" Her eyes seem vacant. "Well" she starts, "I didn't ask for this life" she whispers with a sigh of resignation. 1:39 a.m. - Tuesday, Feb. 16, 2010 |
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