Friday, October 23, 2009

A Rough Draft

Mother was in her late fifties, she stood five feet 4 inches tall, which made picking blackberries a chore every summer. Not enough of a chore to keep her from it, the soft dark purple berries were warm occasionally leaving juice behind to stain the skin. She would give a quick lick when the juice streamed down her hand, to cut off the flow. I remember hearing her voice, singing, skipping the words she didn’t know humming to fill the gaps, I wanted to help her pick the berries but sitting, watching, while listening to that angelic voice pulled me to the ground. Lying in the grass, the clouds chose to whir by; the needles from the evergreens were dry, poking through my bright pink summer dress. We lived at the farm for ten years now; I had just celebrated my fifteenth birthday. My siblings a brother and a sister were older, leaving home for college, marriage, opportunities that take us from the nest. At first mother was happy to send the older ones off, not happy because they were leaving, no, she would never want them to go because she was tired of them, but happy to see her kids old enough to search for their dreams, start families which meant grandchildren and experience life as adults. She had high hopes for their futures; one thing she didn’t assume would happen is that they would be living far enough away that she couldn’t visit. That’s when she had the mini breakdown. I was at school, the principal called me down to his office, it wasn’t what you might be thinking, and mom didn’t do anything dangerous. She was there talking to Mr.Phillips, she had a new green dress on, she looked so beautiful and happy, it scared me. The last few months she wore house dresses everywhere, even into town, her makeup not done, slippers for shoes, her long dark hair pulled back. She wouldn’t shower for four days at a time, but that day she showed up at my school looking prettier than I had ever seen her before. Her shoes caught my eye, they were green snakeskin, the bottoms were red I think that meant they were expensive name brand shoes. The heels had to have been four to six inches; the bottoms of the soles were thick nothing like I would have pictured her owning or wearing. My mom frequented used stores for clothes, shoes even underwear on occasion, she was always thrifty, today everything was knew. She had gone to get her hair done, nails, new makeup, oh, if my dad could see her I don’t know if he would be happy or have a heart attack from the change of scenery.


Anonymous said...

awesome- I want to read more!

Anonymous said...

Okay, now where is the rest?