I woke up the next morning at 9:00a.m. to my alarm. After I reached over to shut it off, I rubbed my eyes groggily, and groaned. I was still so tired. I felt completely stupid now for not being able to sleep last night, and after I put on my glasses I gave my room a second look. Sure, it was still strangely empty, but the way the morning light shone through the window made it seem less intimidating, and even satisfyingly clean. I shook my head to myself as I remembered how scared I had been trying to sleep. Me, a 13-year-old, that still let the dark get the best of me. How pitiful.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a forest-green colored shirt. I would’ve played some music to get myself pumped up for the day as I sometimes do, but my boom box was packed up with the rest of my stuff. Instead, I sang my favorite tunes to myself, hitting every note off-key but getting every beat and lyric right. I reached around in one of my bags for some jewelry, and slipped on a bracelet with little silver owls that connected to make a band.
I stepped out into the hall and nearly bumped into my mom, who was wearing a loosely fitted floral blouse, khaki pants, and soft brown shoes. I just stopped and stared at her, open mouthed; this was the first time in a very long time that I had seen her wear something other than her usual uptight business attire. We both jumped slightly in surprise, but she recovered first and flashed me an uncharacteristically joyous smile.
“Morning!” she said.
I didn’t really know what to say. In my moment of slowness, I realized that I only saw her in afternoons and evenings, so I never really got to hear her, or anyone, say ‘morning’.
My silence didn’t phase her, and she continued on in the same bubbly voice, “I called your father this morning, and I’m going to take you up to Maine instead.”
“Why?” was the first thing that came to my mind.
“No reason,” she said, “I just felt like doing it.”
“You took the day off?” I asked, perplexed. That was the only way I knew she would be able to take me.
“Yep!”
She spun around and continued down the hallway.
“Why don’t you grab a bite to eat, and then we can take off,” she suggested, “I’ll get your bags.”
I couldn’t help but stare at my mom in awe, as I tried adjusting to the carefree attitude, the light clothing, and her unpainted, natural face. She’d wave at me and smile every time she passed back and forth with more of my bags, which made me want to watch her more. It might sound weird, but when she smiled I saw more of myself on her face. I was slightly mesmerized as I watched her twirl a box over her head on her way out the door.
I finished my sandwich down to the last bite, and then stepped outside. I didn’t dramatically stop and take one look back at the house; it just didn’t feel right. I imagined this was not the last time I would see this place.
I made sure the door was locked tight, and when I turned back around, there was my mom, leaning against the car and grinning at me with a virtually make-up free smile.
“You ready?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I said. It wasn’t like I would ever be ready for something like this, but I lied anyway.
We got in the car, and mom turned the radio to some sunny-sounding station. She tapped her fingers against the wheel to the beat, and reluctantly I sang along. When we reached the highway, she started discussing all the things that she thought needed discussing.
“I’ll start writing to you, like your father did,” she suggested, “So we’ll always keep in touch.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said.
“Once a month. At least,” she decided, “And phone calls, too! Whenever something happens, I want to hear about it.”
“Sure.”
Something had been bothering me for quite some time, and I figured now was as good an opportunity as I was going to get to ask about it.
“What’s he like?”
“Who?” she asked, then shifted a little in her car seat, “You mean your father?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve met him before, at Christmas, remember?” she said, checking over her left shoulder to change lanes.
“Well, yeah, I remember,” I said, “I’ve met him a bunch of times. But I don’t know him.”
“He’s a very nice man.”
“Yeah?” I asked, hopefully the excitement in my voice reaching through to her.
”Mm-Hmm,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the road. I waited a few more moments for her to say something else about him, but she didn’t. It looked as though she was trying to concentrating on driving, but I knew she was only trying to avoid the conversation. This was just like her. I turned on my side, so she probably didn’t see the disappointment across my face.
“That’s nice,” I finally said, a small hint of annoyance in my voice.
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