White and Black 2

We made eye contact for two seconds before she looked away. Cathrin Thomas was always the first to look away. She appeared tired because of her late work hours. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. When she spoke, her voice had an obvious hesitation. Other than those two things, she didn’t show any sign of discomfort.

“How did it go?”Her question, I could tell, would determine if I would be able to continue art class. We’d made a deal that as long as I improved with therapy I’d be able to stay in the class. Since I loved it, I would of course give an evident answer.

“Well, I think I did better this time,” I could tell by the look she gave me she didn’t believe a word. She never believed a word that came out of my mouth. ”Also, next week I have to come an hour earlier.”

“Did she say why?” My mother was always analyzing situations and she had to have control, hence the therapy for me. The Merisel Center gave her just that. The institution was a great place for her to keep watch over my progress, but it was hell for me.

“She’s pretty busy next week,” She started the car and drove out of the parking lot. I turned away from her face and stared out the window. I watched as the cars went by never noticing anything in their surroundings.

Our silence was interrupted by her cell phone ringing.

“Yes?” She answered, “You’re correct; no I don’t think Mr. Warner will appreciate something so puzzling.” When she spoke with business partners, my mother used an entirely different tone. She was much more confident and completely emotionless. She wasn’t always like this; in fact she used to have a weak character. Though she would only ignore me if I brought up the past.

I wanted to interrupt her conversation, so I could ask her if I would still be continuing art class, but it seemed that she had already hung up the phone. I looked back at her and noticed she had an annoyed expression on her face. I decided this was the perfect time to ask.

“I’ll still be in Mrs. Hardy’s period, right?” I asked while staring at her manicured nails. I could feel her forced gaze shift from the street to my features.

“If Miss Biding gives me encouraging results then I’ll think about it,” She responded rather restricted. Arguing with her would be futile, but I really didn’t want to stop.

“Mom, we have an agreement,”

“That as long as you’re improving, I’d let you continue,” she ended. We more or less had the same attitudes which sometimes caused conflict. I sigh quietly without hiding my displeasure.

I averted my gaze to my hands and questioned how much more different they were compared to my mother’s. Her hands were graceful, slender, and perfect. While mine were the complete opposite small, untreated hands. At some point when I was younger I had wanted to be just like her. That was before I saw the tiny cracks in her facade that she hid from me.