Family Vacation
The laundry bounces and squeaks while I paint my toenails. I almost can’t decipher between its whining and my dog’s whimpers at the squirrel outside the window. I get the nerve to call. What did you think? That I would be the same 12-year old baby face who soaked up everyone’s feelings like a sponge? Did you think I was normal, that I acted like myself? I felt like an alien around all those beloved faces who projected their 16-year old memories onto me, into me, as I tried to steady my hand on my husband’s knee. Husband. I have one of those, remember? Did they think I was rude? selfish? Was I pouting in the tens of thousands of dollars of snow? Did you think I was happy to be there? I don’t remember. Were they mad I got drunk on Dad’s birthday? Embarrassed? Were you? I never say enough except when I say too much. With intoxicated, teary eyes I looked at one of you, “I can’t have children with someone who does not want children.” Like the can of biscuits that popped open at 11,000 feet of elevation, there it was, matter of fact. I promise to take my teenage cousin to get her second hole ear piercing against her mother’s wishes. And they think I’d make a great mother. What do they know? About what goes on between these walls? They refuse to see that the planet is suffering, society crumbling - or they pray for collapse, in eager anticipation of reaching the Pearly Gates.
Thanks for reading, XOXO
Chan